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

Ties and Costumes

The 'small gathering' after Mrs. Fitzroy's funeral - a hundred and fifty people at least - was held on a Tuesday. Expecting the Fitzroys to care about other people's prior engagements would, of course, be preposterous. Imogen spent the whole morning and afternoon in the office, tolerating the excruciating pain inflicted by the pair of her fanciest, most uncomfortable - and the only pair of - stilettos. She, of course, had forgotten her sensible shoes at home.

The Mayor appeared from his office, his mobile in his hand, two ties thrown over his shoulder.

"The grey one," Imogen answered without waiting for the question. 

The Mayor hummed and attempted the wrap the tie around his neck with one hand. Imogen emitted a - fake - exasperated sigh, clomped towards him, and pulled the tie out of his fingers. The Mayor habitually bent to accommodate Imogen's lacking height.

Let's face it, she had - and had ever had - zero romance in her life, and a negative number of the physical side of the above mentioned romance. But even the virginal Imogen knew what that sweet shiver that ran through her body was. His tanned cheekbone, the thick black beard, the strong neck, contrasted by the white shirt - all of him was right in front of her nose. His eyes were running the lines of whatever email he was reading on his screen, and Imogen saw the lashes flutter. Rarely, very very rarely, and always for no more than a jiffy, Imogen allowed herself to admit that her feelings towards the man involved anything else besides the superficial crush all females and gay men of Fleckney Woulds had on him. And that was one of those seconds when Imogen let herself imagine what it would feel like to kiss that very cheek - and have the right to. Because she could just lean it, and peck it - chances are, the man just wouldn't notice. But to be the one who had him in their life in this capacity - to be expected and welcome to touch him, and to receive a smile in return, and perhaps a kiss as well–

Imogen quickly lifted his collar, deftly made a perfect Balthus - thank you, YouTube - and smoothed out the collar, lapels, and the tie.

"All set."

He straightened up, without looking up from the mobile - and Imogen suddenly felt sad and just the way one feels after eating a whole ball of candy floss on an empty stomach - slightly nauseous and still starving. There was no point in these daydreams. All she'd get was an abrupt and painful return to the reality.

"Ready?" he asked.

Imogen dully confirmed she was and headed to her desk to pick up her purse.

***

The wake had just started when the Mayor stopped his Rover in front of the Hollybranch Mansion. Some colleagues of the late Mrs. Fitzroy had already arrived, and Imogen noticed a few of younger teachers flocking in a corner of the drawing room, talking in hushed voices. Oliver was still nowhere to be seen.

Imogen hadn't managed to get in touch with him. She'd even considered texting or ringing up Andrew, since the latter had mentioned that Olly had been questioned. But then she remembered that she'd been backing off from that supper invitation of hers - the children were still staying at her place - and so, she never gathered courage to pick up her phone to call Andrew.

Few of Fleckney Woulds' 'society pillars' were already there as well: the judge, the priest of All Saints Church, several business owners. The Mayor walked up to Mr. Fitzroy, the widower, with his condolences. Imogen knew her place: she'd get her chance later, when all the big fish were done with the adult talk. Also, she was rather certain that the condolences were given and acknowledged only to give room to shop talk. The fact that she knew what the talk was about and could even contribute to it with a lot of benefit was only due to how much the Mayor involved her into his work. The rest of the Fleckney Woulds' gaffers were much less liberal with their staff.