Murder Among the Pyramids

by Sara Rosett

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Escape on an Egyptian Excursion to the Land of the Pyramids!

 

Tour highlights include: Hieroglyphics and high tea in the desert, followed by murder after sunset . . . 

 

It’s 1924 and Blix Windway has made a career out of her wanderlust, giving lectures to ladies’ groups about everything from the flora of the American desert to the beauty of the Swiss Alps, but she needs new material for her talks.

 

She strikes what seems to be an ideal agreement with an eccentric older lady. Blix will be her travel companion during a journey to Egypt, helping to smooth the way through customs and coordinate sightseeing tours. The arrangement will provide Blix with the perfect opportunity to photograph the pyramids and gather material for her next lecture series. But they’ve barely left England before the trouble begins—rough seas and an attempted robbery. Then a murder occurs during a tour of the pyramids. 

 

Despite the attempts of the British officials to sweep the death under the rug, Blix becomes increasingly convinced that one of their tour party is a murderer. Blix’s search for the truth takes her from the posh sporting clubs and lavish gardens of Cairo to the narrow, twisting lanes of the city’s centuries-old bazaar and the vast desert around the Giza Plateau. Can Blix unearth the truth before the killer makes this journey her last?

 

Join Blix on this classic murder mystery from Sara Rosett, author of the beloved High Society Lady Detective series.

Release date: October 1, 2024

Publisher: McGuffin Ink LLC

Print pages: 316

Sample

CHAPTER 1

It’s of direst importance. Please, Blix. The package must get to Cairo. You’re on your way there. You could pop it in your bag . . .”

Percy Smitherington’s brown eyes reminded me of Lucky, the housekeeper’s spaniel and my constant companion during my solitary childhood. I steeled myself against Percy’s pitiful expression. Even if I was traveling to Egypt, I wasn’t a package service. “Why not send it in the diplomatic pouch? It will get there faster than if I take it.”

The waitress arrived at our table, and Percy waited until she’d delivered the teapot and left. I had to strain to hear him over the noisy chatter of the tearoom as he said, “The thing is, I can’t send it that way. I intended to, but I mucked things up. Old Featherhead would be furious if he knew what happened.”

“Featherhead? You mean Sir Gerald Feathering?” Sir Gerald held an important position at Whitehall, which was where Percy also worked.

“Yes. Featherhead is a nickname.” He chuckled. “Bit of a joke. Of course, we don’t call him that to his face.”

Since Sir Gerald was bald, I said, “I imagine not.” I stirred my tea as I looked out the window, where rain was sheeting down. “You should explain to Sir Gerald, especially if it’s urgent.”

Percy shifted, his gaze on his teacup. “I can’t. He’s already given me a warning. He nearly sacked me last month. If I do anything else wrong”—he shrugged—“that’ll be my job, and I’ll be back as one of the great unemployed.”

I sipped my tea, watching him over the rim. I’d known Percy for years. He was about half a dozen years younger than me. He’d been one of the few people who hadn’t dropped me when Father cut me off. Percy’s sister had been especially cruel, spreading some rather vile rumors about me, but their father had died at Ypres, and Percy was the breadwinner for his sister and mother.

“Please, Blix. It’s hush-hush, but seeing as your father is a diplomat, I know I can trust you. Sometimes we have to do things a bit out of the ordinary. It’s critical that the package get there before the twenty-second.”

I put my tea down. I’d never been good at putting off Lucky when he wanted a walk, and I found I couldn’t turn down Percy either. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hardly anything.” He took a package wrapped in brown paper from his pocket. Handling it as if it contained fine china, he gently set it on the table. “Just hand this off to Mr. George Rhodes. He’s staying at Shepheard’s in Cairo. That’s it. Nothing to it.” 

 

CHAPTER 2

I’m dying!” Miss Spalding clamped her hand over her mouth for a moment, then removed it again to add, “I feel so terribly wretched!”

I took a clean handkerchief from my handbag and held it out to her. “I understand you feel ghastly at the moment, but I believe such a grim outcome is quite rare when it comes to seasickness.”

Miss Spalding pressed the fabric to her mouth and moaned. When we’d chugged away from the brilliant white cliffs of Dover, one of the ferry’s crew had noticed Miss Spalding’s sickly demeanor and returned with a bucket. Miss Spalding had been hunched over it ever since.

“Only a little longer.” I nodded, indicating the view beyond the ferry’s railing. “Look, you can see the train waiting for us at the quay.”

Miss Spalding daubed her mouth. “I pray you are correct. I can’t⁠—”

The ferry surged heavenward. Miss Spalding groaned. We hung for a moment, poised between the sky and the sea, then plummeted. I hadn’t been plagued with mal de mer. And it was a good thing too. As Miss Spalding’s hired traveling companion, it was my job to ensure she made it across the English Channel, then on through France and finally to Egypt.

I found riding the swells of the rolling sea thrilling—the spray of water as the waves broke against our little craft, the dramatic rush as we rose, then the drop that was so speedy it seemed as if the very deck would fall away from under our feet. But I kept my exhilaration to myself. Miss Spalding was suffering so. I doubted she’d appreciate any commentary on nature’s intense display. The ferry’s crew went about their business, and their faces weren’t the least bit worried, so I assumed the crossing was nothing out of the ordinary. If they weren’t frightened, there was no reason for me to be anxious. My only twinge of concern was for my lecture lantern and glass slides. I’d nestled them in layers of my clothing deep in my suitcase, which had been loaded with the rest of the large luggage. Hopefully, my careful packing would protect them during the rough crossing.

I waited for the next wind-driven assent, but it didn’t come. The ferry settled into a less dramatic motion as we bobbed along like a cork in a washtub.

We rode the more gentle swells for a few moments, then Miss Spalding leaned back and pressed the handkerchief to her eyes with one hand and shoved the bucket in my direction with the other. “Have that removed.”

“Of course, Miss Spalding.” I caught a steward’s eye, and he took the bucket away.

A plump woman in a cobalt-blue traveling suit who was passing along the deck stopped in front of us. The wind tossed the rather excessive amount of feathers on her collar and hat as she addressed Miss Spalding. “Forgive me for intruding, but you’re in such distress. I find watching the horizon to be quite helpful.”

“There is no horizon,” Miss Spalding said from under the handkerchief, which she still held to her face, shielding her eyes. “Only a never-ending bank of gloomy fog out there.”

That wasn’t quite true. The day was misty and overcast, but land was visible.

“Or a stroll along the deck,” the lady in blue added. “A change of situation might help.”

Miss Spalding whipped the handkerchief down. Her face was ashen. Somehow she managed to both pinch her lips and turn them down into a frown. “I thank you for your concern, but I do not require your assistance

 or misguided advice.”

I would have cringed if Miss Spalding had spoken to me in that manner, but the woman in blue didn’t seem concerned. Miss Spalding replaced the handkerchief, and the woman addressed me. “I believe we are quite near France. Not long now. Good day.” The feathers rippled as she turned away.

The waves seemed to drop away from under the ferry, and we catapulted down again. The woman in blue gripped the railing as the ferry roiled.

Miss Spalding dropped the handkerchief. “Bucket! Where is it? Oh, why did you take it away, you wretched girl?”

One of the ferry’s attendants must have been keeping an eye on Miss Spalding because she’d barely finished speaking when he hurried up with another metal pail.

Head bent, Miss Spalding spoke into the bucket. “Why did I ever leave on this horrible journey?”

I was beginning to ask myself that same question. My previous stints as a paid travel companion hadn’t been like this at all. I’d toured the American West with Miss Henry, an English widow with a placid temperament who enjoyed reading and needlework. She hadn’t felt confident about crossing an ocean and a continent alone, and I’d been happy to escort her from Liverpool to New York, then travel by train to San Francisco with her for a visit with her brother. Unfortunately, my correspondence with Miss Spalding hadn’t revealed that she was a different type of woman altogether from Miss Henry.

I’d met Miss Spalding for the first time this morning at Victoria Station, and I was beginning to suspect that agreeing to align myself with her for several weeks sight unseen had been a rather colossal mistake.

But I couldn’t back out now. My only source of income depended on visits to new destinations. Everyone in England was agog over King Tut and the Nile. A travel lecture on the Wonders of Egypt would ensure I could keep myself fed and clothed for the next few years. If I was lucky, the new lecture series might also allow me to save funds for a future trip. But I had to get to Egypt first. And then there was Percy. I’d given him my word. I must get to Egypt. No matter how difficult Miss Spalding was, I could endure her for a few weeks.

The woman in the feathered blue hat and suit adjusted her stance at the rail and glanced at Miss Spalding, then sent me a commiserating smile—which I thought probably had more to do with my traveling companion

than the choppy sea—before she moved carefully away, still gripping the handrail. I dearly hoped the lady in blue was correct and we landed soon. I only had one more clean handkerchief.

A short time later we arrived in Calais. “There.” I stood and settled my handbag on my wrist, then reached for Miss Spalding’s valise as well as my ladies’ traveling case. “The worst is over. You’ll feel much better after a cup of tea on the train.” Amid the bustle of departing passengers, Miss Spalding sat unmoving, her hands still clenched on the rim of the pail. “Miss Spalding? We’ve arrived. You can put the bucket down.”

She stirred and tucked the bucket closer to her chest. “No. I must keep it. I’ll need it for the return journey.”

“What do you mean? We’re taking the train to Paris.”

“No. We’re returning to Dover.” She shuddered. “And then I’ll never set foot on a boat again.”

CHAPTER 3

Iwas by nature an optimistic person, but unease fluttered through me. I traced my hand over my vest pocket Kodak as I thought of the notebook with pristine pages, waiting to be filled with details that I could recount to the audiences who would come to hear about Egypt.

I’d only been acquainted with Miss Spalding for a short time, but I already could see that she wasn’t the wishy-washy type. I was going to have a time convincing her to continue the journey. She still looked shaken from the rough crossing. Her face was pallid, and when she smoothed the creases in the skirt of her wool traveling suit and straightened her hat, her fingers trembled.

“But, Miss Spalding⁠—”

“No,” she said. “Travel isn’t for me—especially boat travel.”

I had to jolly her along. I only needed to get her off the boat, across the quay, and onto the train. I used my brightest tone. “Come now, Miss Spalding, you want to see Egypt. Pyramids and tombs. Hieroglyphics and high tea in the desert. The Sphinx and⁠—”

She released her grip on the bucket and chopped her hand through the air, cutting me off. “I’m not crossing the Mediterranean, and I’m certainly not traveling down the Nile in a boat.”

“But the Nile is calm. It’s nothing like the English Channel.” Well, the upper Nile wasn’t, but I wouldn’t mention that now. “And we’ll be on a ship when we cross the Mediterranean. It will be much larger. You’ll hardly feel the waves at all.”

“I most certainly won’t. I’ll be in England and—if I survive the return crossing—I’ll never leave again.”

Worry settled like a heavy rock on my chest. “But the reservations . . . the hotels, the tours⁠—”

“Nothing that can’t be canceled. You’ll send a few telegrams, and the whole thing will be handled.”

Oh my. This was dreadful. All my plans—my very livelihood for the next few months hinged on traveling to Egypt with Miss Spalding. If she turned back . . . well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

I sat down beside her. If she’d been another sort of woman, I’d have taken her hand in mine. Instead, I leaned forward to convey my earnestness. “Not many people have the opportunity to travel to Egypt. Won’t you regret it if you go back to England?”

“The only thing I would regret is continuing this journey, which will necessitate getting on another boat, and that’s something I’ll never do again.”

I gestured at the choppy gray waves in the channel. “But you have to make the return journey. Why not press on today and take the train? By the time we return in a few weeks⁠—”

“No. I’ve made up my mind. You there!” She motioned at an attendant who’d rushed by. He paused. “I’m returning to Dover on this ferry. Arrange it.”

The young man looked bewildered. She flapped her hand, waving him into motion. “Go on. Let the person in charge know. I’ll pay any fees that are needed. And keep my luggage on the ferry. Do not have it unloaded for customs.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it.”

I glanced across the quay. The customs line that snaked across the cobbles was rapidly diminishing. I could still make the train, but I didn’t have long.

The wind had disarranged Miss Spalding’s hair, and she tucked a few wayward strands under the brim of her hat as she said, “Now, Miss

Windway, I expect you⁠—”

I transferred my valise from one hand to the other as I stood. “I’m sorry, Miss Spalding, but I can’t go back to England.”

“Nonsense. I’m returning to England. You will come with me.”

“That’s impossible.”

“What? You made a commitment to me. You can’t abandon me. You’re my traveling companion.”

“But my promise was to accompany you to Egypt. One could argue that you’re the one doing the abandoning.”

There must have been something in the tone of my voice that indicated I wouldn’t waver. I wasn’t sure how I would get to Egypt without Miss Spalding, but I would sort out something. I separated my traveling case from Miss Spalding’s luggage.

Miss Spalding’s chin tucked in as her head reared back. “Well. I’ve not been around many young people, but I can see that everything I’ve read in the newspapers about the selfishness of your generation is true.”

“My generation?”

She swished her hand through the air. “Flappers. Bright Young People and such.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I buttoned my coat of turquoise gabardine. “I’m rather closer to a spinster than a Bright Young Person.”

She squinted up at me. “Yes, now that the sun is coming out from behind the clouds, I can see the fine lines around your eyes. Closer to thirty than twenty, I imagine.” She looked beyond me to the train. “Now I understand. You’re hoping to catch a husband in Egypt. Well, that at least is a sensible decision. Cairo is a place where a young woman can shine if her debut did not go well in London.”

Irritation fizzed up in me, but I pushed it down. It was true that my season—and those that followed—hadn’t gone according to my family’s plan, but I wasn’t about to delve into that subject with Miss Spalding. “That’s not why I agreed to accompany you to Egypt.”

“Then what was the reason?”

I checked the train. Steam billowed around the engine as figures scurried across the quay toward it. “I want to see the Sphinx and the pyramids and experience the intoxicatingly clear desert air. I want to float along

the Nile and see crocodiles. Then I want to share that experience with others through my lectures.”

“So, for adventure.” Her tone indicated that adventure was a frivolous pursuit. She ran her gaze over me, then said, “Well, that’s an excellent story. Although I think my version is closer to the truth. Since it’s too late to cancel the ticket to Paris, you may continue on with the train ticket I purchased for you. I’ll have the rest of the arrangements canceled when I return to England. I’m sure your journey will be better than my return trip on this despicable ferry.”

A blast of steam from the train engine set my heartbeat racing. There was no time to lose. As Miss Spalding’s companion, I held all the tickets for the journey. I opened my handbag and removed my train ticket, then handed the remaining tickets—a thick bundle—to her. “Thank you for the train ticket.” I settled Miss Spalding’s case on the chair beside her and said goodbye. She was already looking back across the channel.

The deck around me had grown quiet, and the throng of people who’d been filtering through customs had thinned. Only a smattering of people remained. I flew down the gangway, one hand clamped on my hat, then dodged around a few people lingering on the stretch of the quay between the ferry and the train, my thoughts spinning. I’d lost my sponsor. How would I get from Paris to Egypt?

I’d work it out somehow. I’d have to. But the first order of business was to get on the train. I collected my large suitcase and navigated through customs quickly. The bored official only gave my luggage and passport a cursory glance before I dashed for the train.

I’d almost reached the first-class carriage when a cry carried through the air. ...