The Toast of the Town (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book III)

Cliffhanger Alert!

"Allow me to introduce myself," the visitor murmured and slowly looked between all of them. "Since I've invited myself, I might as well forgo proper manners completely and introduce myself. Alexander Volchok."

"We know who you are," Rhys said in a low voice.

The name had indeed been mentioned several times over dinner. Although Imogen's eyes were on the man, just as seemingly everyone else's, she still managed to catch the subtle movements that rippled through their small group as if the Russian stepping onto Fiona's unkempt lawn were a rock thrown into a duck pond.

The Mayor started rising from his spot, while Will's cane was in his hand, lying across his lap, although a second ago Imogen could swear it had been leant against the table across from him. Rhys Holyoake took a stride forward, shielding Fiona, and there was something endlessly menacing in the slow advancement of his massive body, his right shoulder drawn back. Mirroring his movement, Carter, the closest to the french door, placed himself between the Russian and Katie.

"Hello," Fiona said, peeking at the man from behind Rhys.

The blond's smile grew wider.

"Ms. Fiona Holyoake, I presume. Big fan," he said and pointed at his chest with his long, spidery index finger. Imogen noticed slight trembling of his hands. "I know who everyone is, no need for introductions. Except for you." His pale, apathetic gaze shifted onto Katie.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Rhys asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I've come for your wife, Mr. Holyoake," the Russian announced with aplomb - and then burst into surprisingly sunny laughter, appearing rather unaffected by the other man's reaction, which in itself spoke volumes of Volchok's lack of self-preservation skills.

Rhys had just arched his back, lowering his head, only bared teeth and a growl missing in his rather accurate impersonation of a Kamchatkan bear preparing for an attack. Imogen was quite fond of Attenborough's documentaries.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Volchok," the doctor answered and got up. Only Viola Holyoake could climb out of a hanging, egg-shaped chair with such grace, no flailing limbs and writhing torso included. "How may I be of assistance?" she asked.

"I went to the surgery looking for you, Dr. Holyoake," the Russian answered, "but your nurse informed me that you were having a family dinner, and considering the guest list, it's almost as if it's fate that I should come here with my heft." He turned and met Imogen's eyes. "Ms. Fox, since you're the brains of the operation, I consider myself lucky to kill several aviaries with one... stone. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what's in this bag."

He lifted his 'heft' higher and pursed his lips in a sly smirk.

"I presume it's the Reliquary of Eleonor of Aquitaine," Imogen answered, and then added after a small pause, "And also maybe the Cartier choker known as the Blue Dreams."

"Indeed," the Russian confirmed nonchalantly, and Imogen heard someone gasp behind her. "Both were accidentally discovered on my doorstep a few weeks ago." Volchok's voice was perfectly blasé. "The mystery of where they came from boggles my mind."

"Indeed," Viola Holyoake echoed the man's earliest deadpan tone.

"Well, you see, Dr. Holyoake, contrary to the rumours circulating our lovely county, I am indeed nothing more than a modest pawnbroker, operating strictly on the right side of the law." Volchok carefully put the bag down onto the table in front of Will Holyoake. "I'm endlessly grateful that you sent our dear Alan my way. The man worries, you see. I could almost succumb to the delusion that my unrequited passion for the man wasn't that unrequited, considering how adamant he was to protect me from my own unwise choices. Perhaps, considering that I willingly give up these stolen goods, which I have absolutely nothing to do with, you could vouch for me, act as our Cupid again, and convince the darling doctor to grant me one date?"