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

Come Home

"So, who would benefit from Mrs. Fitzroy's death then?" the Mayor asked, and Imogen choked on her cuppa.

"All of them, I assume. So, it's a murder, sir?"

"Her husband seems to think so." 

The Mayor put down his mug, and stretched - his long legs under the table, and the massive arms up and behind him. Imogen wondered if one could die of sudden rush of arousal due to one's all systems going into overload: the Mayor's jumper slid up, displaying the flat, slightly furry stomach, while the view of his arched back was the most sensual picture Imogen had ever had the privilege to observe. He made a half groan, half rumble sound in his throat; and then slumped in his chair. 

"So, we open an arboretum. Mrs. Fitzroy gets a plaque. The town gets its precious Benches." He then gave Imogen an impish side glance. "And you, Imogen, get a raise."

"Thank you, sir." Imogen beamed.

"Alright, and now let's get your bike out of that ditch and get you home."

"Sir?" she asked confused, but he already jumped off his chair and was heading somewhere into the depth of his house.

"Get your wellies, Imogen," he shouted from somewhere. There was some noise, he moved in the back rooms, and then something thudded on the floor. "Where are the damn keys?" Judging by the tone, he wasn't addressing her, but the heaven above.

"They're by the door, on the console table," Imogen shouted to him, while scampering towards the hallway.

He appeared out of the rooms, socks and a leather jacket added to his previous outfit. The socks were duckling yellow.

"Perfect." He put on his shoes and grabbed the keys. "Off you pop."

"But my clothes are still in your washer," Imogen mumbled, pulling on her boots.

"You'll pick them up tomorrow. I promise to throw them in the dryer."

He opened the door, and she minced by him and outside.

***

While Imogen had spent more than ten minutes trying to pull the bike out of the dirty water, the Mayor just grabbed the frame, jerked - and there it was, in all its old and ragged glory, as if it'd jumped into his embrace on its own. Imogen wouldn't blame it if it had. She was shifting her weight between her feet, on the side of the road, nervously pulling up the leg of the Mayor's bottoms, worried to mar them with mud.

"Does this bike have a driving licence of its own?" Oakby asked, giving it a sarcastic look over.

"It was my Mum's," Imogen shared for no reason. 

The Mayor was already heading to the car, carrying the bike in one hand. Imogen predictably swooned.

"Talk to Jones on Yew Lane. He'll restore it for you for half price." 

All Imogen could do was to ogle him adoringly and climb back into the car. With the bike strapped to the back of the Rover, they headed towards Imogen's cottage - which was preceded by a very interesting conversation.

"Where do you live, Imogen?" the Mayor asked, when both of them were inside. 

Imogen couldn't hold back a giggle. He'd dropped her off and picked her up on seven separate occasions. Indeed, his memory was very selective. She gave him the address, and he started the car.

"Is it that tiny cottage on Bjornsson's land?"

"Yes, Mr. Bjornsson is my landlord. The cottage belonged to my grandmother, then my parents lived in it, and afterwards, when my sister married and moved out, I was the last one left there."

"It's the size of a matchbox," the Mayor said warmly. "Vixen Run, isn't it?" 

Imogen nodded. She was quite proud of her home, to be honest. It was indeed very small, but she'd spent the last five years renovating it, and she thought it was quite charming. 

"Appropriate name," the Mayor chuckled.

"Before my grandmother moved in, it was called the Granary. And the land belonged to Mr. Bjornsson's father. He renamed the cottage for my Nana. She was a redhead like me, but attractive."

The Mayor threw a quick look at Imogen's hair.  

"He was very... fond of her." Imogen laughed at the memories of the Old Swede - such had been the nickname of the old Mr. Bjornsson - stopping by their home, when Imogen was about five. He would always bring a box of her Nana's favourite biscuits and stay for tea. They would have been seventy or so then, both of them.

The Mayor parked by Imogen's cottage, and while she was still trying to slide out and off the impossibly tall seat, he was already at the back, unclasping the bike.

"Imogen?" a small voice called to her - and she saw Kathy and Brian sitting on the steps of her home.

"Oh my goodness, what are you two doing here? It's past eleven!" Imogen exclaimed and rushed to them, forgetting the Mayor, the bike, and anything else.

"We ran away..." Brian muttered. 

He'd been obviously sleeping pressed into his sister's side.

"You weren't answering your phone." Kathy's voice was trembling. "Mum's come home, and Tommy was with her. They were... fighting. Can we stay here, please?"

Imogen was already unlocking her door to let them in, it was rather cold outside.

"Get in, get in now," she muttered.

"Imogen?"

She'd forgotten about the Mayor! She twirled and saw him stand on the pathway, her bike again in his hand, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"Is that the Mayor?" Kathy asked in a terrified whisper.

"Get inside." Imogen gave the children a gentle nudge and rushed to the Mayor. "I'm sorry, sir, I seem to have a family emergency."

"Are those your sister's children?" he asked, placing the bike on the ground.

"Yes, and they seem to have come here without asking... It won't interfere with my work, I swear!" She pressed her hands to her chest. "I won't be late tomorrow, I promise!"

He gave her an odd look.

"You can take a day off if you need."

"No, no, it's absolutely unnecessary! Kathy will take the school bus, and I'll find someone to look after Brian!"

"It's past eleven. You won't find anyone right now."

"But I will!" Imogen insisted. "I have to go see the police before work anyway."

The Mayor who was wiping his hands on his jeans froze, and then looked down at her. "Why?"

"Inspector Balinson asked me to stop at the station. We have a late opening day tomorrow, remember? So I told him I'd drop by."

"Is it about Mrs. Fitzroy? What do you have to do with it?" 

Imogen felt like pressing her head into her shoulders and cowardly backing away from him.

"I don't know really..." she lied, everything shaking inside of her. "I'm one of her former pupils. Maybe something from that time... I really don't know..." 

Imogen indeed was a very poor liar.

The Mayor studied her for a few seconds - each of them made Imogen's feet feel colder and colder, and her fists hidden behind her back grow tighter and tighter - and then he nodded and turned to his car.

"Take all the time you need tomorrow. Just give the office a ring," he threw over the shoulder. and disappeared inside the Rover.

Imogen squeaked, "I will," and rushed inside her cottage.