by Alana Ling
‘Joanna, it’s Arthur,’ the man running for mayor said on the other end.
‘Hi, Arthur. How can I help?’
‘My suit is missing, Joanna,’ he said, all business.
I nodded, urging him to get on with his point with my powers of telepathy.
‘And how can I help, Arthur?’ I asked.
‘You ought to find it of course. I’m at the tailor’s and he’s saying my suit has been picked up already. Now I don’t have a suit to wear at the gala,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘That is your job, isn’t it? To help with everything to do with the gala?’
I would certainly miss Harold when he stepped down in a few months. And if the polls were any indication, I was on the phone with the future mayor. Harold certainly had his flaws, but he was an amazing man and an even better politician; something that couldn’t be said for Arthur.
‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘Which tailors are you at? I’m coming over.’
Winterbourne’s was one of the oldest and most prestigious tailors in town. With an established date of 1961, the year the town came about, it was the closest thing we had to a historic shop. And the prices were just about right for its history.
I wasn’t surprised to find that Arthur had used that tailor. What I was surprised to find out was that he had used Harold’s account to pay for it, which in effect was being paid for by every single tax-paying citizen of our little coast.
‘This is a disaster. How am I to present myself in front of all these people? What am I to do?’ He kept going on, making me wish I could tell him to shut it.
The chamomile he emitted contradicted his appalling behaviour, making me feel nauseated instead of relaxed.
‘We can get you a ready-made suit, Arthur. It’s not the end of the world,’ I told him.
He gasped. ‘Not the end of the world? Not the end of the world? I have never in my life worn a ready-made suit and I am not about to start now. The sheer thought that I would wear something “off the rack” is abhorrent, dear girl.’
I couldn’t slap the future mayor without repercussions, could I? ‘Let’s allow Mr. Winterbourne to look into the matter first, before jumping into anything rush, shall we?’ I said and turned back to the empty counter, vacated only minutes before by the owner, Mr. Jones Winterbourne, an old man with a heart of gold and a staple of this town.
‘What on earth is taking him so long?’ Arthur vexed behind me.
I bit my tongue. ‘He won’t be long, I’m sure.’
The old-fashioned bell of the shop chimed and we all turned to see a fine young man walk in: an average height blond marvel with green eyes and a skinny grey suit that accentuated his best features, namely his chest and muscles. I looked over to Sam who was staring at the man’s chest hair.
‘Ollie!’ I shouted, my mouth salivating from his blueberry flavour, and ran over to him for a big hug. ‘How are you, you little mug?’ I asked, punching him on the shoulder with a laugh.
‘Oh, Joanna, so good to see you after all this time. It’s been what? A year?’ he said.
‘Probably longer,’ I said. ‘How have you been? What are you doing here? I thought you were arriving on Friday?’
Ollie and I had spent most of our childhood hanging out together when our parents went fishing and yachting. He was my childhood best friend and the Young’s only son. He had left town just as I’d got married and had been studying since in hope of taking over from his father one day.
Mr. Winterbourne returned to the room, apparent by the musty smell that followed him at any given time. I turned to ensure I was correct and a taste of liquorice invaded the sweetness in mouth.
‘Unfortunately, I haven’t found anything, Mr. Foster, sir. I have no idea as to how this has happened. There is a detailed system in place here. I can’t imagine how this one slipped through.’ The man’s voice was croaky and fragile, which made Arthur’s exasperation all the more irritating.
‘Oh, for the love of…you’re responsible for this, you need to sort it,’ he told me.
I cocked my head and stared at the man of the hour. ‘Arthur, I’m not a witch. I can’t just make your suit appear out of nowhere, nor can I magic you a new one. Please be rational.’
I might have been scared of Poppy, but men like Arthur twisted my stomach, and I’d be damned if I let him get away with talking to me like I was his pet.
‘Oh, I might be able to help with that,’ Ollie cut in. ‘Are you perhaps in pursuit of a black tailor-made suit?’
I nodded as he placed a suit cover on the counter and unzipped it.
‘I was bringing this back as it was a tad too small for me when I tried it on and then, when I checked the name tag, I realised it wasn’t mine,’ Ollie explained.
Mr. Winterbourne grabbed his chest and examined the interior of the bag. ‘Oh, but of course, Mr. Young, sir. How could I forget? You only came yesterday. And I thought it was odd that your suit was still in the back.’
‘How could this have happened? That’s ludicrous,’ Arthur yelled.
‘I apologise, Mr. Foster, sir. Mix-ups occasionally take place, especially for suits on the same account,’ Mr. Winterbourne explained.
Oliver scoffed. ‘Wait a minute! You’re using my dad’s account for this? This is what’s ludicrous, I’d say. You’re not even mayor yet, Arthur. Jesus!’
‘Yes,’ Arthur snapped, while also grabbing the hanger of his suit. ‘But soon, I will be,’ he hissed and left the shop without another word.
‘What a god-awful man,’ Sam said.
‘Yep,’ I said and turned to Ollie. ‘You’re a lifesaver, sweetie. God knows what he would have done if we hadn’t found his suit.’
‘Nonsense.’ he chuckled. ‘Where are your manners, Jo?’
I looked around, thinking for a second that I’d forgotten something, and then realised what Ollie was talking about when he extended his hand to Sam.
‘Oh, yes, sorry. This my PA, Samantha Tully. Samantha, this is Oliver Young, Harold’s son and Haven’s most eligible bachelor. Don’t forget,’ I said.
Sam took his hand, but instead of shaking it, Ollie kissed the back of it.
‘Enchantée,’ he whispered.
Sam winced and nodded at the young man. ‘Sure, whatever you said.’ She giggled.
‘Are you from Haven? I reckon I’d have seen you before if you were?’
‘Do you remember all the town’s citizens?’ she asked him.
‘Only the most dashing, Miss Tully.’ He smirked.
‘Oh, okay. Cool. Call me Samantha, by the way,’ she said and then turned to me. ‘Can we go back to the office now?’
I never thought of Sam as one unable to take a compliment, so I wasn’t sure if she disliked Ollie or felt threatened by him in some way. So, I did the noble thing and got her out of there.
‘I’ll see you soon, Ollie,’ I said and we dashed out into the street.
When we were out of view and potential earshot I turned to her. ‘Are you okay?’
Sam leaned against a bricked wall and swooned. ‘Oh, my God! What a man! What does he taste like?’
I laughed. ‘Ollie tastes of blueberries.’
Sam grimaced. ‘Huh, that’s not the best flavour to go with cucumber.’
I laughed. ‘So, you do like him?’
She nodded. ‘What is there not to like?’
‘Uhm, Sam, you looked as if you were going to be sick in there,’ I said.
‘I was. Could you smell that?’
I burst out laughing. ‘That would be Mr. Winterbourne.’
After five, and scrabbling for things to do when the majority had been sorted out by Sam, we switched off our laptops, Devi closed Bean Therapy and we moved over to the Oak Tavern for a well-needed glass of gin and tonic.
Jamie, my friend who worked at the Oak, served us our drinks as his last duty for his shift and joined us for tipples. He even managed to get us a table outside on the terraced pavement and we sat soaking up the sun and sipping our drinks.
‘Anything exciting happen today?’ he asked, looking at each of us.
‘Minor political crisis, but all averted,’ Sam said.
Jamie looked at her and narrowed his eyes. ‘Oh no. What happened?’
‘Arthur Foster lost his suit,’ I said.
Jamie stared at me, in particular at my mouth, and made no acknowledgement of my statement until a few seconds later. ‘Oh, is that it?’
We all nodded.
‘I can’t wait for him to be mayor.’ Jamie rubbed his hands.
‘Are you serious?’ Devi asked. She was on sparkling apple juice for the evening and she stared at the rest of us drinking our gin so much that it made me want to shove an extra straw in my drink and sustain the woman.
‘Of course. Can you imagine how much fun the newspapers will be when we have a buffoon running this place?’
‘But he wants to close off the town again. That’d be terrible for us. Half my business is the tourists,’ Devi told him.
She was referring to Arthur’s agenda of making Haven-on-Sea the elite town it started off as. When it was first created, only the rich and famous could get a spot in Haven. Only when Harold became mayor did the doors open for people from all walks of life to settle into town and turn it into the go-to popular destination (so-called the ‘Melbourne of Europe’ by World’s Nomad magazine) that it was now.
‘I know. It’d be fun though, wouldn’t it?’ he said.
Sam slammed her glass on the table and swallowed her drink. ‘Can we please? This isn’t even a joke. We’ve got enough buffoons running things as it is. We really don’t need Foster in power. He’s going to ruin this town.’
‘Hey, newcomer, who asked you? Get out of my town,’ Jamie said in the best southern accent he couldn’t pull off and we all laughed.
‘Lord help us from psychos like him. I really don’t want Harold to retire, guys. I mean, I’ve been here for a little under twenty years, but who knows what sort of legislation the new mayor will put in place to get rid of us,’ Devi said.
A silence surrounded our table. Couldn’t argue with the truth.
‘I’m sure he can’t do that,’ Sam said.
Devi scoffed. ‘Have you met Arthur? If it was up to him, this town would be full of white, middle-class men. I’m telling you. If he goes into office, this town is ruined.’
A frantic woman, with bright red hair and a headscarf keeping it tame underneath and brandishing bright pink sunglasses, rushed inside the pub and I followed her vodka flavour through the glass windows. She tracked a man in the back and sat down opposite him.
At the sight of the man, I felt an urge for some good old pub grub as the taste of Cumberland sausages, mashed potato and gravy watered my mouth.
‘Speaking of office, look who’s at the pub,’ I said, pointing at the man from the opposition who was running for the same spot as Arthur.
‘Is that Patrick Gardner?’ Devi asked.
I nodded. He was one of the guests at the gala and the first MP from Unified Greens to step into City Hall since Harold’s election twenty years ago. They liked opposing Harold and his party from the side lines.
‘Such a shame. I was rooting for him.’ Devi huffed. ‘And he was there at the Emerald Park rally. I thought he was one of the good ones.’
Sam looked from Devi to me and back to Devi. ‘What exactly has he done to lose your vote of confidence?’
Devi winced. ‘What do you mean what has he done? He’s obviously having an affair with that woman. I thought he was an honourable man.’
‘He’s not.’ I jumped in and now all eyes were on me. ‘Having an affair that is. I can’t vouch for his honour.’
‘Oh, yeah? How do you know, Detective Christie?’ Jamie giggled.
I stared him down with my scowl. ‘You don’t need to be Poirot to tell. They’re not touching, they’re not staring at each other, they’re not even sitting comfortably on their seats.’
‘Exactly,’ Sam agreed. ‘They do on the other hand look like they’re discussing very secret matters.’
‘Why can’t this town have a decent man running for mayor?’ Devi said and I couldn’t not empathise with the sentiment.
Three
I walked into Bean Therapy the next morning, or as I liked to call it, my office, which was where I spent most of my days planning world domination, deciding on flower arrangements and handling catering deadlines, and I was hit with the taste of rose Turkish delights and vanilla fudge.
The culprit giving me those flavours was a large bouquet of white roses and red gerberas. Devi stood over it, inhaling their sweet scent.
‘Got ourselves a secret admirer, do we? Do tell, Devi. Spill all the beans,’ I said instead of good morning.
She jumped and clasped her chest. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me. Good morning, sweetheart. These are not for me,’ she said.
I inspected the flowers closely. Could they possibly be for me? Was Kit being serious about taking me out?
‘Morning, Sam!’ Devi chimed with a higher pitch than usual. ‘These are for you, my love,’ she said and placed the bouquet in Sam’s arms as soon as she came through the door.
I shook my head and with it any thoughts of romantic courtships from cute bar managers. I didn’t need flowers to be won over. And I didn’t need anything from men.
‘What? Who are they from?’ Sam trembled and looked towards the shop front and then at the back door.
She put the bouquet down and fumbled through the foliage like a woman on fire and when she found a white envelope, she practically tore through it. I stood behind her to read the card as Sam’s shoulders sagged and she finally sat down, letting out a deep breath.
‘Oh, dear. That gave me a mini heart attack,’ she said.
Devi handed me a cup of coffee but held Sam’s in her hands. ‘Indeed. Those damn flowers can be so life-threatening.’
I nodded. ‘Want to tell us why you were acting as if they were about to go off?’
She looked at both of us and waved her arm over her head. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I still haven’t had my coffee. I’m always weird pre-coffee.’ She laughed.
We didn’t.
‘Okay. If you say so,’ I said and sat opposite her while Devi handed her a cup.
‘Who are they from then?’ Devi asked her.
Sam read the card again. ‘Oliver Young.’
Devi and I cooed and Devi battled the card out of her hands.
‘Never have I ever met a being more divine than you, Ms. Tully. I believe you have truly stolen my heart.’ Devi read it for the group.
Devi and I cawed and Sam slapped her forehead in response.
‘Please, don’t start.’
‘Why, you silly girl? A very fine, wealthy man is after your heart. It’s not every day the mayor’s son, a respectable man, expresses his love for someone,’ Devi scolded her.
I smiled. ‘And besides the money thing, Ollie is a wonderful kid. I grew up with him and he is a true gentleman’
‘Oh my God! Stop it, you guys. I’m not interested in him. I don’t want flowers or wealthy men chasing after me,’ she said despite the red in her cheeks flushing her with colour.
I wouldn’t let her get away that easy though. ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘You were trying to convince me to give Kit a chance yesterday, and now you’re doing the same thing as I was with Ollie. What gives?’
Sam huffed. She stood, grabbed the bouquet and walked behind the counter. She pulled the rubbish bin out and chucked the lovely arrangement inside it.
‘There. Done. Now can we get back to work?’
I raised my eyebrow at Devi and she copied me. ‘Who’s got her knickers in a bunch?’
The door opened and the peanut butter brownie in the shape of the town’s detective inspector walked in. Daniel Anderson.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said with a slight nod of his head.
‘Good morning, Detective. The usual?’ Daniel smiled at Devi and she went behind th
e counter where she fumbled with her espresso machine to make his coffee. ‘How are you today?’
‘Very well, thank you. How about yourself, Devika?’ he asked. ‘All right, Jo?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘How’s the new partner?’
‘Good, good.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘And you? How’s the gala going?’
I put my coffee cup down and nodded. ‘All great.’
‘Good, good,’ he said.
Devi returned with Daniel’s coffee in a paper cup and he bid us farewell.
‘Oh, my Lord. What a hunk of a man,’ Devi said. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Oh, Jo most certainly does,’ Sam cut in.
I grimaced. ‘You, Miss I-say-one-thing-and-do-another, are not allowed to talk. And no, I don’t think so. He’s like a brother to me. He was technically my brother.’
‘And now he isn’t,’ Devi said.
‘Let’s make a deal and not talk about men for the rest of the day,’ I suggested.
Sam agreed straightaway and Devi laughed her way back to the counter where she proceeded to serve her customers.
Sam returned to her laptop and I was trying not to think how handsome Daniel looked and how terrible it was that I was finding my ex-brother-in-law attractive.
Back at home after lunch, I decided to indulge in some baking yet again. Devi had already sold out of my Earl Grey lemon-glazed muffins and had asked for more, which I was more than happy to provide her with.
As I popped the baking tray into the oven, my doorbell chimed and Alfie went berserk at my oak door. As soon as I opened it a waft of chocolate marble cake invaded my tongue and my mother twisted her face at me.
Alfie jumped on her, trying to get some sort of affection from her, only to be met by disdain.
‘Alfie, come on,’ I called and he came to me.
Mum stepped in. Her hair glowed in a light shade of teal matched by the frame of her glasses.
‘My God, this dog! So aggressive,’ she said.
‘He’s not aggressive, Mum. He’s happy to see you,’ I exclaimed.
‘Why on earth would he be?’ she asked.
