Murder Most Convenient: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton Page A

conspirator. “You know, I do so hate to ask, but these past few years it has been such a mystery as to what happened to young Master Stayton, might you tell me?"
       I made the smug smile shared by conspirators and replied, “The family doesn't like to discuss the topic; I gather, as the vicar's wife, you can keep this just between us?”
       “Of course, child, but of course I can.” She was nearly drowning in ecstasy; the thought of sharing such a secret was like gold to this woman, who traded in gossip.
       “I'm sure you knew this already, but my dear Xavier was an explorer,” I began.
       Her little head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes, child.”
       “Well, he went to Italy to see Pompeii, that city in ruins.”
  “I've heard of it, a debauched place, they say,” she said nearly in a whisper.
      “Indeed; so he went sightseeing in the city, and he was enraptured by its beauty. He wanted to see the place from a vantage point, so he hiked up to the top of Mt. Vesuvius,” I told the woman.
        Her dull little eyes were kindled with dark curiosity.
       “He made it to the summit, and then, gazing down at the majestic ruins...he took a step back.” I paused for effect, then dabbed my cheek with a handkerchief. “And by the most horrible of accidents, my dearest love tumbled into the volcano.” 
       The vicar’s wife let out a little yelp and shoved a white knuckle between her yellowed teeth.
      I glanced into the shadow of the nearby doorway and saw that Phyllis was watching me; an amused smile graced her skull-like face.
     
     
     
       The car was bowling down the lane at full speed when Phyllis asked me to light another cigarette for her. She took a long drag and said, “Might I ask you a question? You know I'm not like Ruth; I'm very frank, and you can so no.”
      I knew the woman's question. I didn't mind answering her. “I don’t mind.”
       “Why did you lie to the vicar's wife about your husband's death?”
       She was too sophisticated to pry into my business any further, so I felt at ease to respond honestly, “My husband had intended on becoming an explorer; he wanted to travel the world. Instead, he met me and cut his journey short.
      “His death was not becoming of his character. When people ask me such a horrible question, such a personal question, they deserve the far-fetched answers I give them.”
       Phyllis nodded and replied, “I respect that.” She paused and put her cigarette to her lips. She made some attempt to blow the smoke she exhaled towards the partially open window before saying, “Few people receive the death they deserve.”
       I became the people I despised and asked, “Tell me, Miss Masterson, how would you die?”
      For an instant, I saw past her near-constant grimace and the coldness that enveloped her soul, as she smiled and said, “How did Julius Caesar put it: swiftly and without warning. ”
        I refused to make that mirthless laugh that people are so comforted by. Instead, I told her, “If only we each had a glass of champagne to toast your wit.”
       Phyllis reached out and grasped my elbow with her good hand, and earnestly, she told me, “Child, I do like you.”
      This was a personal triumph. I said nothing more, and we rode on in contented silence.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Henderson opened the car door and assisted Phyllis. As I climbed out of the car, the butler told the driver, “Go back into town. Mrs. Stayton and Miss Wallace should be done with their shopping soon.”
       Curious, I asked, “Lucy went to town with Ruth?”
       Phyllis said something in parting and returned to the house. Henderson explained that after taking me and Miss Masterson to luncheon, the driver returned so that Ruth could make a quick trip into town. Lucy had gone with Ruth so she might purchase a thesaurus.
      I felt a little lost without my companion. Returning to my room, a blanket of quiet