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

Back in the Saddle

Imogen woke up mildly suffocated in the tight embrace of the directly elected Mayor of the town of Fleckney Woulds. Said individual was wrapped around her, his hot heavy body separated from her by two layers of their demure pajamas. Apparently, in the man's mind emotional turmoil was incompatible with nudity and unmentionable acts. Imogen didn't disapproved the previous night: as soon as she had been presented with a bed, her head had swum, and her legs had grown alike al dente spaghetti.

Imogen looked at the man, grinned, and felt like pinching herself to make sure they were indeed sleeping together, and everything seemed now in the open, and they had exchanged the Words - and then her smile dropped. She might have solved two big mysteries yesterday - who had murdered Mrs. Fitzroy, and whether John Oakby was capable of emotional articulation - but meanwhile, the town remained in danger. And so did the reputation of the man currently frowning in his sleep.

Imogen sighed and mentally went through her to-do list for today. After the kids were to be driven to school, the Mayor was picking up his sister from the hospital. Police officers would accompany them back to the mansion, and stay with the Headmistress, until Mrs. Roberts were apprehended. Imogen meanwhile was supposed to go to the Town Hall and start a day like any other. Except, it wasn't - and it had nothing to do with her suddenly official status in the flat above the Town Hall; and everything to do with the menace threatening their little town. Imogen sighed again.

"It'll be alright, darling," she heard the Mayor's low velvet voice, and Imogen gawked at him. One blue eye opened. The Mayor wasn't smiling, but didn't look as distraught as he had a second ago. "There's no point in worrying about it right now. We aren't at work yet."

"I'm afraid I lack your ability to compartmentalise, Mr. Oakby," Imogen squeaked, inexplicably falling back onto a formal tone, utterly flustered by 'darling.'

The Mayor chuckled. He then shifted closer to her and buried his nose into her neck. Imogen swooned - and then she felt his warm lips on her skin.

"I thought you were... focused on the work issues," she muttered, and squeezed her eyes.

"I had been worried," he murmured, and the lips traveled lower. The long nose pushed the collar of her tee aside. Another small kiss followed. "And giving you time to get over the abduction."

"Oh? And I thought you weren't... in the mood."

The Mayor hummed.

"Are you in the mood?" he whispered, and Imogen felt a large heavy hand lie on her waist.

Imogen most definitely was. And they still had an hour before they needed to get up.

She twisted in his arms and snogged the Mayor.

***

At work Imogen reassured the endlessly miserable Mrs. Harris; filed several reports, made several phone calls, and it was time for her lunch break. She settled in front of her computer with a cup-a-noodle, and dove into the contract with the Americans. It was an empty endeavour. She was well aware there were no hidden escape routes in it - and yet she had to try.

Her phone rang.

"Mops... I mean, Imogen?" Andrew said, and she put her fork down.

"Hiya."

"How are you? Oakby whisked you away last night, I didn't get a chance to... ask you." The policeman sounded bitter.

Imogen sighed, for the upteenth time that day.

"I'm alright, Andrew. How are you? How's your hand?"

"I've already forgotten about it. 'Tis but a scratch."