#clue.open

It was ten in the morning and the gossip mill was running as quick as a hamster did on their wheel. Something about city hall and Instagram, Vanessa Perry couldn’t resist scrolling through her phone as she stuffed crispy hashbrowns in her mouth. He is the man who sees. The fuck did that even mean? The timing of it all seemed a bit insidious. “Who you think did it?” She leaned over the table and flipped her phone to show the person sitting across from her, arm just a bit constricted in her uniform. “And what is the point, like are they trying to scare out our tourists because I don’t think it’s doing shit.”

Before she can decide though, she turns around to the sound of the cart’s subtle engine and the woman’s muttered disdainful comment as she guides the cart away and out of Juliet’s reach. She makes two steps into the aisle, utterly baffled. “What are you doing!?” she says loudly, the woman replies with a disdainful muttering. “You’re just messing around! You don’t need this! I saw you walk! You’re a faker!” Juliet gapes at her. “Excuse me! Bring me back my cart, that’s absolutely none of your goddamn business!” She absolutely refuses to chase this woman down. Especially because she’s having a bad pain day. Her can and purse are still on the cart. “You’re not the fucking cart authority, bring that back!” she shouts.

Shane, despite his profession, actually did not care for the news. So, when mentions of the thirtieth-year anniversary rapidly approaching started, he couldn’t help but mull on that quite a bit. Loads of questions ran through his head and of course, Shane had the empathy to not say anything, but curiosity took over. If he were from a place that had a horrendous event that made the news, he wouldn’t want anything to do with it, but he’d heard of people who stayed, even after everything had unfolded and died down. Remembering it? Fuck that. “What is it like?” He thought out loud, eyes burning a hole into the news on the television that hung above the bar counter of the tavern. Glancing down at his golden drink, he exhaled. He was nosy and he was pretty sure most of Mistpitch knew that. He’d never intended to cross any lines, though. “I’m just…Alaska’s never had this type of attention, so I would imagine it’s…invasive,” he settled on that word only because it felt like so to him and he had arrived long after the murders. Murders that intrigued him to dig in. Disappearances that made him metaphorically tilt his head.

“I’m Winnie Bearheart, and I run this place! I’m your mama this summer, but keep in mind what they say about mama bears!” Her speech isn’t new, she gives a similar spiel at orientation every year. Winnie steps down from her make-shift pulpit just off the deck of HQ Building, grinning at her little crowd. “You’ve been given itineraries! All my counselors: orientation starts at four, until then, enjoy the food! If you’ve got any questions, find a manager or come see me.” Winnie dismisses them all with a wave of her hands, and starts heading to the tables where an assortment of food is ready and waiting.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up reaches her ears and she sits up, standing and stepping over to the banister. Juliet leans on it and watches the car pull into the guest parking area across the lot. “Morning!” she calls out, giving a wave.