Author's Note:
This is the second half of today's double update. Make sure you don't miss the previous chapter.
Love xx
Katya
***
Imogen googled the address of the car wash, and the Mayor started the car.
"So, how's Petra?" he asked.
"She's well. Apart from the broken leg, that is," Imogen answered. "She thinks she's been attacked because of some treasure possibly hidden somewhere on the Oakby land, and not because of the murder investigation."
The Mayor hummed noncommittally. Imogen squinted and studied the man's face.
"Does this not make you curious?"
"Petra not having been attacked by the Serbs?" the Mayor deadpanned. "It makes me relieved. It means you and I aren't dealing with particularly impulsive murderers."
"No! Aren't you at all curious if there's a treasure hidden on your land?" Imogen flailed her hands in the air.
"I'm sure there's plenty. Most of my ancestors were as mad as they were wealthy," he said with a shrug. "My great great great grandfather had the habit of burying emerald necklaces, rings, and earrings in the gardens to present his wife with a map. She loved treasure hunts."
Imogen's eyes boggled.
"And apparently sometimes she'd get distracted and the presents remained undiscovered," he added nonchalantly. "The streak of insanity thinned out after the 1930s. My grandfather was the first sane Oakby."
"Petra doesn't like him," Imogen muttered.
"He passed away when I was 8," the Mayor said in a flat tone. "I hardly remember him. My Father never spoke of him either."
"Did he speak to you much at all?" Imogen asked quietly, and a joyless smile grazed the Mayor's lips.
"Touché."
"I doubt your grandfather was pleasant, even if he was sane," Imogen made a careful assumption. "Your Father couldn't have possibly been a happy child."
"I don't think he'd ever been a child," the Mayor grumbled.
"But he was! And then somehow he grew up into the cold, emotionally unavailable, unappreciative man that he is now, and whose fault could it be? His Father's, of course!" Imogen was starting to heat up. "We're doomed to repeat our parents mistakes if we aren't somehow miraculously healed of the toxic patterns!"
The Mayor threw her a quick side glance and focused on the road again. Imogen pressed back into her seat, internally cursing her loose tongue. Surely, the man didn't need to know about her abandonment issues.
"So, using your logic, am I doomed to be cold, emotionally unavailable, and– what was the last one? Ah, unappreciative." The Mayor's voice was expressionless.
"No! No! Of course not! You're–" Imogen froze with her mouth half open.
The Mayor didn't encourage her to continue, seemingly only interested in the traffic light ahead of them.
"You're– You're wonderful!" Imogen blurted out, and the mayoral foot hit the accelerator unnecessarily hard. The car jumped ahead, and Imogen grabbed a handle nearby.
The Mayor evened out the vehicle and looked at her sideways.
"Of course you are!" Imogen answered his silent inquiry. "You're kind, considerate, and helpful - towards anybody you encounter. You don't treat people differently, no matter if they're rich or poor, old or young, useful to you or a nuisance. My children adore you! Cats and dogs love you!"
The Mayor chuckled. Judging by the faint blush on his cheekbones, Imogen's blabbering flattered him.
"You're an egalitarian! You're a feminist!" Imogen continued. "And you're– cuddly!"
That gained her a guffaw from the man, and Imogen huffed.
"Why are you laughing?! It's an excellent quality, especially in a man who had your Father as a parent!" She pointed her finger at him, although he couldn't see, at least if he didn't want to cause an accident. "And you're an exceptional mayor!"
He suddenly hit the indicator lever with his long fingers, in one of those confident swift movements of his long fingers that Imogen had been admiring for years, turned sharply, and parked his car.
"Are we–"
'There' stuck in Imogen's throat, because the Mayor unbuckled his belt, turned to her, and cupped her face. His palms were pleasantly warm, and Imogen squinted in acute physical bliss.
"You are a blessing, Imogen Fox," he said merrily and firmly, and kissed her.
Imogen had no time to consider the statement. From his kiss and the tender brushes of his thumbs on her jaw, her whole body turned into treacle, and she tried to melt into him - the key word being 'tried,' since she found herself impaired by her belt. She battered her hand on the buckle, released it, and wrapped her arms around the man's neck. He seemed to thoroughly approve. His right hand travelled on the back of Imogen's head, and goosebumps stampeded down her spine.
"Let's just finish this quickly, and go home," he murmured, kissing her neck - and that's when she remembered they were in the middle of an investigation.
And then someone tapped their finger on the Mayor's window - and Imogen jerked and jumped away from him. She peeked and saw an old lady - white curls and lips pressed in judgement. The lady shook her finger at them and walked away, full of dignity.
"Oh no," Imogen exhaled and looked at the Mayor.
He suddenly burst into most gleeful boisterous laughter, and Imogen felt confused.
"In my whole life, I've never been caught behaving inappropriately, can you believe it? Not at school, nor when I was in uni," he announced, his eyes shining. "To think of it, I've never done anything inappropriate in my life! Or interesting! Or enjoyable!" He once again pressed his palms to her cheeks and leaned to her face, pressing his nose to hers. "And then I met you!"
"You'd met me long before we started behaving inappropriately," she muttered, flustered by his intense cerulean gaze.
"You're right, I was an idiot. I could have started snogging in my car so much earlier!" He sounded so jolly! "We have to make up for all the lost time."
Imogen wondered if the man had accidentally consumed some of his favourite Jameson instead of their morning coffee - and then she didn't wonder anything anymore. She was absorbed in making up for all the lost time of knowing the Mayor and not snogging him.
***
The girl on the reception of the Get Klean carwash lifted her eyes from her mobile, and her jaw slacked.
"Good afternoon," the Mayor said stately.
"Good– afternoon, Mr. Mayor," the receptionist mumbled and got up from her swivel chair for some reason. "Are you– Would you like to order our VIP valet service?"
"No, thank you," the Mayor answered. "Could I speak to your manager?"
"Right, yeah. But why– I mean, sure!" She made several spasmodic movements, grabbed the phone on her desk, and pressed a button. "Dave, can you– There's a mayor here. I mean, the Mayor is here. Mr. Oakby the Mayor is here, and he wants to see you."
A loud tirade could be heard on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, the girl was standing very straight and smiling an unnatural frozen smile. The Mayor stretched his hand and beckoned the girl to give him the phone. She moved like in slow motion.
"Dave? Hello. I'm sorry to interrupt you," the Mayor said in his usual calm voice, and silence fell in the phone. "I'm here with my assistant, Ms. Fox, and we have a few questions. Would it be possible to speak to you privately, please?"
The invisible Dave in the phone remained speechless for five seconds - Imogen counted - and then whimpered something.
"He's asking for you," the Mayor said and handed the phone back to the girl.
"Yes? Um... OK," she answered and looked up at the Mayor. The one called Dave, meanwhile, started shouting out some muffled orders. "Would you like some coffee, or something?" the receptionist asked uncertainty.
"No, thank you. We just want Dave," the Mayor answered.
The girl closed her previously half-open mouth and then simply put down the phone, with still panicking Dave heard in it.
"I'll take you to his office," she said.
"Thank you," the Mayor said - and smiled.
That made it worse. The girl started blinking frantically and seemed to have forgotten what she was doing. Imogen could sympathise, she still remembered her first months working for the man and the debilitating effect him being charming had had on her mental abilities.
"Dave's office?" the Mayor reminded her softly.
The girl floundered and rushed around her desk and to the back door, hopefully leading to the 'staff only' zone.
***
Dave was a large man, red faced and most likely hypertensive. He looked utterly worried, but the Mayor's smile and the compliments to the order and the cleanliness of the establishement won him over immediately.
The Mayor and Imogen took chairs across from Dave's desk, and the Mayor were here to inquire into the van belonging to the Buric Construction.
"Well, you see," Dave said and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not sure how to go about it, Mr. Oakby."
"Thomas, please," the Mayor said. "I'm not here officially, you know." He gave the man a meaningful look, almost a wink, and another smile.
"Right, right, that's good. But you see, if it's not an official town business, then I don't actually have to answer your questions, right?" Dave asked, frowning pensively.
"Of course not. You're under no obligation to tell me anything, Dave. It's not an... inspection," the Mayor intonated pointedly, and Dave twitched.
Imogen smiled slyly. The Mayor was pressing all the right buttons, it seemed.
"It would be a personal favour to me, Dave," the Mayor continued, "if you just shared your personal memories regarding anything to do with the van. And besides, you wouldn't be breaking any rules. You did sign the Confidentiality Agreement when you were hired, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Well, you see, that Confidentiality Agreement states that you can't tell me anything about how your machinery operates, and what supplies you use, and all that marketing and discounts, which you have no say in, anyway." The Mayor shrugged and continued amicably, "All of this is the head office's barney. And I'm not here to ask about any of this. I just want to know what you, as a person, think about the van. And Mr. Buric who brings it to the wash."
"Well, it isn't Mr. Buric normally who–" Dave bit his tongue.
"No, no, you're right. It used to be Ms. Kitty Oswood, his secretary, right?" The Mayor's tone remained perfectly light.
"No, not really. It was always that lad, Ben Tomlin, the florist's boy."
Imogen had to admit, the Mayor had a much better poker face than her. She looked at him in shock, but he remained blissfully nonchalant.
"The son of the florist, you say?"
"Yeah, and he always brought the van, and it was full of flowers, you know, on the floor, and some leaves or something, and the lads complained, because sometimes there were thorns, and Pete once had some rash, so–" Dave cleared his throat. "But then that Ben boyo started bringing a few bouquets so the lads could give them to their birds, and they were chuffed, and all sort of calmed down, you know?"
The Mayor nodded as if he indeed knew.
"Well, Dave, I see you don't want to break any rules here, so I'm not going to pressure you into telling me anything," the Mayor said. "You're a good employee, Dave. To think of it, could I actually have that VIP service your receptionist has mentioned? And Ms. Fox and myself will go have some tea meanwhile. Is that tea shop any good?" The Mayor pointed at a small café across the street.
"Yeah, it's alright, I reckon. Good Chelsea buns." Dave looked somewhat bewildered by the sharp change of topic.
"Excellent!" The Mayor got up, and Imogen followed. "Here's the key, Dave," the Mayor said gravely. "You're the only man I'll trust with my car."
Dave's face lit up.
"It'll be well taken care of, Mr. Oakby."
"I don't doubt you, Dave."
The Mayor looped his arm and led Imogen out of the office and onto the small parking lot behind the office building. Imogen gave him a loved-up look.
"So, Chelsea buns first, and then to the florist?" he asked and grinned. "This reminds me, what is your favourite flower, Imogen?"