Read Online Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Colton
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brothers…or Yara!” Lucy’s voice raised above a whisper.
I thought of my jewelry hidden under the bed and hoped that Yara wasn’t a jewel thief. “She would make a good red herring.”
Lucy nodded and scribbled her thoughts down in her notebook. “What will you call this book?”
“ Deception at Sea, ” I replied melodramatically.
“Oh, that’s brilliant. I’m so excited.”
I smiled and went on, “We have to give reasons for everyone to be aboard the ship. We know the countess is off to America to see her sister. The Emersons to go to a farm. Yara is following her fiancé. Why were the Beaumonts in France?”
“They were there for the horse races,” replied Lucy.
“Oh, how do you know that?” I asked, puzzled.
“Mr. Beaumont mentioned it,” Lucy replied, just as puzzled as I.
“I cannot understand a word that man says,” I was forced to admit.
Lucy chuckled and scribbled down another note.
I cleared my thoughts and then said, “I just need to come up with a clever way for the thief to steal Mrs. Beaumont’s jewels.”
We sat in silence as we pondered my dilemma.
By luncheon, Mrs. Beaumont’s jewelry was still quite safe. The spark of literary genius had not yet struck. Yara joined us, and we had a pleasant meal in the cheery little café. We were just about to leave when we encountered Michael Emerson.
“Ladies,” he said with that nervous smile of his.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson,” I replied. I then introduced him to Yara, and his eyes went straight to the patterned linoleum floor beneath us. When he looked up, his smile was rather pained. It dawned on me that I had never met a man so awkward among women.
“You and your brother really must join us for dinner; we have but two more evenings until we arrive,” remarked Lucy.
“Two evenings, pity. I hadn’t read the post yet, but I had hoped we’d travel faster.”
Lucy repeated the announcement she had read earlier. “The seas have been rough; apparently, we are soon to hit a storm that will slow us down.”
“Still, six days isn’t bad. My last trip took seven,” I remarked, noticing how uncomfortable Michael appeared.
“Yes, of course,” he said, and then we made our polite farewells to one another.
We walked Yara to the ballroom where the orchestra rehearsed, and left her to visit Francisco.
Passing through a seemingly endless corridor, we came to one of the first-class stairways and found none other than Mrs. Beaumont arguing with a well-tailored fellow. A placid steward played referee.
“You, my dear sir, are a card sharp.” said Maxie, as she pointed a chubby, jeweled, finger in the face of the angry gentleman before her.
With a crisp, distinctive German accent, the man replied, “I am a professional gambler, it is you who are a cheat!”
“Do you know who you are speaking to?” Mrs. Beaumont replied, aghast.
“Yes, the Maxie of Grip,” he snorted, “Who deals from the bottom of the deck!”
“How dare you…” Mrs. Beaumont caught sight of us and called out, “Mrs. Stayton, Miss Wallace, come defend my honor.”
Reluctantly, we stepped beside Maxie, and I asked, “What seems to be the trouble.”
Before either of the agitated parties could reply, the steward answered, “It would seem that both of our esteemed passengers believe the other to have been cheating at a game of poker.”
The acidy scent of cigarette smoke wafted from the men’s reading room nearby. From within I heard a chorus of laughter and a heavy groan. I imagined that among this group the stakes were higher than matchsticks.
Lucy brilliantly, or quite naively, commented, “I didn’t know that you couldn’t deal from the bottom of the deck. Why should it matter?”
The German fellow rolled his eyes and said, “Keep to your checkers, Fraulein
I thought of my jewelry hidden under the bed and hoped that Yara wasn’t a jewel thief. “She would make a good red herring.”
Lucy nodded and scribbled her thoughts down in her notebook. “What will you call this book?”
“ Deception at Sea, ” I replied melodramatically.
“Oh, that’s brilliant. I’m so excited.”
I smiled and went on, “We have to give reasons for everyone to be aboard the ship. We know the countess is off to America to see her sister. The Emersons to go to a farm. Yara is following her fiancé. Why were the Beaumonts in France?”
“They were there for the horse races,” replied Lucy.
“Oh, how do you know that?” I asked, puzzled.
“Mr. Beaumont mentioned it,” Lucy replied, just as puzzled as I.
“I cannot understand a word that man says,” I was forced to admit.
Lucy chuckled and scribbled down another note.
I cleared my thoughts and then said, “I just need to come up with a clever way for the thief to steal Mrs. Beaumont’s jewels.”
We sat in silence as we pondered my dilemma.
By luncheon, Mrs. Beaumont’s jewelry was still quite safe. The spark of literary genius had not yet struck. Yara joined us, and we had a pleasant meal in the cheery little café. We were just about to leave when we encountered Michael Emerson.
“Ladies,” he said with that nervous smile of his.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson,” I replied. I then introduced him to Yara, and his eyes went straight to the patterned linoleum floor beneath us. When he looked up, his smile was rather pained. It dawned on me that I had never met a man so awkward among women.
“You and your brother really must join us for dinner; we have but two more evenings until we arrive,” remarked Lucy.
“Two evenings, pity. I hadn’t read the post yet, but I had hoped we’d travel faster.”
Lucy repeated the announcement she had read earlier. “The seas have been rough; apparently, we are soon to hit a storm that will slow us down.”
“Still, six days isn’t bad. My last trip took seven,” I remarked, noticing how uncomfortable Michael appeared.
“Yes, of course,” he said, and then we made our polite farewells to one another.
We walked Yara to the ballroom where the orchestra rehearsed, and left her to visit Francisco.
Passing through a seemingly endless corridor, we came to one of the first-class stairways and found none other than Mrs. Beaumont arguing with a well-tailored fellow. A placid steward played referee.
“You, my dear sir, are a card sharp.” said Maxie, as she pointed a chubby, jeweled, finger in the face of the angry gentleman before her.
With a crisp, distinctive German accent, the man replied, “I am a professional gambler, it is you who are a cheat!”
“Do you know who you are speaking to?” Mrs. Beaumont replied, aghast.
“Yes, the Maxie of Grip,” he snorted, “Who deals from the bottom of the deck!”
“How dare you…” Mrs. Beaumont caught sight of us and called out, “Mrs. Stayton, Miss Wallace, come defend my honor.”
Reluctantly, we stepped beside Maxie, and I asked, “What seems to be the trouble.”
Before either of the agitated parties could reply, the steward answered, “It would seem that both of our esteemed passengers believe the other to have been cheating at a game of poker.”
The acidy scent of cigarette smoke wafted from the men’s reading room nearby. From within I heard a chorus of laughter and a heavy groan. I imagined that among this group the stakes were higher than matchsticks.
Lucy brilliantly, or quite naively, commented, “I didn’t know that you couldn’t deal from the bottom of the deck. Why should it matter?”
The German fellow rolled his eyes and said, “Keep to your checkers, Fraulein
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