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

The Benches

"Well, I quite see what you meant," the Mayor drew out, giving the meres around him a long look over.

The meres had been around for centuries. Each era had added something to them: hanging bridges, pathways, three gazebos, slowly coming to a sad end in the last fifty years - and of course, the Benches. Presently the park carried the traces of exactly the activities it was used for now - bottles, cigarette packs, wraps, and other rubbish of indistinguishable nature - all the telltale signs of juvenile delinquency.

"Don't we clean this along with other parks?" the Mayor grumbled and ruffled his hair.

"It's not officially a park, so it's left out. Only the Benches are protected by the Town Preservation Act." Imogen pointed at one of them. "So, we restore and paint them once in two years. Mr. Peterson, the owner of the Peterson Hardware, has the supply of the authentic paint."

The Mayor hummed and came up to one of the Benches. It currently sported three obscene statement executed in the aforementioned Sharpie marker, burns from cigarettes, and an assortment of scraps and scratches.

"Is there your name featured on one of these?" he asked, and threw her an impish side glance. 

Imogen who was shuffling through papers in her folder - always stuffed full, always carried with her - froze for a second, and then slowly looked up at him.

"Um... I doubt it. And if it is, it's hardly in this context." Imogen pointed at the graffiti praising certain parts of the anatomy of an unknown Izzy Wilson.

The Mayor took a sip of his coffee and emitted a pensive sound in his throat.

"Do we have any public opinion polls on the area? Anything?" he asked, and Imogen rustled with her papers again.

"I can't say we do. It's just one of those corners that has always been here, and no one actually thinks twice about it."

"So, if we build a bypass through it, whom will we irritate?" he asked, and she snorted. 

She quite adored when the left corner of his lips curled up like that. Well, not adored. Appreciated aesthetically.

"Well, there are two inhabited cottages here." She pointed West with her pen. "The Honeysuckle. There's a family in it, four children. I think they will gladly sell it and move to the estate. Another one is The Willows, that's Mrs. McGillicuddy's residence. She's 92. Used to work in the town library. She's a tough one, might not want to move."

"Then that's where we start."

***

They knocked at The Willows door. The Mayor held the box of sweets they had bought in the teashop, while Imogen hastily fixed his habitually crooked tie.

There was a quiet shuffling inside, and then the door flew open. A pair of bright blue eyes pinned, first, the Mayor, and then Imogen.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. McGillicuddy. Sorry to bother you, but could we intrude for a cup of tea and a chat?" The Mayor gave the woman his most handsome smile. 

Imogen was quite certain that only a blind, deaf, and anosmic person could resist this man when he wanted to charm them.

"You're an Oakby boy, aren't you?" Mrs. McGillicuddy gave him a sarcastic look from under a cloud of permed, pearly curls. "I remember you. Always on time with returning your books."

"I also happen to be the Mayor of the town, madam." Oakby gave her a small ceremonial bow. "And this is Ms. Imogen Fox, my personal assistant."

A bony crooked finger pointed at Imogen's forehead.