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

Imogen Stirs the Pot

The bell above the florist's door jingled pleasantly, and Mr. Tomlin the florist showed up from the back.

"Mr. Mayor, what a pleasure," he said mournfully, as if a customer, the Mayor or otherwise, was the worst sort of news.

Imogen pressed her lips to stifle a giggle. Mr. Tomlin was known around Fleckney Woulds for his sour temperament and pessimistic remarks he was prone to making to his customers. It was said he was only good at funeral wreaths, while his bubbly jolly wife shouldn't let him anywhere near bouquets.

"Afternoon, Mr. Tomlin. Lovely weather isn't it?" the Mayor asked in a cheery tone, and Imogen started coughing, still trying to hide her amusement.

"Awful for the flowers," the florist deadpanned. "Too hot. And the humidity is just the killer."

"Indeed," the Mayor agreed with the same brilliant smile of his. "Could we have a couple dozen of your best red carnations, please? With those other things you stick into them." The Mayor wiggled his fingers in the air like a witch in a cartoon.

"Roses?" Mr. Tomlin asked morosely.

"No roses, please," Imogen cut in. "Just some fern and baby breath, please. It's a bouquet for... our drawing room."

The Mayor looked at her from the corner of his eye, and his lips twitched. Imogen had said 'our drawing room' - and she stood by her words! She squared her shoulders. She lived with the man now and they had a drawing room. She could make whatever decor choices for it she wanted! The Mayor suddenly leaned and kissed the top of her head. Imogen as much as purred.

"Of course. Excellent choice, Ms. Fox." Mr. Tomlin sounded as if she'd just told him that his cat died from food poisoning after eating his favourite canary.

He then turned around and disappeared in the walk-in fridge in the back of his shop. Imogen walked away from the Mayor and started looking at the potted indoor plants. Maybe, she wanted a palm, she mused.

"Ah, Mr. Mayor! And Ms. Fox!" Mrs. Tomlin's chuffed voice rang in the shop. She'd just appeared from behind the counter with a massive bouquet of most exquisite cream coloured roses. "You should ask for a family discount at this stage. Half of our income comes from the Oakbies." She giggled and pointed at the roses with her eyes.

"Oh," Imogen exhaled and stared at the flowers. There were at least three dozen of them. They surely cost a fortune! And to think of it, Petra might not even enjoy them. Imogen seemed to recall her saying something about 'dying plants' being a much worse expression of one's feelings than the address of a lovenest of Serbian murder suspects.

"We were looking into buying a few house plants," Imogen jumped into the conversation.

The Mayor's lips were pressed in a thin line, his eyes dark blue and glassy, which meant he was overwhelmed by his - fully justified - daddy issues at the moment, and thus temporarily impaired.

"I'm thinking of a couple of palms and maybe this rubber plant." Imogen pointed at a cheery tree in a large glazed pot. "When can they be delivered?"

"To your cottage or—" Mrs. Tomlin gave Imogen a cheeky grin.

"The Firs, please. I— We now live in the Firs," Imogen answered and wrapped her arms around the Mayor's left forearm passively hanging along his body.

The man jolted and seemed to return to reality.

"We do all our deliveries on Tuesday afternoon," Mrs. Tomlin said. "Ben, my son, does."

"Oh I see," Imogen pretended to study some sort of a giant cactus in a pot in front of her.

"Do you want the cactus too?" the Mayor asked in a 'considerate but somewhat exasperated husband' tone. "It's a bit... tall."