Sing Before Breakfast

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At five to nine Imogen entered the Chestnut Manor B&B. Mrs. Grave, the owner, gave Imogen a jolly wave from behind the front desk.

"She's already expecting you," the old lady announced in a conspiratorial whisper that could be heard all around the - thankfully empty - reception area.

Imogen gave the woman a polite smile and headed to the hotel's restaurant. Danielle Witt and her daughter occupied the best table in the beer garden. Imogen thanked Bobbie, a familiar waiter, who worked in Willie's Chippie shop part-time, for showing her to the Witts' table. Danielle pushed her oversized sunglasses down her nose and glanced at Imogen.

"Good morning," the latter said.

"Morning, Ms. Fox. Please, join us." Danielle made a wide inviting gesture with her perfectly manicured hand. "Allow me to introduce you to Will, my daughter."

The young woman rose and shook Imogen's hand. Imogen could see how the girl's appearance could make quite a few men in this county nervous. Will was tall and long-limbed. Her bright cerulean eyes and dark waves, cut in a stylish shaggy bob, as well as her high cheekbones and her prominent patrician nose, bore zero semblance to Albert Finney-like features of the late Mr. Hugo Staunton. God rest his soul. Both the mother and the daughter were dressed in all black: Danielle was clad in a stylish jumpsuit; Will's attire consisted of a shapeless maxi dress and bovver boots, which made her look like a VIP guest at the London Fashion Week. Imogen pulled at the hem of her boring olive coloured jumper.

She tucked herself on the third table, and Bobbie showed up with a menu for her. While she pretended to read it, while taking measured breaths, the other two women at the table remained silent.

Only once Imogen ordered her coffee and a cinnamon roll, did Danielle take off her sunnies, and focused her dark brown eyes on Imogen. Will locked the screen on her mobile and put it aside. Imogen swallowed a nervous knot in her throat.

"Shall we cut to the chase?" Danielle said. "Both myself and Will have got an alibi for the time of my husband's murder. As you can imagine, we readily let the police know where we'd been and with whom. Hiding that would be rather daft, don't you think?" Danielle picked up her coffee cup and lifted it to her lips. The red lipstick on them was impeccable. "We have no intention of staying on the suspect list," she said after taking a small mannerly sip. "But I've got little faith in the coppers' ability to find Hugo's killer - and I need this crime to be solved quickly. That's where you come in, Ms. Fox."

"Pardon?" Imogen squeaked.

"According to two most intelligent men in this county, you are more likely to solve this murder, correctly and promptly, that the police. And according to one of those men, your odds are ten to one in your favour."

"Who are those two men, exactly?" Imogen asked, flabbergasted.

Bobbie showed up with her tea and her pastry, and the conversation paused. While accepting her second breakfast and smiling at the waiter distractedly, Imogen thought that personally she'd say the answer to her own previous question would be the Mayor and Father Peters, the local Catholic priest - but she knew for certain that at least one of these two men hadn't had any discussion of Imogen's abilities with Danielle Witt.

Once the three of them had their privacy again, Danielle gave out a melodious chuckle.

"That would be Klaus Bjornssson and the Reverend Holyoake," she said.

The unspoken words 'of course' hung above their table - and Imogen had to concede: she'd been wrong, and Danielle had been on point.

"Sir Niklas mentioned that you two shared some personal history," Imogen muttered. "Mr. Oakby and I visited the Hall yesterday. On an unrelated business," she added quickly.

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