Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4)

by Lynn Morrison

  "I'll sting 'em, Nat. Just wotch me, eh?" H shouts, shadowboxing in the air.

  I snort at the sight, but Edward remains straight-faced. "Your help is much appreciated, H, but we need evidence — incontrovertible evidence — we can use in a court of law. I know you don't want to hear it, but, Nat and Kate, please. We need Trevor."

  Kate glances at me, biting her lip. I take care to make sure my expression gives nothing away as I once again return to my notes. When Edward sees the next page in my pile of notes, he rolls his eyes and groans.

  "I don't know why you make us go through this farce of a planning session if you've already figured everything out," he grumbles, but his smile lets me know he isn't serious.

  Kate clears her throat. "We delayed bringing Trevor into the group for as long as we could, but like both of you, I can't see a way forward which doesn't require his help. The question now is who will be the one to tell him? And how?" Kate turns to me, "Nat, have you got the answer to this problem solved as well?"

  I shake my head and explain, "This was as far as I got before you all arrived. I don't have any preference for who tells him, other than to vote that it not be Mathilde."

  "I agree with that," Harry says, still standing by my chair. Almost as one, Kate, Harry and I all point our eyes to the front of the room. Edward freezes in place, uncomfortable to find himself the centre of attention.

  "Me? Why me? I'm not even a prefect."

  I rise from my chair and cross the room, reaching out a hand to squeeze his arm. "In this case, I think we need to worry more about the connection to Trevor than to the magic itself. You know Trevor better than any of us, Mathilde included. You have a history with him, and he knows you well enough to know you wouldn't joke about such a thing."

  Edward leans away from me, shaking his head. "But I don't know where to start or how to make him believe me."

  "Take Bartie with you," Kate chimes in. "You've both been arguing for weeks that we need to tell Trevor about the magic. Well, now you've got the approval to do it. Seems only right that the burden should fall on the two of you."

  H guffaws, accidentally lighting a nearby stack of magazines on fire. My grandfather hops up to help him put out the flames and then dust the ash away. When all is set to rights, Grandfather stands tall, commanding our attention.

  "Now that we've sorted all the questions, let's restart the discussion from the top. We've only got a few days left before the filming wraps and all those antiques and artefacts go back into storage. If we're going to pull off a sting, capture the criminals and save the magic, we're going to need a proper plan in place."

  Harry, Edward, and I return our chairs, all of us crowding around the coffee table. As our task list grows and timelines fill in with details, so too does my confidence. Beadle and Hobbes have no idea what's in store for them.

  Chapter Eleven

  I arrive at Somerset College the next morning with a clear head, a solid plan, and a task list in hand. As a bonus, I've brought along my favourite sidekicks — H and my grandfather.

  The day is overcast, the weak sunlight fighting a losing battle against the cloud layer. Despite the dreary chill, I'm determined to keep a positive attitude. As soon as we're through the front entrance, I pull H and my grandfather aside and begin assigning our tasks.

  "Kate is phoning Mathilde this morning, and Edward is planning to stop by the police station to see Trevor later. So that leaves the Somerset tasks to the three of us." I open my calendar app, double-checking what is first on our list. "H, would you mind doing a quick lap of the grounds to check for wayward Eternals and to see if you can find Molly?"

  "Don't worry yer loaf, Nat. I'm on it. Where do ya want me ta bring Mols iffen I can find 'er?"

  "Hmm. We need someplace private where there is no risk any of Beadle's Eternals might hear our conversation. We don't want them to have even a hint of what we're doing. How about the meeting room upstairs I've been using? It should be free."

  "Got it!" H calls, already flapping his way towards the sky. "We'll meet ya thar in a flash."

  Without waiting, my grandfather spins around and moves to the stairwell. He glances over his shoulder, asking, "I take it we're going straight up?"

  "Not so fast. I've got one pressing task to do before we lock ourselves into that room."

  My grandfather quirks up an eyebrow, silently asking me to fill in the blank.

  "Coffee. I need a latte, and I know just the place to get it. We should have time for a quick pass by the Craft Services trailer before H and Molly return."

  Grandfather rolls his eyes but doesn't complain. He knows better. A strong caffeine boost is the secret to my morning productivity.

  The film crew is slowly beginning their own morning assignments. I wave, say hello and nod as we stride across the inner courtyard. While the grey sky might not be to my liking, it is ideal for filming the outdoor scenes. The clouds filter the sunlight, eliminating awkward shadows and too bright spotlights. I spy the camera crew setting up their equipment in the corner of courtyard and slow my steps for a quick chat.

  Andy, the more outgoing of the trio, tosses a friendly hello when I get close.

  "Morning, Andy. Guess you're filming the courtyard scenes today. Any chance you know the shot order? I haven't seen Joyce yet to get the daily schedule."

  "Morning, Nat. Yes, we'll be out here all day, and I am most definitely looking forward to the fresh air. We've been cooped up inside for far too long. As for the scenes, we've got Caleb and Gideon, along with some of the supporting actors, on call for the whole day. Depending on how the weather holds, we'll see how many scenes we get through."

  My question answered, I make my excuses, needing to hurry up if I want to get a latte from Sam. I wander off but have to backtrack when I realise my grandfather isn't with me.

  At first, I think he's disappeared completely, but then I spot his white head hidden in the midst of the camera crew. I hesitate to interrupt, curious to see what has caught his eye.

  Andy and the other man and woman on the crew are busy with their tasks, oblivious to the old man beside them. As they check camera angles and lighting levels, my grandfather watches their every movement. His gaze shifts left and right, peering over their shoulders as they turn dials and press buttons, and then glancing at the video screens to see the result.

  The only thing he can't manage to do is peek through the viewfinder. Try as he might, one of the camera crew members is always in his way. I have to hold back a snort when his frustration reaches his max and he finally remembers he is a ghost. He bends over, shoving his head through the middle of Andy's chest, leaning towards the camera. He squints, one eye closed, and checks for himself, even going so far as to adjust the lens.

  He stands upright, looking like a child who has just discovered a new toy. Fearing we'll be here all day if I don't stage an intervention, I quietly call his name, hoping to get his attention. Once, twice, but no luck. He is too engrossed in the machines.

  I raise my voice and try again, hoping the magic will prevent the camera crew from wondering who I am talking to.

  "Grandfather? Alfred? Hello? Are you going to stay there all day?"

  "Oops, sorry, Nat. Those cameras caught my eye when they pulled out all the equipment on the first day at the Botanic Garden, but I was always off patrolling the grounds whenever they were using them. I wanted a chance to see how they worked for myself, and now seemed like as good a time as any."

  Chuckling, we keep our chat going as we cross the courtyard, walk under the arch and out into the back garden. I send my grandfather off to relax at a table while I wait in line for a coffee. It moves quickly and before I know it, I'm standing at the counter requesting my regular.

  As Sam sets the drink in front of me, I feel a tap on my back. I take a quick look see over my shoulder and find Joyce. Her eyes shift left and right as she bites her cuticles. Although Joyce is often frenetic, darting from one task to another, this time she looks agitated.
r />   "Hiya, Nat. Can I talk to you for a second?"

  "Um, sure," I answer, grabbing my coffee and following her to the edge of the trailer. It is just far enough away from the window to put us out of earshot of everyone else. I expect her to launch into whatever is bothering her, but instead she opens and closes her mouth a few times while wringing her hands.

  Perhaps a gentle prod is in order. "Joyce, did you need something?"

  She takes a deep breath and replies in a hoarse whisper. "Normally I'd go to Harold if I thought anything was amiss, but he isn't on set yet. And really, maybe it isn't a big deal… but I thought no one was supposed to be in her trailer."

  Alarm bells go off in my head. "Whose trailer?"

  "Vivian's," she stammers, still twitching nervously. She mumbles, half-trying to convince herself. "Maybe it's fine. He doesn't have his own trailer, but still. DCI Robinson said we shouldn't…"

  I lose my patience with her babbling and ask pointedly, "Who, Joyce? Who is in Vivian's trailer?"

  "Caleb."

  My eyes grow wide. "You saw Caleb Farrow go into Vivian's trailer? Even though the police warned everyone to stay out of it?"

  She nods, chewing on her lower lip.

  I reach out my free hand and lay it on her arm, squeezing gently. "You did the right thing by telling me, Joyce. I'll go see what he's up to in there. Can you go wait at the front entrance and watch for Harold? Bring him over as soon as he arrives, okay?"

  She nods again, sighing in relief. "Thanks, Nat. I was sure you'd know what to do."

  I wait until she darts off before turning around and scanning the picnic tables looking for my grandfather. Our eyes meet, his eyebrows raised in a question. A split second later, he is by my side.

  "Something's come up. Can you find H and Molly, and wait for me in the meeting room?"

  "Of course, dear. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw that young woman's face. You run along, and I'll catch up with the Eternals."

  That sorted, I hightail it over to Vivian's trailer, walking as briskly as I can without sloshing my coffee or garnering too much attention. The last thing I want right now is an audience. It's high time I had a word with Caleb Farrow himself… and not his alter ego.

  My mind races, coming up with theory after theory as to why he would be inside. Could the rumours of their affair be true? If so, he could be in there right now, erasing all evidence of his relationship. Or maybe it is even worse. What if Vivian brushed off his advances, and he didn't take it well? Is there proof of his threatening behaviour hiding inside?

  Scraping through my memories, I try to recollect whether Trevor and his detectives searched the trailer. I rationalise that they must have made at least an initial pass. However, there must be a reason why it is still off-limits to the cast and crew. I debate pausing to ring him, but there simply isn't time. A phone call after the fact will have to do. I'm sure he'll understand once he hears my reasons why delaying isn't an option.

  Vivian's trailer is located at the far back of the lot, on the opposite end from where Gideon's is located. Someone has dressed it up for her with a line of potted flowers lining either end of the steps up to her trailer door. I tiptoe up, not wanting to give Caleb any warning of my arrival. If I'm lucky, I'll manage to catch him in the act of whatever nefarious task he is doing.

  The police tape flaps loose, haphazardly stuck back up by someone in a hurry. The door handle twists smoothly in my hand. Thankfully, it doesn't make a squeak. I slowly push it open, just wide enough to peek one eye inside. There's no one in sight, but I can hear the sounds of drawers being pulled open further in.

  Emboldened, I open the door wider and slide past, not bothering to replace the police tape dangling off one edge of the door frame. After all, I rationalise, the damage is done.

  Inside, the layout is the same as Gideon's trailer — a galley kitchenette followed by a circular booth dining area. Deeper along the wall sit a love seat, armchair, and television. However, while Gideon's trailer was a study in masculine minimalism, Vivian's trailer is the opposite. There are cozy cushions on the love seat, a bright cotton rug on the floor and striped curtains hung on the windows. If this place wasn't roped off, I bet there would be a crush of people trying to lay claim to it.

  But for now, there is only one person nosing around inside. I recognise the male voice right away, having listened to it on set for hours. It is Caleb's voice — and for once, he isn't using old-fashioned language.

  "Come on, mate. Where are you? Where'd she put the bloody things?"

  More scraping sounds and clatters abound from the far end of the trailer, presumably from Vivian's private dressing area. I slink through the kitchenette, past the table and into the living area. Unfortunately, due to the angle of the door into the back room, I still can't see what Caleb is doing.

  I count to three in my head and then step through the doorway.

  Whatever brilliant line I had in my head flies out the window when my eyes land on Caleb's bare backside. I screech out something incoherent and nearly tumble over in my effort to get out of the room. The backs of my knees hit the armchair and I fall into its open arms, slapping my hands over my mouth as I dissolve into a stress-induced case of the giggles. I struggle to get them under control, reminding myself I came here for a reason.

  In the other room, Caleb curses under his breath, and I hear him ripping the blanket from the bed. His pounding footsteps are the only warning I have before his muscular form fills the doorway. His broad shoulders and firm pecs narrow at his waist, which is currently wrapped in a pink and yellow floral quilt.

  He runs his hand through his wet hair, flexing his bicep, and his gaze is thunderous as he glares daggers at me. He takes a shuddering breath as he rolls his shoulders back, and then he stands tall, resuming his standard Sir Christopher posture. I stare, hardly daring to blink.

  Surely, standing in nothing more than a feminine blanket, Caleb won't revert to character. Right?

  He contorts his face, shifting his expression to one of profound disapproval. "Lady Natalie! Whatever are you doing here? This is highly inappropriate!"

  My mouth drops open. "Good grief, man! Are you seriously going to stay in character right now, while standing half-dressed in an off-limits trailer?"

  Before Caleb can reply, another deep male voice booms from the trailer doorway. "That is exactly what I want to know as well."

  ❖

  I rock sideways, shifting to see who has come in. To my shock, Trevor is standing in the kitchenette, looking official in his dark suit and crisp white shirt. His gaze pierces into me before sliding over to Caleb.

  I know Caleb must recognise Trevor. After all, Trevor questioned every member of the cast who was on set at the time of Vivian's collapse. Indeed, Caleb's left eye twitches and the colour drains from his face. Nevertheless, he seems determined to brazen through the situation… in character.

  "This is my fiancée's home. I have every right to be here." He draws himself tall and looks down his nose at us. "How dare you burst into her private domain. I must insist you leave immediately."

  If Trevor were a wyvern like H, he'd have smoke streaming from his ears by this point. His voice deepens even further, sending shivers of fear down my spine. "Farrow, you have two options. You can either get some clothing on and then come back out here as yourself, or I can haul a half-dressed Christopher Wren down to the station. Which is it going to be?"

  Caleb must sense the truth of Trevor's words, because he skedaddles back into the bedroom and slams the door shut behind him.

  I push myself to my feet and knock some imaginary dust from my trousers, feeling fairly pleased with myself. That is, until I glance at Trevor and find him glowering at me.

  "Do you want to tell me what you are doing inside a trailer I specifically said was off-limits?"

  I flinch at his harsh tone. "Joyce came to me this morning, telling me she'd spotted Caleb sneaking into Vivian's trailer. I was planning to ring you, Trevor, bu
t I didn't want to risk missing the chance to catch him in the act," I explain.

  His eyebrows soar up his forehead, his disbelief evident. "The act of what? Showering?"

  Caleb throws the bedroom door open and stalks out before I can reply. Fully dressed, with his hair dripping down his back, he flops onto the loveseat, slouching over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His voice is barely audible.

  "I just wanted a shower, mate. Is that too much to ask? I'm living in a rundown cottage with no electricity or running water."

  Trevor appears unmoved by Caleb's explanation. "So what? You think your body odour justifies tearing down police tape and letting yourself inside?"

  At this, Caleb lifts his head, his expression pleading. "Everyone knows I'm a method actor. It is part of my mystique, a quirk my adoring fans love. But this is the first historical production I've done, and I had no idea what I was signing up for. Do you think I enjoy talking like a romance novel hero all the time? Or living like a hobbit? I went to the one place where I thought no one would catch me out of character. Cut me some slack, mate!"

  Trevor wavers, the lines in his face softening. Caleb's wet hair and hastily dressed appearance certainly align with his story. But it doesn't explain why he was rummaging in Vivian's drawers, searching for something.

  Fearing Trevor will let Caleb off with a warning, I interrupt. "If all you wanted was a shower, why were you pawing Vivian's things? I heard you opening and closing her drawers."

  "Pawing her things?" Caleb squawks. "I just wanted some cotton wool to clear my ears! Besides, there's nothing back there except expensive make-up and scented hand cremes."