Burglary at Barnard: A humorous paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 2) by Lynn Morrison

Author:Lynn Morrison [Morrison, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marketing Chair Press
Published: 2020-07-17T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Saturday passes by in a flurry of food shopping and seemingly endless loads of laundry. H joins me for a quick dinner before darting off for a date night with Princess Fluffy, the neighbourhood white Persian cat. I wonder what Fluffy would think if she knew her boyfriend was a wyvern.

Left alone, I turn on a Downton Abbey marathon, losing myself in someone else’s drama for a night. It’s nice to get a break from my own worries, even though I know they’ll be waiting for me in the morning.

I sleep in on Sunday, barely rising in time to make a morning train to London. I had promised my parents I’d join them for a traditional roast dinner, but I wanted to do a little reconnaissance before I did.

As I’d hoped, Barnard’s Eternals had agreed enthusiastically to act as mannequins for the women’s celebration. The stumbling block wasn’t getting them to say yes, it was convincing them I could help them come up with interesting ways for them to sit and stand. Much like Bartie at the St Margaret gala, they were worried about getting stage fright at the last minute.

I had solved Bartie’s last minute melt down by pulling out what I call my devil voice, issuing a booming command to shake him out of his last-minute nervousness. This time around, I had decided to be more proactive in searching out a solution. I tried looking for mannequin poses, but everything I found looked closer to a clothes hanger than a person.

But the answer to my problems had popped up in the form of an ad on the train ticket website. I was in the middle of booking my weekend travel ticket when I saw an ad for 2-for-1 entry at Madame Tussauds. One look at their waxen displays and I knew I needed to drop in for a visit.

My London-bound train arrives at Marylebone Station on time. The first item on my itinerary is nearby, only four blocks away. I make quick work of the distance, arriving to find a minimal queue waiting outside. A dreary Sunday in early January is one of the only times of year when Madame Tussauds famous waxworks doesn’t have a crowd waiting out front.

Once inside, I sidestep tourists, dodging their camera flashes in my haste to skip past the modern celebrities and superheroes who make up the front displays. Deeper in, I locate the older displays, the waxed versions of Britain’s kings and queens standing in a row for the masses to behold. I slip into the role of tourist, taking photo after photo of the various scenes.

I half hope that one of the waxworks will come alive. It might be possible. After all, last term Kate told us that a statue of Queen Victoria had come to life in a London museum, letting her know that Oxford’s magic was reaching far beyond the city borders. Madame Tussauds isn’t too far away from the museum. I’d like to ask Vincent Van Gogh why he cut off his ear, or chat with Dickens about British literature.

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