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

The Fete

Imogen shook her head and watched the kids.

"Good afternoon!" a cheery voice came from behind her, and she whipped her head. 

Andrew was standing smiling shyly to her.

"Hiya," she answered softly.

The children and Oliver greeted him enthusiastically. Brian and Kathy hung on him, Oliver looked like he truly wanted to as well.

"What are you doing here?" ANdrew asked, after the children went back to the ground again.

"We want the monkey!" Brian hollered.

"But we don't seem to be able to get it." Kathy shrugged. "We probably should give up."

"Well, let me have a go then," Andrew said, and Kathy handed him their last ring.

And boom! Of course, the circle flew and landed on the peg. The children cheered, Oliver started clapping. Mr. Kross, smiling widely, passed the ridiculous beast onto Brian's outstretched hands.

"Oh Andrew, thank you," Imogen said - and he suddenly leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"My pleasure," he answered and slowly moved away.

They looked into each other's eyes, and something fluttered in Imogen's chest. He did have the most beautiful eyes, and he looked so dashing today! The blue button up complemented his eyes, and his clean shaven jawline looked delicious. Imogen graphically remembered snogging him, and then brushing her lips to the cheekbone. He had a strong beautiful neck; and then, in her kitchen, she had felt his pulse under the citrus smelling skin drum into her lips. His lashes fluttered, long and thick, just like then, and Imogen loudly gulped, like a cartoon character facing an unexpected aggro.

"Andrew, can we have ice cream now?" Brian asked.

Imogen blinked, breaking the spell.

"It's up to your Aunt to decide," Andrew said raspily and then turned to Brian. "But if she says 'yes,' I'll take you both there."

"Please, please, Auntie!" the children whined, and Imogen of course allowed them.

The kids grabbed Andrew's hands, and dragged him away towards the ice cream cart.

"I do see the appeal of the dark, handsome, and clueless, don't get me wrong, Fox," Oliver drew out, watching Andrew's wide shouldered, perfectly postured back, the kids hanging on two sides of him. "But, seriously, I still can't fathom why you said 'no' to our Sergeant Totty. After all, look at him! He'd eat out of your hands, take care of the children, and you wouldn't know a day of grief."

"He calls me 'Mops,'" Imogen answered, and Oliver threw her a confused look.

Imogen patted his shoulder, and went in search of the 'dark, handsome, and clueless.' She had a few papers for him to sign.

In the morning she hadn't gotten a chance to catch the Mayor, since he had been almost late for the opening ceremony. When he'd appeared on the stage, slightly disheveled, Imogen had had an odd feeling that his hair looked wet. She asked herself whether he'd slept in again. Perhaps, the incident in his bedroom - which Imogen had not been recalling ever so often, thank you very much - had been the beginning of some new ailment that had befallen the leader of their community. Previously, Imogen hadn't known him to either sleep too much - he was a workaholic after all - or suffer from insomnia. Imogen had handled his insurance papers, after all. The Mayor was in perfect health.

Still lost in her thoughts regarding the Mayor's recent strange sleeping patterns, Imogen passed a large red and white striped tent where Mrs. Tomlin, the florist, was reading people's fortune today. She was a known occultist of the town - given the majority preferred the term 'the barmy old bat in a turban.' And then suddenly a large hand wrapped around Imogen's upper arm, and she was pulled behind the tent, into the lush green shrubbery.

She was pressed flush into the Mayor's chest, and as soon the familiar smell of his cologne and his skin hit her nose, she relaxed and readily rose onto tip-toes. Just as always, his kiss was very, very enthusiastic. The man did have trouble focusing on anything but his work - but when he did, he truly compensated for the general workaholism.

Imogen moaned into his mouth and hung on his neck. Since there was no chance for them to proceed according to their usual modus operandi, she expected him to move away, and if she could think, she'd probably be surprised by his fervour at the first place. Instead, the Mayor just went on and on, and Imogen suddenly found his large hot palm find its way under her shirt. Her knees felt weak, and her head spun - and the inappropriateness and untimeliness of their behaviour was becoming less and less important.

And then he shifted, and picked her up, cupping her bottom. Imogen made a happy purring noise.

"I haven't slept well tonight," the Mayor muttered into her neck. "I need to— We need to—" Imogen could have pointed out that he was interrupting himself with kissing her neck, but she'd rather he continued. "I think we should start telling people—" he started.

Imogen jolted in his hands, but before she could react - or at least ask whether she understood him right - a loud shrieky scream pierced the air, coming from the tea tent.