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

In the Lion's Den

Petra walked as fast as she could, she even considered switching to an energetic jog. Gravel crunched under her feet. She turned the corner and sped up, simultaneously trying to pick up the strap of her briefcase that was sliding off her shoulder and twisting her neck trying to see if light was on in any of the windows of the Oakby Manor.

She rang the front door bell, peering into the darkness over her shoulder. Silence behind the door stretched, and she swallowed the knot in her throat.

Finally the door opened, and she was presented with the sour face of Mrs. Fellowes, the housekeeper. Petra had had several run-ins with the Cerberus.

"Evening," the woman said in a voice as cold as the water in Lake Palic, the banks of which Petra's family had come from when they'd moved to Leeds at the beginning of the last century.

"Pardon me, but I... I need to come in," Petra said awkwardly and then realised how it sounded. "It's not that sort of an emergency, but an emergency nonetheless."

"Mr. Oakby has already reposed," Mrs. Fellowes said pointedly.

"Well, that is quite--" Petra started.

"What is it, Fellowes?" the voice of the presumably reposed Oakby Snr came from the landing of the large staircase Petra could see behind Mrs. Fellowes.

The housekeeper took a small step back - but not far enough for the gesture to look at all inviting. Petra shifted her weight between her feet in unease.

"It's Dr. Nenadovich, sir. She's here," Fellowes said, and Petra sighed.

It was becoming very much absurd.

"Please, let me come in and explain myself," she said to Fellowes. "I'm not here to steal Mr. Oakby's silver or to use the loo."

"Let her in, Fellowes."

Petra was finally allowed entrance, and she stepped into a large hall. She'd been in the manor previously, but it looked quite different now. The lights were mostly off, and the large portrait on the wall to her right looked eerie. Her barmy mind jumped onto Dorian Grey, since the portrait featured yet another Oakby, and Mother Nature indeed was generous to the men in the family. She then thought of the Canterville Ghost. It was her favourite book when she was little; and she'd always dreamt of having adventures similar to those of Virginia Otis. She looked up at the man going down the stairs and couldn't help but giggle. His grey hair looked silver white in the scarce light, and he wore a white jumper, as if to support the mad fantasies of hers.

"Good evening, Dr. Nenadovich," her own specter said.

"I think I'm being followed. I was coming back from the dig," she blurted out, unnecessarily pointing behind her in the direction of the chapel ruins, "and there was a car with no lights, and they sort of crept up after me. And I thought of calling the police, but then I just thought I'd come here."

She finally exhaled the breath she'd held while making her statement. The man stood in front of her, looming in a non-threatening way, and suddenly she realised she'd been quite scared just now.

"You can go, Fellowes," he said.

The housekeeper threw a disbelieving look at his back and then turned around sharply and walked away.

He studied Petra attentively, his face as cold as always - and yet she felt much better just being near him. It obviously had nothing to do with the man himself; it was just about not being alone, Petra told herself.

"I know you don't believe me--"

"Why would you assume so?" he interrupted her in his usual lazy baritone. "You're endlessly bothersome, but you aren't batty."