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"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?"
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?"
