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

Three Birds

Imogen gasped for breath and continued, "So if there were some papers that prohibited the sale of that building, and I think there were, because that's what the burglar took out of the archive that night, then Mrs. Fitzroy could have stumbled upon them, and—" Imogen gathered her will and breathed out, "Blackmailed Mrs. and Ms. Sanders."

There was no answer. The Inspector just serenely studied Imogen's face, and she felt blush slowly heat up her cheekbones, like a crepe pan. It surely sounded like she was sticking her nose where it didn't belong, did it?

"Additionally, Mrs. Sanders was in charge of evacuation protocols during the war, and wouldn't she know of the tunnel then?" Imogen gave the policeman a hopeful look, but no encouragement was given. Imogen coughed awkwardly. "And you see, Inspector," she mumbled, "I went to Ms. Sanders' shop, and I think she assumed— well, that I was hinting that I knew about the papers! But I wasn't! I just sort of—" Imogen's nose twitched in her usual nervous tick. "And she gave me this!"

Imogen thrust the paper bag towards the DI, and he carefully took it. He pulled out the contents and displayed them on the table.

"Slave to His Passion," he read slowly and lifted his black cherry eyes at Imogen. "Is this supposed to be a clue, Ms. Fox?"

"It's a gift!" Imogen exclaimed and made vague Jack Sparrow hand movements. "And there's another book! And the four that she'd had on hold for me! And she even gave me a box of biscuits!" Imogen pointed accusatorially. "Ms. Sanders is known to never give any discounts or gifts!"

"Are you telling me that Slave to His Passion, Cooking with Your Toddler, four classic mystery novels, and—" He peeked in the box. "—about a dozen of shortbreads were Ms. Sanders attempt to buy your silence?"

Well, when you put it that way, thought Imogen, and squirmed on her chair.

"How do you know that the papers pertaining to the sales of the building are those that were stolen?" the Inspector asked with sincere curiosity.

"I have photographic memory," Imogen grumbled back. "I remember the covers of the folders in the cabinet, because I'd had a look at the archive when I started working in the House. I never looked inside, though."

"So, what did the cover say?"

"'Oak, Ash, Meyer, Ruth. Wills, contracts, demolition, fire.' And then the registry numbers. It's the block where the bookshop is."

"That's amazing," Balinson exclaimed and even clapped his large square palm to the table. "Can you recite the numbers too?"

"I can. But it's confidential information," Imogen answered with dignity.

The policeman laughed heartily. "You are indeed a valuable asset to the Town Hall, Ms. Fox." 

Imogen wondered if the man was being sarcastic.

"Well, let's do it this way. You take the 'passion' and the cookbook and the novels, after all they were gifts. And leave the biscuits here."

A sudden terrifying thought pierced Imogen's mind, and she gasped, "Oh Lord, do you think they are poisoned, just like the sponge cake Mrs. Fitzroy had eaten?"

Balinson laughed even louder. "I should have a serious conversation with my sergeant about disclosing confidential information to the persons of interest in an investigation."

Imogen clasped her hand over her mouth and stared at the Inspector.

"And no, I don't think they are poisoned," he added merrily. "But it's never a waste of time to check. If anything, our force will have it with their tea, what do you think?"

Imogen spasmodically nodded, without lowering her hand.

"Thank you for your vigilance, Ms. Fox." 

He smiled at her pleasantly, and Imogen bleated thank you's and goodbye's and fled. The conversation had left her quite unsatisfied, and she was mulling it over while waiting for the bus that would take her to the Fleckney Woulds Comprehensive. On one hand, Balinson didn't tell her directly that she was a meddling cow, but neither had he taken any official statement from her. Imogen had watched him - he hadn't written anything down.

And there was still the question of that strange amusement he'd shown when asking her what was written on the cover - as if testing the aforementioned photographic memory of hers, as if already knowing the right answer.

***

On the bus Imogen continued thinking her sombre thoughts, and upon arriving at the school, she headed to the administrative offices. Once again she was asked to wait, this time in front of the Headmistress' door - and the memories of her own school days returned.

She'd ever been asked into this room for any of her own transgressions, since she'd had close to none, but sometimes Olly or Andrew would get her into trouble. There was also that time when she'd gotten in a punch up with Margery Halls over Margery calling Rosie a word that even the adult Imogen would prefer not to pronounce, but which, sadly, applied to Rosie's lifestyle quite accurately.

"Ms. Fox? The Headmistress will see you now." 

The secretary was young, and pretty, and judging by the looks she was constantly throwing at her left hand, at the sparkly ring on it - freshly engaged. Imogen - hungry, stressed, and painfully reminded by the surroundings how boring and loveless her life had promised to be when she was a pupil here, and how the life had kept its promise - dragged herself after the secretary.

Deidre rose from her seat and walked from around her monumental desk. She shook Imogen's hand and ushered her to a small round table by the wall. Imogen tucked herself on a surprisingly soft chair, pressing her handbag to her chest. The paper bag with the books crunched loudly inside. The Scotsman with impressive legs was clearly getting too chummy with Isabela.

"What can I do for you, Imogen?" Mrs. Dyre asked politely.

"I have two matters to discuss with you, Mrs. Dyre," Imogen started in a raspy voice and cleared her throat. "Firstly, I have something to give to you. And I would like you to know at this stage that I do not judge and do not make any assumptions."

Deidra studied her over her glasses, looking suddenly exactly like her brother. "Alright," she drew out. "And the second matter?"

"I would like to ask you for a favour. And perhaps, I should start with it, in case I'd horribly miscalculated and made a faux-pas." Imogen gave out a small awkward laugh.

"Well, let's hear it then," Deidre answered, her eyes cautious.

"Mrs. Dyre, I've given a thought to your suggestion for me to have a conversation with your father, regarding the bypass. And I can't— can't agree on that. Because I'm quite certain that even a private conversation with no disclosure of any official information would be a betrayal of trust towards my work position."

Deidre leaned back in the chair and was just going to answer, but a knock at the door and then the secretary with a tea tray made them both stay quiet for a few minutes. Once the door closed behind the girl, Deidre took off her glasses and pinched her nose - again, exactly in the same gesture as the Mayor.

"I understand, Ms. Fox, that your refusal to see my Father is an expression of the very loyalty that Tommy admires about you so much. But surely, your personal loyalty towards my brother shouldn't stand in the way of what is beneficial for the town."

"I realise that," Imogen answered, trying to straighten her spine, her backside sinking into the weirdly soft seat. "That's why I was going to ask you for a favour. I think, you should talk to Mr. Oakby and share your father's concerns about the contract with the Americans."

"But he wouldn't listen to me. Neither of them does. They only hear themselves," the Headmistress scoffed.

"Then why do you think they would listen to me?" Imogen exclaimed.

"Because Tommy's in love with you and simply can't function without you, while my Father asked for you himself. I'm sure you could establish some sort of a communication between the two men."

The Headmistress made a scornful noise again and started pouring tea. Meanwhile, inside Imogen's head there was this odd loud whistling sound, as if a kettle was boiling out on a cooker.