Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

Late to the Party

"Imogen, where have you been?" Mrs. Harris hollered, and flailed her arms, splashing the coffee out of the pot she had in her hand.

The Mayor meanwhile pulled the cord out of the kettle, which indeed was smoking, and not steaming as it was supposed to.

"The Americans!" he barked at Imogen, and grabbed the kettle. At that moment the printer spat out three sheets, two of which were crinkled. "The Americans!" he repeated, pointing at the papers with the kettle. 

The water predictably flew, rendering the printer inoperative. It beeped mournfully and jammed the next sheet.

"And she's dead!" Mrs. Harris joined the Greek tragedy style chorus of the roaring Mayor and hysterical beeping of various devices. "Could you believe it? Killed, at the Northern road! On the Mallow curve!"

"By geese?" Imogen blurted out.

This made Mrs. Harris and the Mayor - who was jerking the paper out of the printer with his left hand, while sloshing the boiling water from the kettle in his right over Imogen's desk and telephone now - freeze and gape at her.

Imogen sighed and got to work.

She pulled the beverage containers out of the hands of the town administration and stuffed the pot and the kettle on the window sill. She then turned off and turned on the printer that happily greeted its true master with a blink of a green eye and started printing, buzzing busily. She pulled out the cord from the coffee machine that was still producing the beverage onto its empty bottom, making the evaporating drink hiss and steam.

"Mrs. Harris, we will need more coffee and more tea, please. Would you be so kind as to pop across the road to the teashop? Some pastries would be great too." Imogen then leaned to the older woman and whispered loudly, "We need sugar to keep his temper in check. Tell me all about the death when he's busy." 

She theatrically pointed at the Mayor with her eyes, rightfully assuming that he wouldn't hear or notice anything, since he was already absorbed into reading the still warm papers from the printer. Mrs. Harris gave Imogen a conspiratorial nod and pranced away.

Imogen grabbed the Mayor's upper arms from behind and started softly pushing him towards his office, maneuvering him between the furniture.

"So, what is it about the Americans?" she asked, and deposited him in his chair.

He handed her page one and two, while reading number four.

"It's that motorway contract the county is pushing on us." He vaguely gestured towards the papers in her hand, and Imogen skimmed through them. "The one to go through the meres," he continued. "The councillors and magistrates all voted 'aye.'"

He then handed her the last pages. Even without number three, Imogen could grasp the gist of the letter from the county council. After all, the idea to allow an American construction corporation to build a tarmac near the Western border of Fleckney Woulds had been discussed and re-discussed for the last year. The Mayor had been resistant, and Imogen loved him for it only more. Not loved - respected and appreciated, she would correct herself.

The latest proposal was even more detailed and sounded even more enticing than the previous ones. More locals were promised jobs, and the Americans were now offering an even shorter period of works, and alluded to more subsidies from the Government Department of Highways.

Imogen lifted her eyes from the papers, and saw that the Mayor had dropped his head at the back of his tall chair and was staring at the ceiling frowning. Imogen habitually appreciated his masculine jaw line under the thick dark beard and his strong neck. It had become a sort of a background activity now, in no way interfering with her primary work functions.