The
Curse of the Blue Scarab
By Josh Lanyon
Genre: Historical Romance & Mystery Suspense
Release Date: December 9, 2016
Synopsis
Who or what is
responsible for the gruesome deaths of members of the secret society known as
the Order of Osiris?
Dr. Armiston, an
irascible, confirmed bachelor who believes in medicine not mysticism, is
certain the deaths are only tragic accidents.
The members of
the Order of Osiris suspect something more sinister is at work. They profess to
believe an ancient curse has been visited upon their society. Handsome and
mysterious Captain Maxwell requests Armiston’s help.
Tarot cards?
Egyptology? Spiritualism? Armiston has little patience with the superficial and
silly pastimes of the rich, but he does love a good puzzle. Or could it be that
he is more drawn to young Captain Maxwell than he wishes to admit?
Either way,
Armiston must solve the secret of the cursed sarcophagus very soon, for Captain
Maxwell is the next slated to die…
Excerpt
I found the place in a
quiet back street some three minutes’ walk east from Piccadilly Circus. A
gilded sign in the shape of a banyan leaf hung over first-floor windows.
The Banyan was not a club,
but an eating-house, with rather a special clientele. It was run by a retired
quartermaster, who somehow made his little pile in India. The man spoke Persian
and Burmese and worked the house with Indian servants. He catered to
Anglo-Indian tastes. It was the first place I was given a spoon for my curry.
According to Maxwell,
men had been known to come home cursing India and all its ways—and yet turn up
at the Banyan within a month. He said he went there principally to keep up his
Indian vocabulary, but the fowl-curry, the chutney, and the fruit were all
excellent and well worth the visit.
Though Maxwell was not
a sophisticated raconteur like Maundeville, he was good company and sincerely
charming. In fact, he was disconcertingly attentive. It was quite a heady thing
to have his complete and unadulterated concentration. I could see no reason for
it.
“How did you happen to
become a physician?” he asked curiously as I finished a long, involved story
that even I could see no point to.
“My father was a
doctor,” I said. “One of those good old-fashioned country doctors who
shepherded his flock in and out of this life for nearly the length of his own.
He was greatly loved by everyone who knew him, and I thought that would be a
wonderful thing. To be able to take away pain and suffering. And to be greatly
loved.”
It was the truth, but
it was more than I had meant to say.
“It is a wonderful
thing to be able to take away pain and suffering,” Maxwell said after a moment.
“Yes. What I failed to
understand was how difficult it would be when, no matter how hard you try, you
can’t manage it. Or when your best effort fails to save a life. It’s a dreadful
thing to have a child die in your arms.”
Maxwell’s somber
expression no doubt matched my own. I said hastily, “Happily, most of my
practice amounts to lancing boils and handing out headache powders.”
He laughed. “I doubt
it.”
“Oh, it’s quite true.
I’m not complaining. The grand career I imagined for myself would have been
contrary to my own nature. I like a quiet, comfortable life.”
He stared at the ale
in his glass. “You never married?”
“No, no,” I said too
heartily. “No woman would have me. Congenital bachelor, I’m afraid.”
Maxwell’s eyes flicked
up. He met my gaze and offered a faint, enigmatic smile.
It was not easy—in
fact, it was impossible—to get him to speak of himself. Nor did he broach the
subject that had inspired this tête-à -tête until at length we settled in a
quiet corner of the smoking-room.
“Now,” he said with a
sort of grim cheerfulness, “we’re fortified and steadied by an excellent
dinner. We shall take a common-sense view of the matter before us.”
“The matter before
us?”
“Your continuing
involvement in this case.”
“I’m…not sure I
follow.”
“It’s quite simple. To
begin with we have poor Scrymgeour and D’Aurelle. Both died suddenly, and
apparently alone. You knew neither of them, but you certified one death and
countenanced the certifying of the other although I believe you thought both
those deaths were suspicious.”
I stared at him,
unable to believe my ears.
“I believe you feel
you’re partly responsible—since you certified those deaths—for the fact that
there has been no further inquiry. I think, too, that you joined the Society of
Osiris because of those deaths, and that you have those certificates on your
conscience.”
“What the devil are
you talking about?” I exclaimed. “I certified what I believed to be true.”
“Would you sign them
now?” he retorted. “I know you acted honestly at the time.”
“Of what exactly are
you accusing me?” I asked very coldly, very quietly.
Maxwell met my stare
without flinching. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Your interest in this matter,
your involvement—”
I said, “My
involvement is simply one of academic interest. You and your friend have
presented me with a mystery, and I mean to solve it. That is all.”
He nodded as though
satisfied, though his expression remained uncharacteristically austere. I
thought his eyes held an unnatural glitter, and I prepared myself for more
unpleasantness. Even so, his next words were startling.
“In thinking over
those two deaths, we must consider points of difference and of similarity. Both
these poor fellows were bachelors, and both had independent means.”
“You believe their
deaths are connected by something other than the Mummy?”
“I do. Perhaps you
don’t know where their property went?”
“Well?”
“Miss Hennessey.”
I think I gaped at
him. Not at the information itself, but the fact he had essentially accused the
poor girl of murder.
I said as much, though
I tried to keep my tone neutral. “Then you suspect Miss Hennessey of somehow
engineering their deaths?”
It was Maxwell’s turn
to look astonished. “Nora? Of course not. I bring up the matter only because
you’re a bachelor too, though not so well provided as they were with this
world’s goods. You’re an older man also.”
I laughed. He was rude
and ridiculous, but I don’t suppose he realized that—or cared. “True on all
counts, I’m afraid. Furthermore, I’m an observer, not a participant in this
little misadventure of yours. So if your concern is for my safety, you may rest
easy. I don’t believe either Miss Hennessey or the Mummy are after me.”
“I think you should
retire from the case, all the same.”
I stared. He appeared
to be quite serious.
“What’s brought about
this change of heart?” I inquired. “You weren’t concerned for my safety five
days ago.”
“Five days ago you
weren’t taking tea with Miss Hennessey or having dinner with Maundeville.
I—we—didn’t then appreciate the fact that there might be risk to you.” His
throat jumped as he swallowed. He looked genuinely worried. “Enough people have
died, Armiston. I wouldn’t like something to happen to you on our account.”
“You and Perceval have
decided this between you?”
“Er…yes.” It was such
an obvious lie, I almost laughed. I was too offended to find the situation
humorous, however.
“I see.”
“It’s not that we’re
unappreciative.”
“No. You’ve expressed
your appreciation most originally.”
His brows drew
together. “We should never have dragged you into this matter. That’s the
truth.”
“Possibly not. But you
did—I won’t say dragged me because I joined the expedition willingly
enough—invite me, and there’s no going back now.”
“Of course there is.”
I shook my head. “I
told you both before that I did not need your permission to continue my
investigations. Such as they are.”
He leaned forward,
saying with quiet intensity, “You must stop, Quentin.”
I was so surprised he
knew my Christian name it took me a moment to collect my thoughts. “Shall I
tell you what I think this is?”
“I’m telling you what
it is!”
I shook my head. “I
believe you’ve recently learned the cards are about to be drawn again. I
believe you’re convinced that this time you’ll receive the Priestess. And I
believe that you’re afraid that because of my…” I didn’t quite know how to
phrase it without making matters more awkward than they were. I settled on,
“…respect for you, I may act rashly and come to harm.”
Even in the muted
light I could see he flushed and then paled. “I don’t think any such thing.”
“I hope not. I hope
you don’t think I’m such a fool.”
“I don’t. Of course I
don’t.” He looked stricken.
“However great
my…respect for you, I’m not a man prone to rash or incautious action. I’m not
the dashing hero of a romance novel. Frankly, you would be better suited to
such a role than I.”
He opened his mouth,
closed it, and swallowed. “I wasn’t suggesting—”
“Let’s consider the
matter closed. You’ve said what you needed to say, and I’ve given you my
answer.”
“Very well,” he said
stiffly.
Shortly after, Maxwell
and I parted. I think he couldn’t escape fast enough.
Meet
the Author
Bestselling
author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty
mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has
been called "arguably the single most influential voice in m/m romance
today."
Her work has
been translated into nine languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first
male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance
publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first
M/M title to be published in print. The Adrien English series was awarded the
2nd Annual All Time Favorite Male Male Couple by the Goodreads M/M Group. Josh
is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay
Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime
Achievement award.
Josh is married
and lives in Southern California.
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