Paint the Town Red (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book II)

A Visitor... Or Two

Imogen opened the door and looked in the blue eyes of the man on the other side of the threshold.

"Good evening," Mr. Guthrie purred and grinned showing all his even white teeth.

Imogen swallowed loudly and stepped aside letting him in.

"Evening. Please, come in. Um... Sorry for the mess."

"No, no, it's lovely! Absolutely lovely!" he exclaimed, turning his head left and right and nodding several times as if in approval. "Does it have a name, your cottage? Places like this always have names!"

"Vixen Run," Imogen said.

"Charming." He glanced at her hair.

"Belonged to my Grandmother."

"Oh, was she a redhead too? You lot are a dying breed. Good to see you're carrying on!" He waved his right hand above Imogen's head. "So, where's your lovely art?"

Imogen pointed at the boxes and folders she had arranged on the drawing room table.

"Oh lovely!" Mr. Guthrie rubbed his hands. "I'm happy to see it's not just one skinny file pocket. Brilliant! Now we have something to work with."

"These are all old," Imogen muttered.

He'd bent in half and was already carefully flipping through her watercolours.

"Do sit down, please. Then I can get comfortable," he said with a cheeky glance at her from the corner of his eyes. "And I'm sure your shaking knees require some respite."

Imogen snorted a small laugh and sat in her Nana's armchair. He immediately sat on the sofa. His knees were sticking up, since he was so tall, which reminded Imogen how the Mayor had had the same barney. Imogen watched the gallerist's long fingers gently run her drawings. From time to time, he would give out one of his 'brilliant!' or 'excellent!' remarks and continue sorting.

Suddenly the back door of the cottage banged, and Brian rushed in.

"I need water, Imogy!" he yelled and then came to a sharp halt in the doorframe of the room.

"Oh, 'ello!" Mr. Guthrie looked as if a sweaty mucky boy in wellies and rain jacket barging into the room was the best thing that could happen at the moment. "Who would you be?"

"I'm Brian. Who're you?" The boy pointed at the gallerist with a plastic shovel.

"I'm Angus."

"Brian, get some water and go outside again, please," Imogen said.

The boy stomped to the kitchen leaving dirty footsteps all over the floor. Something clanked in the kitchen, then something fell, and then Brian zoomed by them again, shouting, "Imogy doesn't have a meeting! It's just some bloke! And he's not scary!"

"See, Ms. Fox? I'm not scary," Mr. Guthrie said, returning his focus on the drawings. "Did you think I was?" he murmured without lifting his eyes.

"Um... no, of course not. I just didn't want us to be interrupted, that's why—"

"That's why you sent your niece and nephew away?" he asked with a chuckle.

"They're with my friend Oliver, playing outside. They are perfectly fine."

"And so are you. Just one scream away, in case I had some... improprieties in mind," he drew out dramatically. "Trust me, Ms. Fox, all I'm after is your talent."

Imogen squirmed in the armchair. The man chuckled again and went back to her drawings.

"I think we need two portfolios." Mr. Guthrie frowned pensively, his gaze on Imogen's watercolour of playing squirrels in his hand. "One for my gallery, so I can promote your animal drawings and maybe even pet portraits. You have an exceptional talent in delegating expressions, even if it's a muzzle and not a face. That is of course if you're interested in that sort of commissions." He threw her a questioning look.