Paint the Town Red (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book II)

A Visitor... Or Two

Imogen didn't know what sort of commissions she was interested in. Five minutes ago she didn't think anyone would commission any art from her.

"And the second one would be for magazines and journals, because I think editorial illustrations and sort of pictures of the village life is your second best topic. Just look at these sheep! So very John Constable, but more... twenty-first century."

"Really?" Imogen craned her neck and looked at the landscape he had in front of him. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"I'm being a good salesperson. Some peeps, especially across the Pond, will gobble up this sort of... The Haywain's. Don't underestimate the charm of your drawings and my cunning."

"I sort of don't want to sell my drawings through you being cunning," Imogen muttered.

"Well, call it marketing skills, if you like. But honestly, Ms. Fox, no swindling will be required here. There's a market for your drawings, and I'll find it for you."

Imogen frowned but nodded.

"What would you like me to say to put you at ease?" he asked. "I can't swear on my mother's grave. She's alive and well, back in Argyll." He laughed. "But rest assured, I am an honest man."

"Andrew mentioned you're helping police these days."

"Very rarely, sadly. There aren't that many art forgeries happening in our quiet corner of the world. Nothing to chase away my boredom." He laughed again. "I believe I was the only art thief here, and I have retired."

Imogen was just about to carefully inquire more into the personal circumstances of Mr. Guthrie when her mobile rang in her pocket. Imogen pulled it out and stared at the Mayor's number glowing on the screen.

The Mayor, despite being more than Imogen's superior, never rang her up. There'd been that one text, which she'd forgotten to answer, to think of it. And then a while ago he'd rang her up when an old lady had locked him up in a secret tunnel and the Mayor needed saving because he was acutely claustrophobic. Other than that? Never. Except when she'd been the one locked up, in an ice house, by a murderer, and the Mayor first had thought she was having a... nug-a-nug with her childhood friend, and then he'd gotten worried and left worried voicemail messages and then said he loved her.

"Hello?" Imogen squeaked. She didn't want to answer and to interrupt her meeting - but there was a chance something had happened to him! There was a murderer on the loose in their town!

"Imogen? Evening. How are you?" The Mayor sounded... neutral. Imogen could deduce nothing out of his tone.

"I'm well, thank you, sir." Why was she calling him 'sir?' The Mayor paused, probably pondering the same question. "Um... Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Yes," the Mayor didn't sound sure. "Is everything alright with you?"

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine. Excellent I would even say." For some reason she'd switched from the 'sitting upright on an uncomfortable chair in the presence of royalty' voice to the 'terrier presented with the view of a leash' tone.

"Is it?" the Mayor asked in a pointed tone.

"Yes, yes, absolutely!"

"Well, you see Imogen, I was wondering if I could stop by—"

"No!" Imogen as much as shouted and then clasped her hand over her mouth.

Mr. Guthrie continued organising her art into neat piles as if she hadn't just screaming in the close proximity to his handsomely coiffed head.

"You see, I'm busy," Imogen started mumbling. "I can't talk right now— I— I have a visitor— an appointment— And—"

"Oh," the Mayor said.

"Yes, yes, it's just— Um... Yes, you see, a visitor in my cottage."

"I see," the Mayor said just as calmly.

"I gotta go." Imogen squeezed her eyes.

Oh, but she wanted to see him! And they hadn't talked - or anything else - for so long! She'd seen him two days ago, on Friday, but it felt like weeks! It had all been about work and the tension surrounding the investigation for them. And they'd had that odd row - or something close to a row - and she just... missed him!

She wondered if she could just tell him that she did want to see him but couldn't, or perhaps she could somehow hint that she missed him. If not for the gallerist, she might even have been brave enough to say it. After all he was her... boyfriend? The word seemed rather inapplicable to the Mayor, for some reason.

"Imogen?" The Mayor's voice in the phone made her jump up. Because of her internal fretting, she'd forgotten he was still on the line.

"Yes, sir?"

Again with 'sir!'

"Are you certain everything is alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly safe here," she muttered and then lightly thumped herself to the forehead with the phone. 'Safe?' It was all because of that silly joke the gallerist had made. "I'll see you tomorrow at work. Goodbye, sir."

And then she hung up before he could answer, which was entirely not in her character, but the ridiculous tension was killing her. She exhaled noisily.

"Duty calls?" Mr. Guthrie asked, and she could see his shoulders shake in laughter.

"Yeah," Imogen answered eloquently.

The man snorted and continued his work. Imogen made them tea and joined him. They'd just decided on the first two acrylic paintings that could go to the Gallery, when the back door banged again. Imogen turned to shoo Brian or Kathy away but it was neither. The Mayor stood in the doorway, his shoes in one hand, and a cricket bat in the other.