A Woman About Town (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book IV)

It's Raining Men

Andrew stepped out of the Mayor's office. In the last couple of years he'd matured significantly, and sometimes Imogen couldn't even see the dangly boy, whom she'd grown up with, in the collected, authoritative professional.

"We're still waiting for the forensics team from Abernathy," Andrew said. "Frank, you should take your mother home. I'll send one of the constables with you. Mrs. Harris, if you could, just give them a short statement."

As polite as his request had been, it had left little room for debate, and Mrs. Harris nodded and rose, supported by her son.

"How are your hands, Mr. Oakby?" Andrew asked.

"All good, thank you," the Mayor answered, throwing a quick grateful glance at the Reverend Holyoake. "Would you like my statement regarding my movements in the morning?"

"Yes, please," Andrew answered. "Is there a room we could use?"

"I should make us all tea," Imogen said, rising.

"Please, don't touch anything in the office," Andrew said sharply. "It's now a crime scene. Constable Montjoy will take your statement, Imogen," he added. "Please, take the sofa and leave your desk as undisturbed as possible. It has blood on it."

Andrew pointed with a pen in his hand.

"That's mine," the Mayor muttered. "And the fresh one, the splatters that is, in my office - that's mine as well. I cut my palms on the glass near the–" He didn't continue and took a slow breath in, probably trying to take nausea under control.

Andrew nodded and followed the Mayor to the small room adjacent to the office. It was normally used for meetings of various town committees.

"Should I stay outside and let visitors know they can't come in?" the Reverend asked.

"Constable Okeke is outside. She'll take care of it," Jarvis Monjoy answered, his tone level. "But thank you for your consideration, father."

"Reverend," Holyoake corrected the officer.

"It'll take some time to get used to." Montjoy gave out a laugh that somehow lacked warmth. "And the beige uniform is quite a contrast to the cassock too, I have to say."

"The lack of bright colours in your outfit is quite striking as well, Constable," the vicar commented in a pointed tone. "I'll take my leave then. My sympathy in these unfortunate circumstances, Ms. Fox. Do feel free to stop by, if you feel that a conversation could comfort you. The doors of the vicarage are always open for you."

"Thank you, Reverend," Imogen muttered, wondering whether she'd imagined a request hiding behind the vicar's polite words.

At the door, Holyoake quickly looked at them over his shoulder, and his brilliant, powder blue eyes met Montjoy's Turquoise peepers.

"It is Staunton, isn't it?" Holyoake asked.

Imogen whipped her head and stared at the Constable. Had she not, she would've missed his slow, intentional blink. The door closed behind the vicar slash firefighter, and Montjoy made a wide inviting gesture towards the sofa. Imogen sank down on it and sighed.

"Is it really Hugo Staunton in there?" she asked, while Montjoy was opening his notebook.

"Surely, you're aware that I'm not at liberty to disclose anything, Ms. Fox," he said without lifting his eyes.

"Surely, Jarvis, you remember you're in Fleckney," Imogen deadpanned. "And everything will be known to everyone in a matter of hours. And haven't you just taken quite a liberty informing a by-stander with possible involvement in the case, of the name of the victim?"