Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

until it pulled away from the terminal and onto a lengthy runway. 
       Lucy’s fear had dissipated; she actually smiled at me and then turned her head to look out the window. 
       I gripped the thin armrests at my sides; the contraption sped up, and the horrendous sound intensified. Turning the spicy clove over on my tongue, I thought about my first ride in Xavier’s roadster. He had driven me out to the country for a picnic. London’s grey sky had remained behind, and we found ourselves bowling over hills graced with sunshine, laughing at his recklessness.
       My amber hair whipped about as I held my bonnet in my lap to prevent it from blowing away. Taking a corner, or perhaps more than one, too sharply, a bottle of wine in the picnic basket had broken and the food was spoiled.
       We did not care; we had such a lark getting to the secluded place, a tiny patch of green that was in the middle of nowhere.
       As the airplane started to lift from the ground, my heart quivered, and I tried to think of the smile on Xavier’s face as he stole a glance at me when he should have been looking to the winding road; instead, all my mind’s eye could fixate on was the broken wine bottle.
       At last, the airplane leapt into the air. The men about us began to clap, as did Lucy. Feeling faint, I realized I had been holding my breath.
       Peter rose from his seat once the airplane leveled off. He leaned close to my ear and asked, “Are you all right?”
       I shouted back, “I think I have made a dreadful mistake. I would very much like to extract myself from this craft.”
       He gave me a jovial laugh and asked, “Do you want a parachute?”
     
     
     
       We landed at Marseilles, and after the other passengers had made their way off the craft, Lucy and the cabin boy helped me and my unsteady legs to the ground.
       Somewhat hysterical, I said, “If a ship sinks, I can swim”—pointing to the airplane—“but had that stopped working, I do not have wings. I cannot fly.”
       Peter looked to Lucy and said, “She’s cracked in the head. I think she needs a doctor.”
       I wasn’t so sure that this was a bad suggestion, so I remained silent. My ever-faithful Lucy replied, “She will be fine. A bit of rest before we get back on board and head off to Rome—”
      “No! Oh, no… I’m not getting back on that rickety thing,” I sputtered out in a most unbecoming manner.
        Rather than argue with me, Lucy suggested I would feel better after I had a drink of water. Peter commented, “I’m sure I can find her something stronger.”
       Once I was deposited in a chair within the terminal, I clutched the cabin boy by the wrist and said, “Fetch my baggage from the airplane.”
       He looked to Lucy, who said, “Mine as well.”
       “Oh no, Lucy, I’m so disappointed in myself.”
       My considerate friend retrieved the little silver snuff box from my purse and placed a clove in my trembling hand. Once the soothing spice had begun to calm me, very thoughtfully, Lucy remarked, “I suppose the French press referred to you as Madame X, so surely we won’t have trouble booking passage on board one of the Messageries Maritime steamers.”

 
    Chapter Four
     
    The crowed train slowly came to a stop. Despite his bulk, a kindly gentleman, who had befriended Lucy and me somewhere between Cairo and Luxor, leapt up and called for a porter to assist us with our baggage.
       Nearly hoarse from talking nonstop about Egypt’s king and queen and their marital problems, he called out a final farewell to us and then sauntered off the train. His departure was a bit of a relief, as several times he had made mention of having tea with him and his wife once we arrived in Luxor. While he had been congenial company, I was certainly eager to make our way to the hotel and get to the start of our business in Egypt.    
       With the help of the porter, we made our way off the train and onto the