"Yup. The light was heading right for them, but she must have seen it wobbling or something. I've never seen someone move so fast. Vivian shoved Joyce out of the way, and probably saved them both from serious injury by doing so."
The larger group begins to break up, my uncle Harold signalling for everyone to get back to work while a pair of burly men hoist the lighting stand back into place. Sam tells me to come by later for lunch before heading back into the trailer. Left standing alone, my mind goes into overdrive wondering whether this was nothing more than a freak accident, or if Hobbes and Beadle were behind it.
I stifle a small shriek when my grandfather unexpectedly appears beside me. After his death some twenty years ago, he returned to Oxford as an Eternal. He revealed himself to me a few months ago, but I still cannot believe my good fortune in having a second chance to spend time with him.
He gives me a quick squeeze hello before launching into his questions. "H told me about the incident. Have you learned anything yet?"
"No," I admit. "I was hoping either you or Bartie might have been close enough to see the event as it happened."
My grandfather shakes his head. "Sorry, Nat. Bartie was near the main entrance and I was keeping an eye on the riverside pathway."
I update him on my morning adventures, his expression growing grim as I describe the strange Eternal we spotted in the city centre.
"Sounds like a medieval henchman, one of those men who used to chop off heads and burn people at the stake," he mutters. "Knocking a giant light fixture on two unassuming women would be an easy task for such a person."
I weigh the idea in my mind, but for some reason it doesn't sit quite right. "But why would Beadle and Hobbes want to injure an actress? And why so soon, before they've had a chance to steal the treasures? We're hoping Beadle will follow us to Somerset College and attempt to make off with the priceless artefacts. If something happens to Vivian Edgemont, Uncle Harold would have to stop the production and Kate would put the items back into storage."
My grandfather taps his chin, deep in thought. "That is a very good point, Nat. Perhaps we'd better do some investigating before we leap to any conclusions."
"I agree." I scan the crew, making note of which people were closest to accident scene. "You and Bartie keep an eye on the garden entrances. I'll chat with the crew and see if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary."
My grandfather gives me a quick pat on the back and then disappears from sight. I turn my attention to the people around me. Uncle Harold stands on the far side of the lawn, his forehead pinched with worry as he escorts a woman wearing an old-fashion corseted gown to a chair. Although I can't see her face, it isn't hard to guess that the woman must be Vivian Edgemont. I discard the idea of approaching them, rationalising that now isn't the best time to question either of them.
The camera crew might be my best opportunity. Two men and a woman idle near the cameras, busying themselves with checking the equipment. I sidle over slowly, not wanting to arouse suspicion, but pick up my pace when I hear one of the men mutter, "It's the curse, I tell you. We're cursed."
The other man scoffs at the notion, but the woman seems thoughtful. I take advantage of the pause to interject, introducing myself to the group. The trio back up to make space for me to join them.
"Thank goodness no one got hurt. Did you see what happened?" Turning to the large camera, I add, "Were you filming when the light fell?"
"No, we aren't due to start filming for another half hour," the woman replies. "Everyone was busy setting up equipment, checking light levels and that sort of thing. I'm not sure why Vivian was even out here yet. None of us were paying attention to her. I figured she was wandering around, trying to get into character."
I nod in understanding. "I heard her scream as I came into the garden. I assumed it must have been an accident, but then I couldn't help overhear you saying something about a curse…"
"Don't get Andy started on that again," the other man grumbles.
"And why not?" Andy replies. "You can call me crazy all you want, but I'm telling you, something weird is going on here."
I raise my eyebrows in confusion. "You think a light falling over is a sign of a curse?"
"If it were just a light falling, that would be one thing," he explains. "But this isn't our first problem during production. We've had problems on our main set in London. It is the latest in a series of pranks and annoyances that are quickly becoming dangerous."
Glancing at the woman, I wonder if she agrees. She meets my gaze and frowns but doesn't shake her head. "I hate to admit it, but I think Andy is right. Not about a curse, mind you. I think someone is trying to sabotage the show."
I press for information, but the trio of filmmakers clam up, suddenly realising they are airing the production's dirty laundry in front of a virtual stranger. When Andy suggests I ask my uncle for more information, the other two quickly voice their agreement with the suggestion.
Parking that line of questions, I return the conversation to the most recent incident. "Do any of you have a clue who might be behind the accident here? Did you see anyone out of the ordinary milling around before the light fell?"
"No," Andy replies. "I hate to say it, but I think it has to be a crew member. Who else could come onto the set without being noticed? There are always security guards covering the entrances."
The woman interrupts, "But we've all been on the production team since filming started in London. Why would someone start making trouble now?"
Andy coughs, looking pained. "There is one new person — Vivian Edgemont. She was cast as Wren's love interest about a month ago and joined the production shortly after. But why would an actress want to doom her own show? It doesn't make any sense."
We chat for a bit longer, but I don't learn anything more. Eventually, my uncle calls for filming to begin and everyone leaps into action. I take that as my cue to step away and phone Edward.
He picks up after one ring, as he always does when I call. I get him up to speed on the Torture Museum Eternal, H and I giving chase, and finally the accident on set. He is as stumped as I am.
"It might be Beadle," he mutters. "I wouldn't put anything past him at this point. However, I agree that the timing and the actions seem out of character for both him and Hobbes."
"What do you propose we do?" I ask.
He grows silent, weighing the options. "Two things come to mind. First, we need to get more information on the production troubles. Talking to your Uncle Harold is the logical place to start."
"And the second?"
"I still think we should bring Trevor Robinson into the fold. I know you, Kate and Mathilde are reticent, but we need police support."
"We've been over this, Edward," I groan. "Unlike Harry, Trevor hasn't spent the last twenty years working in the colleges. And unlike you, he doesn't have the magic of Oxford running through his family line. He might not believe us, or worse, he could go public with the information. It's too risky!"
"I know, I know," he grumbles, half-heartedly. "But you did ask what I thought we should do."
Silence again falls on the line, the two of us at an impasse. Then another solution crosses my mind.
I clear my voice and pose a question. "What if there is a halfway point?"
"What do you mean?"
"We need more information from Uncle Harold, and we want Trevor Robinson's opinion on the matter. What if we got them together in an informal setting and brought up the topic?"
"Hmm, yes… that might work," Edward admits. "Do you have something specific in mind?"
"Well, we did finish unpacking the kitchen and dining area yesterday. Why don't we invite Harold, Dominic and Trevor over for dinner? You and Trevor have been talking about getting together soon anyway." I think through the logistics and then add, "We could invite Mathilde as well, to round out the numbers. We'd better make it tonight. The production isn't in town for long; we can't afford any delays."
"I guess you want me to
call Trevor?" Edward asks, although he knows the answer.
"Yes, please. Let's say 8pm. That will give me time to pick up something I can throw in the oven."
❖
Amazingly, everyone agrees to join us for a very last-minute dinner. I make a quick stop at the supermarket on my way home, making sure to grab strawberries and cucumber before I check out. An icy cold glass of Pimm's is a must have on a warm summery day, and hopefully will loosen my uncle's tongue. I need him to tell us everything he knows about the production's alleged curse.
Edward turns up shortly after I do, freshly showered and ready to lend a hand. He hasn't yet made the full move over from his flat at St Margaret. He says he doesn't want to bring over his belongings until the remodelling work ends, but I think he is holding off until H and I get settled. Either that, or he doesn't like reality television programmes as much as H and I do.
We make quick work of the dinner preparations, splitting up the tasks and working comfortably side by side. H, wisely, is staying out of the way, curled up on the sofa, snoring after a hard day of flying rounds over the Botanic Garden.
Harold and Dominic are the first to arrive, breezing in the front door in a cloud of cologne. Harold looks somewhat haggard, a sure sign that he came straight from the set. Most of us took our leave when filming broke for the day, but not Uncle Harold. As the director, he is expected to stay long afterward, looking over the day's footage and meeting with the writing team to discuss any changes in the script.
Dominic looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, which must have been two years ago. The man, with his deep golden tanned skin, bald head and muscled frame shows no sign of ageing. If I didn't know he was in his fifties, the same as my uncle, I'd swear he was forty, at most. Dressed in linen trousers, a loose white shirt and sandals, you could transport him to Ibiza and he would perfectly fit in.
He pulls me into a friendly hug, pressing air kisses near my cheeks in the Spanish style. Once the greetings and introductions are out of the way, he steps back and casts a critical eye over the front hallway.
With his hands on his hips, he announces, "I need a full tour, chica. This house has great bones, but we need to discuss what you are planning to do with it." He sashays up the stairs without waiting for a reply.
If it were anyone else, I would try to stop them. The house is in no shape to be shown off, with boxes, tools and construction materials scattered about the upper floor. However, Dominic is an interior designer and a well-known one at that.
I leap at the chance to get some suggestions. Harold waves us on our way, saying he'll wait until the remodel is done to see what changes I've made. Given how many times he came as a child, I imagine he knows the layout of the house all too well. Edward offers to get Harold a drink, leaving Dominic and myself free to take our time.
Dominic and I are in the large bedroom, weighing the merits of a window seat versus more closet space, when we hear our next guest arrive. I put a pause on our conversation, the gleam in Dominic's eye reassuring me that it won't be forgotten. He's certainly intrigued, not the least because the love of his life made plenty of fond childhood memories within these walls. With any luck, he'll decide to take me on as a special project and remove the bulk of the design decisions off my plate.
I open the front door, fully expecting to see Mathilde, but I find DCI Trevor Robinson instead. Dressed in tailored navy shorts and a polo shirt and holding a bottle of white wine, he looks about as far from his policemen persona as possible. As I stand there, wrestling with whether I should address him as Trevor or DCI Robinson, Dominic loses patience with me and uses his hip to bump me aside.
"Hola," he drawls, emphasising his Spanish accent, "and who might you be?"
Trevor doesn't bat an eyelid. He offers out his free hand and says, "I'm Trevor Robinson. Nice to meet you…"
"Dominic. Dominic Garcia." My uncle's partner shakes Trevor's hand and makes no secret of checking him out.
I nudge Dominic out of the doorway and wave Trevor inside. "Hi Trevor, come on in. I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."
Trevor passes me the wine as he comes through the door, and I send him on into the front room. Dominic, however, remains firmly in place, staring out the door. While I was distracted with Trevor's arrival, I failed to notice Mathilde coming up the front path.
"If it weren't for the Smash the Patriarchy t-shirt, I wouldn't have recognised you," I exclaim as I welcome her inside.
Mathilde smirks back at me and flips her now short hair over her shoulder. "I don't know why I held off on buying anything new for so long. Although, watching you and Kate react to my new wardrobe is an unexpected source of entertainment."
"I don't know how you dressed before, but I definitely approve of this version of you," Dominic adds, looking over my shoulder. In her denim mini and strappy sandals, Mathilde is every inch the confident 20-something she is.
I finish up the introductions and we all move to the back garden, settling on my new garden furniture and enjoying the last rays of sunshine. At this time of year, the sunset isn't for at least another hour.
It doesn't take long for the initial awkwardness to wear off, especially when Uncle Harold and Dominic begin telling stories of my childhood. No one is surprised to hear about the extravagant birthday parties I would organise for myself where even the adults had fun.
I hold my finger to my lips and swear the others to secrecy. "Don't tell anyone else, but Harold and Dominic's presents were always the best. Exotic stationery, shimmery pens, desk organisers…" my voice trails off as I wistfully remember the past.
Dominic brushes off my compliment. "Chica, you and I might not be immediate family, but our spirits are related. I always knew you'd much rather have something you could organise or play party planning with than whatever the toy of the year might be." He leans over and winks at Edward. "If you ever need gift ideas, you know who to ask."
Edward blushes, but I suspect he'll ask for Dominic's email address before the night is over. There are few men in the world who wouldn't like a hand when it comes to picking presents for their partner.
The oven timer beeps, calling us to the table. I dish up a plate for H and set it aside for when he wakes up from his nap. That done, I serve family style, putting the oven-warmed dishes in the middle of the table and encouraging everyone to help themselves. Edward pours the wine, and we all settle in to enjoy the meal.
Over dinner, I wait for the right opportunity to ask Uncle Harold about the so-called curse, half-hoping that he will bring it up himself. But it turns out to be difficult to find an appropriate moment to bring up potential criminal activities at your uncle's workplace. The last thing I want to do is put him on the spot. I need him to open up on his own.
Finally, over heaping bowls of Eton Mess, Dominic rides to the rescue.
"Nat, now that you've spent a couple of days on set, what are your thoughts on the movie business. Any interest in making a career change?"
"Nothing could pull me away from the magic of working here in Oxford," I admit, being more truthful than most of my guests realise. "The film set has been both extraordinarily boring and wildly busy, but not in equal parts." I mimic a yawn.
My comments cause Harold to chuckle. "That sounds about right. We rush around getting everything in place for the perfect shot, and then wait for hours for the actors and camera crew to be happy with the footage."
"Speaking of the camera crew…" I hold for a second until I am sure I have everyone's attention. "I met a few of them today, after the big lighting fixture fell over. They mentioned something about a curse?"
Uncle Harold rolls his eyes and looks over at his partner. Dominic shifts uncomfortably, explaining, "The 'curse' is my fault. I was visiting Harold on set the day Vivian's costume went missing. I knew there had been a handful of other problems. I made an offhand joke about the production being cursed, and somehow it stuck." He leans over, looking serious. "But it isn't cursed. Nothing my Harol
d does could be cursed. He wouldn't stand for it."
Trevor, ever the police investigator, rises to the bait just as I had hoped. "What kind of problems have you been having?"
My uncle starts to brush off the question, but the rest of us are too curious to allow him to get away with a non-answer. Trevor and Mathilde urge him to explain.
"It all started about a month or so ago. Before today, I would have classified them all as nothing more than annoyances. For example, one of Vivian's costumes went missing shortly after she joined the cast. It turned up a day later, buried in the back of Gideon's wardrobe."
"Gideon is playing Wilkins, right?" Mathilde asks, jumping in.
"Yes, that's correct," Uncle Harold confirms. "You'd think it would be hard to hide a 17th century dress in the midst of men's clothing, but that particular costume happened to be dark brown. It was probably there the whole time, blending in with Gideon's trousers and waistcoats."
"What else happened?" I prod him to come out with the rest of it.
He huffs, but drops his shoulders, recognising defeat. "Next, it was the day's footage. Someone deleted the camera memory and we lost everything we'd shot that morning."
He carries on, recounting more incidents than I expected. For the most part, they are harmless, designed to delay production or force reshoots. I keep a close eye on Trevor, watching his face for a hint of what he is thinking.
He doesn't bother with keeping a poker face. Instead, his eyebrows raise a little higher with each story. When Harold finally gets to today's episode, Trevor's brow is wrinkled with concern.
"What does your security team say?" Trevor asks. "I'm assuming you must have one, given the calibre of actors involved."
"They seem as stumped as the rest of us, and there is a limit to what they can do." Harold shrugs. "The London set is relatively small, and once we have all of the crew working in their various roles, there simply isn't much space left for guards to stand around idle. They focus their attention on the entrances and exits or guarding the actors when they leave the set."
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 3
