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

Bella and Aventador

"Bloody hell... Bloody sodding hell..." Oliver clearly had trouble coming up with anything more coherent to say.

"My thoughts exactly," muttered Imogen.

She'd sort of imagined a tiny closet, with a shelf, which Olly's milk jug would be sharing with some lonely china doll, or something. They were currently standing in a large study, which had been renovated, its style hideously clashing with the decor of the mansion. Everything here was black and white and chrome, just as the late Mrs. Fitzroy had fancied it.

One of the three walls had been fitted with glass door cabinetry - and behind the glass a mad assortment of most bewildering objects was presently making Imogen's head spin. Dolls, porcelain statuettes, dishes and cups, wooden carved figurines, a pair of vintage shoes, two African masks, a North American aboriginal dream catcher, five hats, hung flat on the wall, candlesticks and - to Imogen's complete terror, one of her old drawings - a portrait of Edward Rochester, as he had been imagined by the fifteen year old Mops Fox.

"Bloody hell..." Oliver once again choked out. 

Imogen gathered her will and stepped forward. "We need to find your jug."

"But... All these people!" Oliver gestured over the cabinet. "All these poor, poor souls!"

"Olly, we can't do anything now. I think someone might notice if we suddenly appear in the drawing room with our hands full of knick knacks!" Imogen hissed at him. "Grab your jug, and it's time to bolt."

They started examining a shelf after shelf, and Imogen's photographic memory was cataloguing the items without her participation.

And then she froze, while Oliver was still peering into the cabinet, almost pressing his nose to the glass.

A pair of blank eyes was staring at Imogen - and she recognised the 'sister' of the Chelsea figurine of Commedia Dell'Arte Harlequin, which according to the insurance papers Imogen had filled in herself, was securely kept in a locked cabinet in Mayor Oakby's bedroom. Imogen hadn't been to the bedroom - but she'd seen the photos and also had read the description. Three figurines, presumably a part of the original set of five, had been in the Oakby family's possession for the last ninety years; and each of the children had received one for their sixth birthday. After Robert Oakby, the Mayor's Uncle died in a car accident twelve years ago, his Dottore returned into the family vault in the county bank. And here, it was clearly Deidre's Isabella who was giving Imogen a sad knowing look.

"Bloody sodding hell," Imogen exhaled, jerked the door open, and grabbed the doll.

"What the hell, Imogen?" Olly hissed. 

Imogen meanwhile was trying to stuff Isabella into her clutch. 

"Fox, have you lost the plot?"

"I'll explain later, Oliver. Find your jug, and—"

"Is that your Rochester?!" Oliver was clearly catching up.

"Olly!"

"Right, yes, the jug."

***

The rest of the week was busy, with the Americans ever so insistent to speed up the motorway construction. And then Saturday came, and Imogen and the children, their hair brushed and clothes ironed, arrived at Mrs. Dyre's cottage. Kathy was quiet, it was her Headmistress after all. Brian kept asking about their host's sons.

"Their names are Philip and Killian. They are twelve and nine, and you will be perfectly polite with them," Imogen repeated yet again, and the boy nodded enthusiastically.