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

Drink and Butter

Buric was taken away. Andrew rushed into their cottage, followed by two constables, and Buric lunged towards him like a castaway towards a boat full of coastguards. It seemed to Imogen that he'd started confessing even before any questions were asked. Perhaps, his encounter with Hurricane Oakby made a prison seem like a suddenly attractive alternative. Imogen quickly gave her statement, the Mayor was in the bedroom with the little-uns; and then they switched. While heading to the lounge to talk to Andrew, Oakby didn't spare Imogen a glance.

Once their home was devoid of policemen and Serbian murderers, the Mayor had pulled out their toolbox and started on the entrance door. When passing through the lounge, Imogen saw him sitting on the floor staring into his mobile. Judging by the sounds, he was watching a YouTube video pertaining to hinges and shims. Imogen coordinated the bedtime routine. Brain and Kathy wanted to sleep in the girl's bed together that night, and Imogen sat with them. After a bit of drilling and hammering, and then saying goodnight to the children, the Mayor disappeared in the kitchen. Imogen pressed her head into her shoulders and retreated into their bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed, wrapped in her duvet, her knees pulled to her nose, when the Mayor came in. He had two half-full glasses of something amber coloured in his hands. He sat on his side of the bed - still without looking at her - and handed her one of the drinks.

"I don't drink," Imogen squeaked.

"Ah right," he said and took a sip from his glass.

Imogen picked up hers and wrapped her fingers around it. The drink smelled sharp. The Mayor sat in silence, and Imogen could hardly think of something to say either. She threw him a cowardly look from the corner of her eye. He was frowning and looked knackered.

Her mobile beeped on the bedside table, and she grasped it like a lifebelt. The text was from Andrew informing her that both Mr. and Mrs. Buric were now in custody. Imogen squirmed on her spot and simply handed the mobile to the Mayor. He looked down, she took a sip. The liquid burnt her mouth and her throat, and she decided she was rather too old to start learning to drink. She coughed a couple of times and put the glass on her bedside table.

"Is that it then?" the Mayor asked, seemingly addressing the chair by the opposite wall.

Imogen gave the piece of furniture a confused look but it didn't seem to understand what the man meant either.

"Pardon me?'" she asked.

He finally turned and met her eyes. His face still expressed nothing.

"Is your investigation over?" he asked.

Hundreds of different - rather contradictory - ideas were buzzing in Imogen's noggin. She felt like defending herself, explaining herself, and exonerating herself at the same time - it all had gone so terribly wrong the day before and earlier today! - and then something in his question made her do a double take, so to say.

"My investigation?" she asked slowly.

"Yes," the Mayor deadpanned.

Imogen took a measured breath. For the second time in her relationship with the man, she was feeling some sort of an odd tension accompanied by an itching sensation between her shoulder blades: Imogen was growing a spine.

"How is this my investigation?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "You've volunteered to participate in it - or should I say, you took it over? You as much as ordered me to share my clues and... you drove me everywhere!"

"I was not the one kidnapped yesterday," the Mayor answered in a cold haughty tone.

"No, you weren't." Imogen squared her shoulders. She was growing bolder due to the utter unfairness of his accusations. "But you were the one who flaunted his influence in the car wash, and got us the info on the van, and then sauntered into the florist shop—"