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The Southern Gothic (Agnores x BurningLyeKisses)

Agnores

Star
Joined
May 15, 2012
Location
Arkansas
"Ah...hm...Oh! There you are, Mr. Cross. A week...all ready reserved and paid for...You here for the fishing tourney they're having this weekend?"

Roderick Cross stared blankly across the counter at the jovial woman. She was old, comfortable in her spot; it was the kind of woman who had worked at the same place for her whole life, and couldn't fathom doing anything else. At some point along the way, what was supposed to be a fake smile donned by those in the service industry had been replaced with a real one. Roderick wasn't sure whether to pity the woman, or be jealous that she had managed to keep the same job for so long without going crazy.

"Uh...No, ma'am." he said, shaking his head. "Got some business to look into, is all. Got some family up the way."

"Oh, no matter. But while you're here, you should really think about participating. $100 prize, and you get to keep the fish of course. The whole town will be there!" The woman fidgeted busily behind the counter before producing his key. "All right, honey. Room 223. It'll be on the building to the left, second floor of course. Enjoy your stay here in St. Thomas!"

Roderick gave a polite nod, instinctively tipping his hat at the woman before retreating out of the doors of the office. He was pleased to note he had accidentally parked in front of the right building, and as he scanned the door numbers heading for his truck, he smiled a bit at how his room happened to be on the front side of the building. The man gathered his singular pack from the back of his truck, hiked up the stairs, and slipped into his room.

The room itself was dingy. It had a single table and a chair that looked like it had come straight out of the '50s. There was no TV, but a small dresser on which lay several pamphlets and brochures for what to do during his stay here in St. Thomas. The sheets and blanket on the bed looked like they had been well used. In fact, the newest looking thing that he found in the room had been the single towel hanging up in the small, dingy bathroom. He sighed just a little bit out of relief at that.

He took some time unpacking, arranging his week's worth of clothes in the dresser, setting out his toiletries in the bathroom, and setting up the only item of importance: his tablet. It was one of the higher end ones, that came with a built in camera that Roderick had been told was most powerful on the market. As a freelance reporter, this tablet had become Roderick's lifeline: He could take pictures with it, and using the side by side app feature, he could take notes while he did so. He had gotten really good at typing one-handed on the over-sized screen, so that he didn't have to take his eyes off the action.

Plugging the thing in after spending too long looking for the outlet, Roderick made sure it was charged. He took the time to pull out his phone and call the city hall and inform them he was on his way. Roderick was here to look into a death that no one seemed to be interested in. The man who died was Duncan Graves, the patriarch to one of the wealthier families in the area. In fact, the Graves family could be traced back to the founding of St. Thomas, so it seemed especially weird that his death caused no concern.

He had gone on a hunting trip with the mayor, a Mr. Thomas Polk, and an accident during the trip resulted in Graves dying on the way to the hospital. And that...was that. Usually, there was always some sort of investigation into what happened when accidents occurred on hunting trips like that, just to ensure it really was just an accident and not a poorly covered up murder. But...there was nothing this time. No one else seemed to care, but Roderick felt like everyone else's apathy about this might be his ticket to launching his career.

After he hung up with the city hall, Roderick approached the grungy mirror in the bathroom to make sure he still looked somewhat presentable. His hair was kept short, a dark brown color that matched his jacket and shoes. He wore an old, dirty jacket that he had been given back when he was still in high school, some fifteen to twenty years ago. His shirt was a button up that was a bit wrinkled from sitting in the truck for so long. A pair of worn jeans over some nice brown boots rounded out his attire.

He ran his fingers over the light stubble on his square jaw, furrowing his brow just a bit and remembering he had forgotten to pack a razor, making a mental note to pick one up from the store on the way back. With a sigh, he stepped away from the mirror, grabbed his tablet, and off he went.

St. Thomas was a pleasant enough town, Roderick thought as he drove towards city hall. Most of the people, if not all, seemed rather affluent and pleasant. None of the buildings looked particularly run down; aged, but not run down. City hall was only a five minute drive through town from his hotel, and Roderick noted where he saw a general store he could visit on his way back.

He pulled into the parking lot, shutting off his truck and grabbing his tablet as he slid out of the truck. On his way to the door, he made sure to have both the camera app and the note app loaded up. He slipped quickly through the doors, his boots clicking on the linoleum as he purposefully strode to the ladies at the front desk.

"Can I help you?" One asked, pleasantly, her Southern accent thick.

"Yes. I'm Roderick Cross, I just called about an appointment to meet with someone to look through your public records?"
 
Click. Click. Click.

The rapid, sharp sound of stilettos echoed against the linoleum floor as a tall, slender blonde appeared in the doorway. A bright smile was on her soft, pink lips, showing off white, straight teeth born from a middle school career spent wearing braces. Long blonde hair tinted with the faintest blush of red hung around a pale face in big, loose curls as her green eyes glinted beneath thick black lashes, the faintest glimmer of warm brown eye shadow darkening them.

From the way that she stood, her back straight and her shoulders back, to the clothes she wore, everything about her was carefully curated to present the image of a proper young woman working a proper job. A decent, goodly image that her very being seemed to fight against. The clothes she wore were proper. A simple black pencil skirt and a flowing white top tucked into it. Clothes that screamed experience and professionalism. But the body underneath shouted about the bloom of youth. The skirt clung to a set of shapely hips and legs and the shirt didn’t do much to hide the full bosom beneath it. Something about her just screamed of river banks and muddy knees, of running and tumbling in the burning summer sun.

She approached Roderick quickly and reached out one delicate hand, the long nails painted gossamer pink. “Afternoon Mr. Cross,” she said, her voice lilting as she grabbed his hand in hers with a firm shake. A sweet, sugary scent clung to her, underscored with the faintest hint of flowers. “I’m Willow Polk. I heard you were coming. And from such a long way away too. We’re just so excited to have a big city reporter in our humble little town. You must be so exhausted, though. And starving! Just wait until you taste Miss Suzi’s barbeque. It’ll be the best thing you’ve put in your mouth in ages. And she makes the best sweet tea too.”

The words fell rapidly from her soft lips and as she spoke she moved subtly towards the exit doors with him. She used her body to nudge him forward, blocking him off from the women behind the counter, blocking him off from the records, even as that sweet expression never faded from her face. It was almost like she had been waiting for him to arrive. Waiting to spring on him. And in fact, that’s just what she had been doing.

While she’d been busy typing up a letter on her computer in her little office at the back of the building, she’d received a call from her daddy. He told her about a reporter coming from a nearby, bigger city and she was to distract him and keep him from prying into the private affairs of their humble little town. She’d agreed without hesitation.

Reporters could mean nothing good. The last time one had come from the bigger city, it had been about nasty accusations facing the town’s budget. He’d only lasted two days before he’d been driven out by the hostility of the townsfolk who would do whatever they could to protect their mayor. They would do whatever they could to protect anyone in the town. For the town functioned just like a big family. And family looked out for each other, especially from outsiders. Outsiders who seemed to have it in for her daddy.

She knew there had been a couple tragedies that had befallen the town recently, but she also knew there was nothing that could be done about it. It was a shame Mr. Graves had died but accidents like that happened all the time out in the woods and there was nothing that could be done about it. God took what God wanted. That’s what her daddy always said during his Sunday sermons. And Willow had seen no reason to not believe that. It had gotten her through hard times, through holding her grandfather’s hand as he died, through the death of her best friend at the hands of a swollen river. Sometimes it was the only thing that got her through the day.

In exchange for that peace of mind, she would do what her father asked and she would entertain the reporter until she left the town. She wouldn’t let him back into her little record room. Because despite acting and dressing like a proper grown woman Willow was still only nineteen, and she relied on her daddy for so much of her world.

“Miss Suzi has just the nicest little place down near the river. It flooded a few years back but we were able to fix it up good as new and you can’t even tell anymore,” Willow said brightly, offering another little smile.
 
"Afternoon, Mr. Cross," came a voice to his left, no sooner had the words left his lips. He looked, his eyes resting upon the perfectly presented young woman who now clicked her way over to him, holding out her hands with long, pink fingernails. He shook her hand, stricken by the sight of this girl. She was almost the epitome of professionalism, if it weren't for the fact that Roderick could see the wild child in her through her eyes. If anything, the conflicting nature of her cheerful presentation as she almost pushed him out the door with the obvious fact she'd rather be anywhere else, doing something crazy and fun, only made the young woman more intriguing to him.

"Willow Polk? Related to the mayor?" Roderick managed out, following her guidance as she guided him around and towards the door. He caught was she was doing, however, with her constant chatter about a Miss Suzi's barbecue. "Now, wait a minute, Mrs. Polk."

Roderick stopped, giving the girl a once over. "I certainly appreciate the hospitality, but I am here for the records. I'd rather get this done sooner than later, wouldn't you?" He shifted himself as to turn back into the city hall. "I'll tell ya what, though. You let me get a good look at the records, and I'll let you take me to this barbecue place, alright?"

He smiled lightly, watching the young girl.
 
Agnores said:
"Afternoon, Mr. Cross," came a voice to his left, no sooner had the words left his lips. He looked, his eyes resting upon the perfectly presented young woman who now clicked her way over to him, holding out her hands with long, pink fingernails. He shook her hand, stricken by the sight of this girl. She was almost the epitome of professionalism, if it weren't for the fact that Roderick could see the wild child in her through her eyes. If anything, the conflicting nature of her cheerful presentation as she almost pushed him out the door with the obvious fact she'd rather be anywhere else, doing something crazy and fun, only made the young woman more intriguing to him.

"Willow Polk? Related to the mayor?" Roderick managed out, following her guidance as she guided him around and towards the door. He caught was she was doing, however, with her constant chatter about a Miss Suzi's barbecue. "Now, wait a minute, Mrs. Polk."

Roderick stopped, giving the girl a once over. "I certainly appreciate the hospitality, but I am here for the records. I'd rather get this done sooner than later, wouldn't you?" He shifted himself as to turn back into the city hall. "I'll tell ya what, though. You let me get a good look at the records, and I'll let you take me to this barbecue place, alright?"

He smiled lightly, watching the young girl.
"It's Miss," Willow corrected almost instantly, flashing her left hands towards him so he could see the lack of ornamentation. "And the mayor is my father. You'll get to meet him later, I'm sure. He'll be thrilled to see you." That of course, wasn't going to happen and Willow would be surprised if Roderick even believed that. Her daddy didn't want to speak to the reporter and she was supposed to keep him away.

Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him with an expression of utmost innocence as her curls bounced against her cheeks. "I'm sorry Mr. Cross," she said, tone all syrup and sugar. "But the record room is closed for the evening. I'm sure things stay open later in the big city but here we tend to close down rather early. Let people get home to their families and all that good stuff." Lie after lie fell from her lips and she knew she'd have to repent hard from her sins that day. But her daddy had told her to not let him into her record room and the only way to do that was to lie.

Another bright smile and she wrapped her fingers around his elbow. Delicate though they were, there was strength in them as she started to lead him back down the street. "Now come on. We're not too far from the barbeque. It's only a short walk. You're going to love it. And you can stop by the record room tomorrow and maybe we'll be able to find something nice for you." Tomorrow would just find her making another excuse. She would play dumb and sweet until he decided to leave.
 
"Miss Polk," Roderick corrected himself instinctively. He considered her words and found them a bit out of place; he had never intended to meet with the mayor, who was apparently her father, unless the evidence in the records room pointed him in that direction. She seemed adamant that he wasn't getting into the records today, considering her bold lie she just told. The records room wasn't closed, that much he knew from their website. But something tipped him off, and as her slender fingers wrapped around his elbow and pulled him from the office and onto the street.

"All right, all right," he gave in. "I'll try this barbecue. It better be damn good, considering I'm missing out on work."

He pulled his arm gently from her grasp, agreeing to follow beside the young girl. He glanced over her once again, realizing that he could easily be twice the girl's age. How did someone so young earn such a prominent position? Of course, Roderick immediately settled on nepotism and didn't even bother asking. Instead, he asked a broader question.

"Tell me about St. Thomas, if you don't mind."
 
Her laugh was light, fluttering on the warm breeze as she shook her hair. "There's no need for such formality Mr. Cross," she told him as they walked down the sidewalk. Slender trees with heavy branches dripped white petals everywhere. The sidewalk was covered in a thick carpet of flowers that hid the occasional dangerous burred ball. "You can just call me Willow. Everyone does. 'Cept for my oldest brother. He calls me Wil..." A shrug of her thin shoulders and she laughed again.

"Oh well, St. Thomas is a lovely little town. It's probably much smaller than what you're used to but that doesn't mean we're wanting here." And with that, Willow was off. She explained a bit about the history of the town, glossing over some of the negative, criminal history. She talked about all the positives of the town, all the fun things to do. And she spoke with such a well rehearsed hair that it came across almost as false as her carefully crafted appearance. It was her job though. She was young and pretty and she created a very good image when it came the town. Plus men were more likely to take rejection from a pretty, young girl than one of the older women who worked at the city hall.

It took less than ten minutes for them to make it to the river, an area of the town cultivated to look quite old and down home compared to the rest of the town. The barbecue restaurant was in a large, shack-like building. All brown wood and small windows. Even then the little parking lot was full and smoke rose heavily from the chimney. "You're going to love this, promise. Best barbecue in the South, Mr. Cross."
 
"And you can call me Roderick, Willow."

The walk was rather short, but longer than Roderick would have liked. During the trip, Willow went on and on about St. Thomas, but Roderick caught that she glossed over anything negative, and rambled on and on about the positive. He was impressed at a girl so young having such a practiced air about her, a facade that she could put up and roll out so easily. It was a skill that Roderick himself wish he had, but never could quite hid his true intentions.

The part of town he found himself was rustic, giving off a vibe that Roderick had not felt since he lived on his grandparent's old farm. It was comforting, in a way, that stuff like this still existed; since moving to the city, Roderick had considered the country feel all but extinct. The shack that the restaurant occupied even brought back some memories of Roderick's own childhood, and he found himself smiling just a little. "I think you might be right," Roderick offered to her statement that he would love it here.

He followed the young girl in, pleased that the inside of the shack was as down home and humble as the outside. It seemed everything was made of wood, with even the tabletops simply being polished and shined to make them suitable for eating. The place was packed, but a older lady wasted no time in greeting Willow, offering them a table in the back. After fielding several questions of who Roderick was, the waitress left with their drink orders, and Roderick took his seat across from Willow.

"So," Roderick said, straight to business. "I must request that you give me some respect and drop the airs, miss." His voice was stern, but not hostile. "I am aware that your records room was in fact not closed." He smiled. "If your aim is to misdirect me until I leave, I fear you may be in for a long battle."
 
That smile never faded from Willow's lips. Not as they were sat a table, not as she ordered her sweet tea, not even as Roderick tried to play hardball with her. In fact, she just tiled her head to the side and smiled at him as she undid her silverware and slid her napkin into her lap. "Sir," she said politely. "You're mistaken. The records room was closed. I don't know where you found the hours at, but they're liable to change day to day."

One slender hand brushed her hair out of her face and her eyes darkened just faintly, smiling not reaching them. "We're such a small town," she said. "We can't always keep up with the hours. Especially when people need to get home to their families. But the mayor is very lenient and lets us leave when we need to. You can try again tomorrow but we're very short staffed now so I don't know if it'll be available then either." Once more it was all positives about the town. Once more it was all a complete lie. It was indeed her intent to misdirect him at all turns. It was in fact her mission and she was intending to do it well.
 
Roderick smiled as well, but his eyes remained hard as he watched the young girl. She was good. Real good. Idly, Roderick wondered if the rest of the mayor's kids worked at the city hall, and that was why he was so lenient with them. "Are you the mayor's only kid, or do you have siblings?" Roderick asked, changing tack just a little bit. "If you do, do they also work at the city hall?"

The waitress arrived again, smiling big and exchanging meaningless pleasantries as she placed their drinks before them. Roderick sipped at his water, and when asked, he ordered a simple barbecue pulled pork sandwich. He waited for Willow to order, before he returned to their earlier conversation.
 
Agnores said:
Roderick smiled as well, but his eyes remained hard as he watched the young girl. She was good. Real good. Idly, Roderick wondered if the rest of the mayor's kids worked at the city hall, and that was why he was so lenient with them. "Are you the mayor's only kid, or do you have siblings?" Roderick asked, changing tack just a little bit. "If you do, do they also work at the city hall?"

The waitress arrived again, smiling big and exchanging meaningless pleasantries as she placed their drinks before them. Roderick sipped at his water, and when asked, he ordered a simple barbecue pulled pork sandwich. He waited for Willow to order, before he returned to their earlier conversation.

Willow ordered her own food, taking a sip of her tea and crossing her legs delicately at the ankles. "Mm. No, I have three older brothers and a younger sister," she said, shrugging her shoulders and laughing softly. "Two of my brothers are cops, the oldest of them is a lawyer. And my younger sister is a cheerleader at her high school. I'm the only one who technically works for city hall. Though I suppose the cops do in the more technical of terms."

Shrewd green eyes focused on the reporter and she looked at him, sipping her tea quietly for a moment. "Why do you need to get into the public records, if I might ask Mr. Cross," she said. "We don't often have people coming from so far away just to poke around our very, very boring history."
 
"Big family," he commented.

Roderick narrowed his eyes. She knew why he was here. What was she getting at? He swore this was another trick to misdirect him, as good as she was. Any off the wall question could be to lead him away. Something she was very keen on doing, he observed. Did her father put her up to this? If so, why? Getting to those records was even more important, now.

"You know why," Roderick accused. "To look into the death of Mr. Graves. He died on a hunting trip with the mayor, your father. There is usually a police investigation in cases like this, but there was none this time. I thought that was odd, and wanted to know why." Roderick sipped his drink. "And since it doesn't seem I'll be allowed in the record room, it makes me all the more curious."
 
Big green eyes just looked at Roderick innocently, and this time it didn't seem fake. "Why would there be an investigation?" she asked. "Hunting accidents happen all the time. And Mr. Graves was known to forget to put on his safety vest. It was open and shut. So I don't know what you hope to find, but there's nothing there." That was the way her father had explained it to her after all and he had no reason to lie about that. He'd been distraught over the death of his best friend and with Mrs. Graves having what amounted to a nervous breakdown at the time, everything was done as fast and painless as possible.

"I don't know why you're so curious about all of this. Nothing out of the unusual happened. Things are just done different here."

Sitting back in her chair, Willow offered the waitress a smile as she brought their food, shaking her hair back from her face. "But we do have a lovely festival coming up that you could cover if you'd like."
 
Roderick was taken back a bit. This time, he could tell by her eyes that she didn't seem like she was lying or trying to misdirect him. She truly believed this. Her father had been out with Mr. Graves at the time, so if anything foul had happened, it would have been Mr. Polk who did it...and he would for sure have told his kids a lie. He must have been a halfway decent father, even if he may be a murderer, as there was a lot of implicit trust there in the eyes of this girl.

"This would be the only instance in the entire United States, Willow, in which an investigation didn't follow an accident like this. I'm not trying to say anything funny did happen, but I think we owe it to Mrs. Graves to at least check."

The food was brought, his pulled pork sandwich placed in front of him. Roderick hadn't realized quite how hungry he was until he saw the plate, and wasted no time digging in. "I'll probably cover the festival too, just to pay the bills. But I need in that record room. You want me to leave? Let me in."
 
One slender finger tapped against the table as she looked at Roderick with a thoughtful expression on her face. Pursing her lips, she sighed. "If there was no investigation what do you expect to find the records room?" she pointed out. She thought it was a good point to make and it would also let her know just what he was looking for. If it came down to it, to get him to leave she could let him into the record room. But she'll have made sure to remove everything he said he was looking for. Let him think it was lax record keeping on her part but he wouldn't find what he was looking for. Willow's father had made her promise to make sure of that.

She didn't understand why he wanted her to do this but she believed him when she said the reporter would try to find the worse way to frame anything he found. Just like with the hunting accident. Roderick was trying hard to find something off with that, someone to lay blame on but it was just an accident. Accidents happened all the time. Hunting was dangerous. Guns were dangerous. And Mr. Graves had been distracted lately. It wasn't that odd.

A little sigh and she shook her head again. "Mrs. Graves is my mother's best friend. She's just trying to put this all behind her. She doesn't think anything happened other than an accident."
 
"I expect to find answers," he replied. "You're right, there might not be much if there wasn't an investigation. I have thought of that myself," Roderick paused to take a bite out of his food. "I'm looking for nothing in particular." He added, with a smile.

"Would she have any reason to? Think about it," Roderick said as he took another bite. "Now, I'm not accusin' anyone, but if you did kill someone's husband, would you make it obvious something wasn't right?" Roderick shook his head. "No, anyone worth their salt would make it obvious nothing was amiss." He smiled. "But don't take that the wrong way, I don't think your father did anything. Innocent until proven guilty, and all that."

Roderick took another bite, and made a pleased sound. "You were right, though, I love this barbecue."
 
Willow looked thoughtful as she picked at her food. "If I killed someone's husband I would probably make a statement with it," she said, musing as she glanced back up at him. "Though I assume if I'm killing someone's husband there would be a good reason for it."

She shook the thoughts from her head of an almost poetic murder right out of a novel and offered him a crooked little smile. "Mr. Cross, I'm afraid you'll find that the record room is under construction right now and you won't be able to get in for a good bit." She knew it was an obvious lie but there wasn't much that Roderick could do about it considering her father was the mayor and he was the one ordering it.

"And I told you you'd like it. It's the best in the South," she said. "Plus I'm always right."
 
"Poetic," Roderick mused, though he wouldn't say more in fear of giving Willow anything to use against him. That seemed to be her goal, he realized. She was the mayor's daughter, and she was working as hard as she could to keep him out of the record room. Even she seemed skeptical of what he could possibly find there, but there was something there that the mayor didn't want him to see. Or at least, that was what it seemed like. But...what could it be? Roderick could only assume they were as clueless as to what he could find as he was, and simply thought it best to keep him out. However...if there wasn't anything to find, would it matter?

Roderick was even going to let her sudden change in story go, if not for her last statement. "Plus I'm always right," she said, almost smugly. Roderick frowned a bit, setting down his sandwich as he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table. "Now, Ms. Polk, I must ask that you don't insult my intelligence. Earlier you went on and on about how this is a small town, strict schedules aren't as important as they would be in a big city. You claim to be always right, yet just moments before you spouted a major lie. I know for a fact your records room is not under construction. There would be notices. And certainly, that key bit of information would have been stated from the beginning."

Roderick watched the young girl's reaction.
 
"Willow."

Without even looking back up from her food she corrected him, taking a big bite and chewing slowly. He was right of course. She had lied. She had lied several times and several of them had been contradictory. But that really didn't matter for what she was doing. There really wasn't anyone that Roderick could go to in order to make a formal complaint. She supposed he could go to the mayor but that's whose orders she was acting on. Plus, he would never actually get an appointment with him.

After swallowing she looked back up at him with another little smirk, dabbing the corner of her mouth with the napkin from her lap. "Well, Mr. Cross," she said. "Would you really like to test that theory? Because I can promise you, you'll find the notices you're looking for the next time you get back to city hall." She would make sure they appeared.
 
Roderick stared at the girl, irritation quickly building. She was snubbing him at every turn, and it seemed to be on purpose. Why? She seemed convinced there was nothing odd going on, so why would she be so intent on keeping Roderick from proving that fact? He knew something was off there, just like he did when he learned there had been no official police investigation after the accident. Things were adding up, and Roderick wasn't going to let some upstart teenager get in his way of figuring out what.

"Now, Ms. Polk," Roderick said, adding plenty of emphasis so she knew he was doing it just to needle her. "I hope you understand that I came here on a vague hunch that something was a little weird. I want you to know, your constant attempts to dissuade me from pursuing this any further has only raised my suspicions. For a town you claim has nothing to hide, you sure are making an effort to hide."

Roderick took one last bite, standing. "I do not appreciate your actions, Ms. Polk," he said, fishing a $20 bill out of his wallet, tossing it onto the table. "But you will have to try much harder to get to leave, now that you've convinced me something is wrong here." Roderick offered his hand to shake. "I look forward to seeing those notices, you promised, Ms. Polk."

With that, Roderick turned and left. He walked briskly up the street back to the city hall, using his tablet to take plenty of photos of any area that a notice of construction on the records room might appear. Satisfied, he climbed in his truck, and made his way to the general store to pick up shaving cream and a razor. And on a whim, stopped by a liquor store. Willow had put Roderick in a foul mood, but that didn't mean he had to stay that way.
 
The very first thing that Willow did once Roderick left was order dessert. While she was waiting for her pie to come out, she dialed up her father. A few quick words and construction notices went up all around city hall stating that the record room would be closed for the foreseeable future. Apparently in the hour or so since they'd left a pipe had burst, requiring extensive and exhaustive effort to get it repaired and the room back in working order.

With that done, Willow ate her pie quickly before heading back to the home she shared with her mother, father, and younger sister. A large, sprawling house. Whitewashed and with a meticulously kept front lawn, it was one of the nicest houses in the whole town. A house that had been in her father's family for generations. Her father always said it was the perfect house for a powerful dynasty. And when he got home that night, he told her that he was proud of her.

Plus, since the record room was technically closed, that meant Willow was able to sleep in the next day. Her father was at the office, her mother out visiting with Mrs. Graves, and her youngest sister was at school. It was a rarity to have the house completely to herself and she was planning on taking full advantage of it. At the moment she was stretched out on one of the wicker chairs that adorned the front porch. Her long legs were bare in a pair of tiny shorts, pale and soft as they stretched to the railing of the porch. Her long hair was pulled back off of her face in a fluffy, curly ponytail and her shoulders were bared by a flowing halter top. A glass of tea was on the ground next to her and she had a book in her lap though her eyes were closed as she relaxed.
 
As Roderick had figured, noticed went up everywhere around town talking about the construction in the record room. He took pictures of the notices put in places there hadn't been notices yesterday, but he noted their excuse made it hard to argue that it was done just to thwart him. Still, he did take plenty of pictures to note the lack of any real construction work around the office.

A few phone calls got him no where. The mayor didn't answer. There was no one at the office. It was all...frustrating. Roderick returned to his hotel room, shaved, then went out for lunch. By the end of his lunch, he had decided that he wasn't going to wait for someone to answer his calls or be at an office that was supposedly under construction. He would would head straight to their home.

It was easy to find the address using the power of the Internet, and Roderick returned to his hotel to change into something nicer. A pair of khakis over his boots, with a much nicer looking plaid button up. He climbed into his truck, and using the map app on his tablet, drove out to the Mayor's house. He watched slowly as the town sort of morphed into more upscale businesses and neighborhoods, all next to the biggest church Roderick had ever seen. He wondered how such a small town could afford such a big church, or why they would even need one.

He didn't consider it long as he pulled up the driveway of the nicest house in town. Someone familiar was lounging on the porch, and Roderick couldn't help but stare for a few moments before he pulled himself from his truck. "Ms. Polk," Roderick called out, mostly to needle her again. "Is your father home?"
 
Willow wasn't actually that surprised by Roderick appearing at her house. She knew that the signs would provoke him and she knew he would try to find a way around them. What better way then trying to get to the mayor himself. She was impressed with his zeal. For such a non-story he was trying very hard to make a pest of himself.

"Why Mr. Cross," she said, voice lilting with mild amusement as she opened her eyes to glance over at him. "I see you've found our humble home. I can't say I'm all that surprised to see you."

Her legs were removed from the railing and she set her bare feet on the warm wood of the porch, straightening up in her chair. Her eyes glinted as she closed her book, gesturing towards one of the other wicker chairs on the porch. "Daddy's not home. He and William went fishing. They won't be back 'til late but if you want to wait, you're more than welcome too." For once, it wasn't a lie. Her father had taken the day off and went to the lake with her eldest brother and it had nothing to do with the reporter poking around. "If you'd like, I can run in and get you a drink."
 
Roderick nodded, stepping up onto her porch. "That would be nice. I have some questions for you, anyway." Roderick looked about the porch, taking in the scenery. He pulled up the camera app and took pictures of the porch, the outside of the house, and the area around the house. While it was good journalism to take note of anything that could possibly be important later, Roderick had to note how he was mostly just impressed with the Polk's place, especially the land around. He shut the tablet off as Willow approached with the drinks, which he accepted politely.

"Nice place," Roderick said, motioning around. "So, Ms. Polk," Roderick began, shifting himself so that he sat he could watch all of Willow as he asked these questions. Her body language was as important as what she actually said, and he would make sure to take notes of it.

"Let's get straight to business, shall we? Did you know of any trouble between your father and Mr. Graves?"
 
The screen door shut with a decisive snap as she padded on bare feet into the house. With the wooden inner door open, it was easy to see in the house. The front entrance was fancy, well decorated. Wood floors gleamed and stately pictures lined the walls. A staircase, made of the same, dark heavy wood was against the wall, leading to the upper floors. Through the doorway on the left, just the faintest peek of the kitchen could be seen, Willow moving across the doorway as she got the drinks ready.

When she came back out, she offered him the glass before resuming her spot on the porch. Her legs were tossed back over the railing, ankles crossed delicately. At his question she laughed, resting her head back and closing her eyes. "It's very rude to start interrogating me. And after I brought you a drink any everything," she said lazily. Her shorts were riding up her thighs, showing off a good portion of her ass and offering just a tantalizing hint of what might be under there.

"They were best friends. They did everything together," Willow said, shrugging her shoulders. "And I don't like what you're implying."
 
Roderick's attention to detail was working against him, he realized. His eyes would fall from Willow's down to her thighs, were her shorts had ridden up. Roderick was by no means an ass man, but Willow had a nice one. There was a hint, the barest of hints, that made Roderick truly want to see what else Willow was hiding in those short shorts of her's. Roderick leaned back in his seat, forcing himself to look up and meet Willow's eyes, and stay there. He shifted only slightly to mask the slight tent in his pants.

"Yes, thank you for the drink. I did seem to forget my manners there," he offered, sipping at the tea. Wonderful flavor, he thought to himself.

"I am implying nothing. I am quite explicitly asking you questions to ensure there was no foul play between your father and Mr. Graves. With no police investigation, and no way to check the records room, I fear asking you is all I have." Roderick gave a small smile, sipping on his drink. His eyes fell to her thighs again, and he cleared his throat. "Neither of them were acting funny before the trip?"
 
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