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

You Keep Using That Word

The afterparty in the VIP lounge of the club had turned into a proper knee-up pretty quickly. The guests sang, drank, and danced; the queens participated in duets and mingled. The Mayor and Imogen flirted and kissed - she had gotten quite distracted from her investigation - while Rhys bought rounds to the willing punters and the performers, and Viola decorously drank her faux-itos. And then Joy Montague materialised in front of their table - in the outfit she'd worn for her Man! I feel Like a Woman rendition, with a black coat and a veiled top hat added to the mix now.

"Care for a duet, Viola?" the queen asked in a seductive voice.

Her blue eyes were, for the lack of a less cliché wording, blazing. The doctor gave her a soft smile.

"Maybe later," Viola answered. "I have to confess to a certain degree of insecurity after your performance," she added and threw the queen a look from under lowered lashes.

"Isn't imitation the highest form of flattery?" Joy murmured sensually and leaned to their table. "And imitation could never compare to the original. Is there perhaps a song you could accept as a compliment? Or–" She pressed her elegant hand to her chest. "As a serenade? After all, I assume those aren't that frequent."

Viola hummed pensively - and Imogen saw Joy slowly shift her gaze onto Rhys. If looks could kill - or in this case, maybe just slap or flip a bird.

"Would you like one, Vi?" Rhys asked his wife, ignoring the queen completely.

Viola laughed. "What if I say yes? Will you actually go on stage and sing?"

It was glaringly obvious that she thought she knew the answer to this question - but apparently, she didn't.

"If it's something you'd fancy," Rhys said with a shrug, "then sure."

Imogen assumed her face expressed the same shock that everyone else's around their table. After all, it had been firmly established and widely known in the county of Fleckney that Rhys Holyoake didn't 'do public' - be it public appearances, public gestures, and especially public displays of affection.

The queen narrowed her eyes at him. "That can be arranged," she murmured menacingly and then glanced at Viola.

The doctor graciously nodded. Joy rose, sharply turned around, and marched to the stage.

"Are you really planning to sing a nineties pop song in front of a room full of people?" Viola asked her husband, her voice shaking with laughter.

Rhys rose and tugged at his black tie, loosening it.

"You know me," he said. "Leaving no openings for the competition."

"You're silly." Viola giggled, covering her mouth with her graceful, long-fingered hand.

Rhys followed the queen, and Viola addressed Imogen, "So you know, it's all for your sake. I told him he would need to play along with anything Joy got up to, because we need any information the queens have to volunteer."

Imogen's gaze followed Rhys' wide-shouldered back. He seemed even more enormous in his stark black three piece suit, his chocolate-coloured curls in a wild mane around his head. Something was telling Imogen that this stunt of his was only 20% for the sake of their investigation - if at all.

"Oh, we have our next participant," a drag queen, MC-ing the karaoke, announced. "Come up, dearie." She beckoned him with her hand. "Oh, aren't you one of the Fleckney Holyoakes, sweets? Certainly have got the looks. You lot are well known for your singing talent. Hopefully it didn't skip your genes."

"I'm rusty, but I'll manage," Rhys answered, and the audience laughed.

Rhys shook off his jacket, which the MC deftly picked up out of his hands and pressed to her impressive bust. He unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up.