Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

A Gnome and a Tart

"Mops, you know I can't tell you any details before the investigation's complete..." Andrew muttered, trying to free himself of Imogen's grip. 

He was in no luck - there was nowhere to retreat, and she was blocking the only exit.

"So, it was a murder, wasn't it? Otherwise, you and Balinson wouldn't be here questioning everyone. Mr. Fitzroy called the Town Hall last night, demanding to speed up the investigation. I need to know how the Gnome died!" Imogen cleared her throat awkwardly. "I mean, Mrs. Fitzroy."

"The Gnome?" Andrew asked, professional interest replacing inexplicable panic in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's how I, Oliver, and about a dozen of her colleagues called her," Imogen admitted grudgingly. "You know, she was small, and sort of... shifty."

"She was your height," Andrew noted, and Imogen shrugged.

"But I don't walk up to people quietly to eavesdrop." Imogen bit her tongue and blushed. She was supposed to be the one abusing their friendship and milking him for information - not the other way around! She resumed her interrogation. "Andrew, was there something suspicious about the car? I need to know because if it were the road, it's a Town Hall issue, and–"

"It wasn't the road, Mops," Andrew interrupted, and sighed. "Mops, I can't tell you anything..."

Imogen had only one weapon left in her arsenal. She wasn't called Mops for nothing. The nickname had been given to her by her sister when they were kids - having caused Imogen lashings of hurt over years - and the basis behind it was Imogen's turn up nose, and... the eyes. They were huge, round, of an odd greenish-brownish colour - and they did stand out.

Imogen moved even closer to Andrew and looked up - just like all those films with Audrey Hepburn taught her. Eyebrows raised, under a specific angle - and cue Puss from Shrek! She didn't exactly have that many people in her life to use the weapon on, since no one cared that much what Imogen felt or needed, to be honest - but she'd been spared several library fines for overdue books, and an occasional driver would yell at her just a tad less for her biking escapades.

That was the first time Andrew had ever been subjected to the Puss Maneuver - and the result was more than satisfactory. He gulped again, and glanced behind him, looking mildly terrified. Clearly, his defences were crumbling.

"Why–" His voice broke, and he started coughing spasmodically. "Why do you even care? It's so not like you, Mops, to bother with gossip..."

"Andrew, please, I properly need to know. It's important!" Imogen cranked up the 'Hepburn factor.'

"Oh alright!" Andrew exclaimed, and leaned forward. His long narrow nose was right in front of her. "It wasn't the road. It wasn't the car. She had some sort of a seizure, and drove into that barn, and into–" Andrew stopped himself and gave her a concerned look. "Mops, I don't want to overwhelm you with ghastly details."

"She drove into a plough, I know, Andrew. Mrs. Harris told me." Imogen pinned Andrew with a firm glare. "What sort of a seizure?"

"The autopsy was yesterday. Her husband had applied... pressure on the coroner's office. But Balinson didn't tell me anything. We will be questioning her doctor tonight. And, Mops, I need to go now!" Andrew begged

Imogen released his sleeve. She needed more information. As much as she hated it, she had to ensure Andrew would let her know the results of the autopsy, and whatever him and the DI managed to find out from the doctor and the family.

"Andrew, could I... invite you for dinner tomorrow?" she blurted out. 

Andrew, who'd straightened out by then and was edging towards the door, froze and gawked at her.