cfmysteries

[cfmysteries]

TAKING THE CUP GRATEFULLY, which wasn't exactly openly expressed but a subtle nod of approval and gratitude that could only be picked up upon from someone who was used to their behavior, a sigh left their lips. "I have, and the most frustrating part is that I have absolutely nothing to show for it." Not once yet had Zeliha even had a reason to pull the small leather-bound notebook from their expensive handbag, nothing even remotely worth writing down been shared with them yet. "Only oat milk is in this?" They asked, before taking a sip and accepting that it was made correctly, no room for error when undesired calories of full fat cow's milk or added sugar was on the line. "Of course anyone I know personally is of no help in regards to this family. What about your dogs? You hadn't taken them to that veterinary clinic the victim worked at in town, did you?" Such a connection was so loose that it really proved they were grasping at any and all straws to find someone who at least knew her, to give them a worthy direction to start in. Clearly camping out in front of the newspaper's office wasn't doing them any favors. Zeliha didn't want to think about how embarrassing it would be to return to their own office with nothing but metaphorical empty hands. "Beginning to think I've ran the Jo river dry, I need something more." And needed it before the newspaper got their greedy hands on whatever that was. "Nothing lines up, which, unfortunately for me, leaves too many doors open to walk through, all of which have any credible reliability to even begin on talking about. My listeners expect me to come with some sort of integrity and not just whatever." Mauve painted lips pressed into a line, yielding to the suggestion. "I suppose I can take a break for a moment, lead the way. I think the receptionist has started giving me the stink eye through the window, anyway."

"Whoa. Hold your horses." A hand wrapped in the two dogs' leashes raised in surrender, his other palm cupped over the handle of a drink holder which was steadfastly losing grapple with gravity. "I brought coffee. You looked like you've been standin' here a while," he professed, a gradual smile on his face reserved for his son's godparent, and he put the drink holder on the ground between his feet as he tugged the cup out. Presenting it to Zeliha, an ushering breath warding away the steam floating from the cup, he let out of a cough, tugging on the leash to reign Cerberus in. "I don't really know much about the family, Zee. And you know how I feel about Jo, so I'll just keep my lid shut on that one." A frown lingered on his face, looking from side to side as he surveilled his surroundings before plucking free his own cup, which he'd already poured into a no-spill one he'd brought from home, sipping at the straw and permitting the hot liquid to spread through his system and melt a portion of the melancholy he was harping on, seeing his longtime friend leave again, and waiting to be transferred to a new psychiatrist. It sucked. ( And he was normally so optimistic, even if his thoughts maintained a reasonably down-to-earth rationale. ) "I don't know. They must have made up a story. People do that when they don't want to get caught, but the evidence usually doesn't line up. Especially since it doesn't sound like their story was airtight to begin with. Someone leaving blood everywhere isn't a job done well." He definitely shouldn't know that. "Can we go sit somewhere? The sun is nice, but... I'm a little worried I'm gonna fall and crack my head open."

[cfmysteries]

IT WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST TIME Zeliha had been met with disdain for what they did or, much more commonly, how they went about what they did. The word insensitivity had been thrown around enough times that could have been stamped down as a synonym for the name of their precious podcast, but sensitivity and empathy didn't get questions answers--nor did it bring in the sponsor deals that paid the bills. The investigator had thick skin, if there was ever one compliment to give their mother, that was one, the cold-hearted and harsh woman had at least prepared them for that much, as there was nothing anyone could say that could pierce the brunette the way her words did growing up. Chin staying high even through the accusation that they were turning a murder into a sensation (and if they didn't, someone else would anyway, wouldn't they?), their voice did at least lose the hurried and stoic tone to put on an attempt at sympathy to the person who had to be close to the incident to have such a reaction. It wouldn't help them to create an enemy out of them, of course. "I think most would just like to know the correct person has been put away for such a crime. If not, there's still danger out there that could repeat itself." Oh, how cruel for them to frame their poking and prodding into a service for the community. "I suppose no one could see such a thing coming. It must've been such a blindside." The agreement would hopefully keep her talking...

Bernadette had spent the last several weeks walking through town like an apparition, a even emptier shell of the already anxious and distrustful person she was by nature. Nothing around her seemed real, least of all the reality that her biological sister had been taken away from her, but the supposed reality was even more absurd. She couldn't fathom the image of Eliana being snatched away from her entire family the way that she was, couldn't reconcile her initial suspicion that it had been Richard, trying to sink his talons back into her after all these years, replaced with the town's apparent insistence that Ros was actually the one to blame. It was all... too bizarre, too nonsensical for the illustrator to wrap her head around. Tired of sitting all day in her apartment, the walls of the Marionette starting to close in on her after so many weeks spent locked in her home, the illustrator decided to head into the office that morning, desperate to regain a semblance of normalcy. What she certainly didn't expect was to be accosted on the way in. She nearly turned right back around, too weary to censor herself the way she normally would around strangers. "I think that they were real people, and the town should stop trying to sensationalize this," she blurted, heaving a long-suffering sigh, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she reached down to adjust the cuffs of her coat. "No, it doesn't make sense to me... nothing makes sense anymore."

[cfmysteries]

THAT ‘70S SHOW (1998-2006) 2.07, “I Love Cake”

[cfmysteries]

IT WAS FRUSTRATING, to put one's blood, sweat, and tears into something just to have it squashed like a bug by a bigger publication or broadcast who both had more budget and resources. The podcaster had a very obvious bias when it came to the topic, and a much more sympathetic eye when it came to themselves (as that was the center of majority of their thoughts anyway), but it was impossible for them not to take it incredibly personally when they weren't able to be the one to break every single case, as if such a feat were possible, when so much of their hard work went into their passion project. With an overly dramatic sigh, as if having to give a salutation was seen as a trivial matter, they gave a curt, "Hello." A roll of their perfectly made up eyes, the mention alone of their other sworn enemy in all of Anchorage would have had steam pouring out of their ears had they been a cartoon character. "Don't get me started on that fool! Do you think he does anything besides get behind a mic and spew whatever poor joke he can think of? That's the only credit I'll give him for actually doing something himself, because I don't think once he has actually made anyone laugh." A better criticism possibly would've been that his comedy was poorly centered on a sensitive subject, but Zeliha themselves didn't have credibility for being the most tactful concerning the same subjects. "'Who knows' is the exact question I'm out here trying to answer. Someone has to." And if ground work was how it would be answered, then so be it. "You don't have any interest in knowing the truth?"

keeping up with everything was... exhausting. one thing crashing after the other. it always had been that way, hadn't it? even before anchorage, before any of this, it had been a whirlwind, this life that he lived. it wasn't that he expected it to be any different—no, he had accepted that things would continue to collide and tumble like a deck of damn dominoes. but that didn't make it any less tiring. at the very least, the worst of it had seemed to die down. the news crews and reporters had slithered off elsewhere with their suffocating presence and probing questions. small mercies. having to speak to mcdonald's, of all people... this, of course, wasn't referring to the golden arches, but to steve mccrawly; insufferable, ever-tuned-in, coming to you live! both were veterinarians, any connections there, do you think? had he been serious? ( unfortunately ). pulled away from their thoughts by a voice, familiar, but not unwelcome. the podcast host, zeliha, a presence he'd seen in passing at the marionette. he blinked. “ hi to you, too, ” his greeting was spoken with dry amusement. “ i think it's all weird. i don't fucking know. but i do think steve should learn how to keep his mouth shut, don't you? ” a small hook; surely, they wouldn't be the biggest fan of their competition. “ could be, for all we know, ” people talked, speculated, and they always would. the truth, though? seldom did it come to light when it mattered. “ would suck if it was. but who knows? ”

[cfmysteries]

who : @anchoragestarters where : outside the the anchorage daily diem building when : february 26th cap : 3/4

ZELIHA'S TOP PRIORITY WOULD ALWAYS BE THEIR PODCAST. Their friends knew this, the few members of their family they still spoke to knew this, and the joke could be made that the investigator was married to their job and would never wed anyone else as they were so loyally devoted to it above all else. Upset enough with the latest published newspaper, and that stupid Steve on the radio being able to report on the arrest before themselves, they had resorted to extreme, and petty, measures to station outside of the office and intervene anyone who could possibly be going to give a quote to the paper instead of their podcast, the rightful broadcaster of all that was going on in Anchorage, at least in their chocolate hues. When a passerby who looked as if they could have possibly been on their way to entering the office of their enemy appeared, they eagerly pounced, despite the possibility of it being presumptive. "You wouldn't happen to have any opinion on the recent arrest that was announced, would you?" Unlike official avenues of reporting, there was no need for Zeliha to stay partial nor point their questioning in a leading direction. "Crazy we were shown such a sketch for weeks just for it to be her daughter. Do you think the rumors about it being a false arrest could hold any weight?"

[cfmysteries]

IF THERE WAS ONE ASPECT OF ZELIHA THAT could be agreed upon that made the podcaster such a fit for their career, it was their severe unwillingness to never once hesitate over their unrelenting determination in getting whatever answers they could. Their insistence pushed to being a flaw, as the string of personal relationships that didn't receive the same level of importance in comparison could prove nor the missing finger they were sporting instead of the ten majority of others had. And yet, the brunette couldn't say they regret any of it, as their podcast was flourishing despite the lack of internet and partially thanks to the radio station. "Everyone always does boast about having a house wine that's more impressive than most, and yet," They'd stick to their pricy bottles where they knew exactly what they were getting; as much as Zeliha tried to distance themself, figuratively and physically, from their mother as much as possible, the ability to subtly yet casually pass judgement with one's words was a clear pass down from the parent they hated the most. There was a plethora of places to initially begin to prod when it came to Josette, that much wasn't lost on them, and almost had the normally so self assured investigator pausing in between their words. "I'm not here to talk about the wine, though. Actually, it's their croquettes de courgettes that always have me returning but that's here nor there." Gingerly, their hands came together in their lap to intertwine their own fingers, pleasantly looking over the table at the woman they knew commonly from the research they were familiar with, but on a more personal level as the person who had, at once, had their godson, quote unquote, "kidnapped," if only for a couple hours. "How have you been lately? So much going on in this town, as always."

as tempting as it was, josette had kept herself away from podcasts and even the newspapers after willow, or amelia, had gone missing. people loved passing off theories as facts and although she had no problem with most of the people that put the ideas forward, they seemed to take issue with her. she would try to be polite as she'd hate someone to be short with her, especially in such a public setting. there had been multiple occasions over the past year where josette leighton had lost it with others out in public, either screaming or completely beside herself but she was trying to face the new year with a new outlook and trying to build back her image. she had once been a respectable and caring professional - she couldn't pin point the exact moment when it had all fallen apart but her demise was slow up until she had fallen and then spiralled down. "the house wine?" she raised her eyebrows. "well, i was by myself she didn't really see the need to try anything different, and to be fair, it's quite a nice house red wine." why was she feeling so embarrassed by it? perhaps it was because this was all simply a facade of hers that she hoped would steer her back onto the right path; if she treated herself as more than then maybe she would start to believe it. "i was going to ask if you wanted a glass but can see now, it isn't quite to your standard." josette brought the glass up to her lips, almost in a defiant nature as she finished it and then topped herself up.

[cfmysteries]

ASLIHAN MALBORA via instagram

[cfmysteries]

ZELIHA WAS NO STRANGER TO THE COUNCIL, or rather, they were no stranger to being an absolute thorn in the council's side, as a comment from the masterminds of the town of Anchorage was something the podcaster was always after when a new story hit the press, eager to include any they could get in their podcast. With a deep purple briefcase in one hand and a package they had just picked up from the front desk in the other, thin heels clicked against the polished floor of the high end apartment building before the echoing sound came to a halt along with Zeliha in front of the elevator doors. They were technically done with work for the day, a morning spent in the rented office floor they had for the Mystery Busters' team and a noon date with a client, but ever one to take an opportunity when it showed itself, making full use of this conversation was the first thing to pop into their mind. "One would think luxury apartments would guarantee a bit more protection against a home invasion. Have there already been complaints made regarding that?" It was phrased as casual conversation, but no such thing existed to the pseudo investigator. A manicured hand waved away the wafting smoke, the idea of the wrinkles it was known for not even worth the risk secondhand. "Are you saying you expect this to continue?"

the marionette, ground floor; 22nd january, afternoon / @anchoragestarters

Playing the role of concerned citizen, invested city council member, was one thing but performing that role to any satsifying degree was quite another. Hirokazu Amuro had not complained when he'd been taken aisde by the cops to give his take on what he'd seen but he'd remained utterly tightlipped about any detail not immediately crucial to the case. His business was entire his own. Of course, this was not a rule that applied both ways; everyone else's business was his as well and this whole thing had more than piqued his curiosity.

He'd been stood by an elevator on the ground floor of the Marionette, lit cigarette in his hand and smoke billowing up toward the high ceiling. There were no rules, of course, to stop him and any passerby who thought to complain would have received the deeply scathing gaze of a man who thought they were -- just as deeply -- stupid for even bothering. Still, with one sharp clap of the hands, a passerby's attention was demanded all the same.

"Dreadful what's happened here, eh? It does make you wonder about the state of security though," said Kaz, coolly, a drag taken from that still lit cigarette. "In a place like this too, to think it could so quickly go the way of that dreadful cinema downtown."

[cfmysteries]

ZELIHA, you say you were in the building the night this tragedy occurred. did you hear any of the commotion coming from upstairs ? did it sound like a disagreement to you, or an intruder ??

"Unfortunately, no. I live on the top floor for this exact reason, as I can't risk having such disturbances by other residents. My line of work, running the most popular podcast that comes out of Anchorage, requires too much focus that I wouldn't like interrupted every time someone is arguing with family or roommates. Speaking of, am I allowed to shout the name of the podcast during this?"

did you notice any other disturbances in the building in the recent weeks ? someone being let in that you didn’t recognize ?

"I don't have time to loiter around the community areas of the building. I will say, there is code access being given to a fair amount of food delivery service workers, not to be a tattler, but that is breaking the guidelines of the building. How do we know they aren't taking our packages with them on the way out? Or casing the place, apparently."

have you been acquainted with josette leighton, or is there anything you can personally tell us about her, with her becoming a person of interest in this case ? her alibi doesn’t seem to add up, don’t you think ??

"I'm so glad you asked, my full thoughts on each suspected involvement as well as a full summary of all facts that have been confirmed thus far is actually going to be covered in our newest episode of the Midnight Thrillers Mystery Busters Gang, which anyone can tune into station 93.7 on Thursdays at 7 pm Alaska Standard Time."

if you recall, the late matevos hakobyan was also slain a couple years prior. both were veterinarians. any connection there, do you think ?

"We actually had multiple episodes covering this exact death you're mentioning when it occurred where you can find my full thoughts on what happened then. Reruns of old episodes are to be listened to--Hey! Bring the mic back to me!"

[cfmysteries]

person: you're blocking the view

me: i am the view

[cfmysteries]

THEY PROBABLY WOULD HAVE LOOKED less like they were trying to sniff something out if they had bought any laundry themself to actually throw into a machine rather than walk in empty-handed except for the micro bag hanging from their forearm, though, if they were completely honest the idea of stuffing any one of their delicate pieces into a public washing machine or dryer instead of the careful hands of those who worked at the drying cleaning services they had been utilizing since their back account skyrocketed thanks to loyal clients was simply out of question. Damn being discrete if it risked a ruined hem or the whatever germs lurked in the creaky machines, a headstrong attitude often ruining any subtly they were going for anyway. The inquisitive nature of the other was exactly what they had invited, and as they made their show of looking over it all, Zeliha's brown eyes followed their antics with interest, eager to find out if they had pecked out anything their own had missed. The commentary regarding the farm did garner some amusement, however irrelevant to their queries. "I'm not very interested in that of Prancer's Ranch, either," regarding the investigation or casually, however dearly they loved their adoptive sister. Gaze finally abandoned the poster board at the mention of the grave, the ramblings of the redhead finally reached a point of intrigue. "That's your job or you mean so hypothetically?" It was a figure of speech in English, wasn't it? Not their native tongue but considering their most often used as the Turkish language had the memory of their mother's brutality attached to it, the brunette could barely remember how it sounded in their voice. "It is a tragedy. I can't imagine many witnesses even knew what to believe with such a gruesome act happening during a horror-themed event. I can't say I'm disappointed to have missed it." A lie, as it took away their chance at a firsthand account, though they wouldn't want to switch shoes with the fallen. "Were you in attendance?"

One of these days, Emine would feel her age, or older. They hated when they woke up and chose feeling childish, wanting to run back home and hide forever. That did nobody any good. She followed herself no matter where she went. But she was also in the middle of searching for additional work. Why? Because of boredom. It was too boring, really, as she bent low, fishing around with her laundry in the old machine. A grunt emerged as they plucked, with brand-new snowflake acrylics, the tangled-up mess of their blouses. Oh, this was awful. They hadn't intended to wash this cashmere with the cotton, but they had been distracted. Scrolling and reading through the news, the rumpled paper left behind on the plastic, broken-legged chair as an indication. The voice came to them as though from a narrow tunnel. Jerking, a soft bump! of their head to the lip of the washing machine opening. "Ow." It did not hurt, not really, more an automatic response as they planted both hands to push the rest of their body out. "Augh, my back. I think my spine's about to crack in half. What's all that?" A sniff, a squint, rubbing at the aching small as they journeyed to the bulletin board. "Ooh, look at this one. Calling all volunteers, have you wanted to learn how to clean up after livestock? Come to Prancer's Ranch. Not convincing and terrible marketing. Uhm!" It drew out into a hum. "Yeah! It's up to date. I am so in the market for a job, the nightshift at the station has been dreadful. And I'm really not looking forwards to this ... uh, well, y'know." Emine fashioned their hand over their mouth, inviting a whisper. "Digging this grave. It's so, so tragic." There were shorts on workers for the nightshift. Everybody thought it was haunted.

[cfmysteries]

WHILE IT WAS OBVIOUS FROM THEIR CHOSEN PROFESSION that their interests leaned towards all things unexplained, mysterious, and, as some would say, spooky, their lifestyle boasted a juxtaposing preference for the finer things in life. In times like the current when they were struggling to gather enough credible resources to put together the next episode of their podcast (and Zeliha hated the idea of padding one out with nothing but filler chatter, lest it ruin all that they had built it up to be), a day that was dedicated to treating themselves was in order, on the dime of one of their more generous clients, of course. With a preference for a table that left their back against the wall so the rest of the restaurant was left entirely in front of them and in view, magenta-painted lips pressed into a line at the sight of someone already seated exactly there. "I did, and I would have thought a place of this caliber would have more organization to keep track of such reservations." The brunette couldn't be placated by a comped drink, either, as they weren't the one footing the bill in the first place. "I'll be taking a seat. Don't worry, I'll make my complaints known as soon as the waitress returns, but I refuse to be seated elsewhere." The heavy ego they carried on their shoulders left no room for the care that the implication floated that they weren't above making the other move with their statement. A hand adorned with a freshly done manicure plucked the wine list from the center of the table, slight judgment present as they asked, "Is that the house wine?"

open at the ivy @anchoragestarters

winters were isolating but things had settled down dramatically for josette once she had found a therapist, just out of town, that worked for her. she had put in some extra shifts at maiden alley cinema to try boost the income that she'd spent without a care when she had been out of work and things were starting to feel more stable for her. perhaps she could look at getting a different job in the new year, one that paid her more and got her feeling a little better at her career prospects. she had been thinking about volunteering but she thought it was too soon for that and she had so much to prove. still, sadness rocked the woman as amelia's birthday edged closer. up until two years ago, she had always wondered what she would be doing and it sadened her to know that she was no longer here.

josette sat nursing a glass of wine at the ivy, a treat to herself and a chance to get some actual food down her as opposed to seeds and toast. looking up, she widened her eyes. "apologies, did you book this table? they sat me here as they didn't think they'd be too long but the kitchen is taking a little longer than usual." she chuckled.

[cfmysteries]

ASLIHAN MALBORA DARMADUMAN | 1. BÖLÜM

[cfmysteries]

IT WAS ALMOST AN INCONCEIVABLE NOTION TO ZELIHA, any thought of trying not to get invested. For as long as they had known the town of Anchorage, they had been inserting themself in as much business they had no right to, what had originally started as a simple hobby of pointing out the array of strange happenings in the place they had decided to place their roots after outrunning their family and its control had somehow blossomed into a career that had managed to not only take over majority of their mind, but also their life. They supposed the possibility could exist that they would have a lot less frustration, like the current that was beginning to bubble up at the thought of another possible lead being nothing but a dead end to cross of their list, consuming their life if they managed to only focus on themselves rather than every phenomenon in town that caught the slightest bit of their attention--and Zeliha had no lack of absorption when it came to their self. But there would be something missing, and there was no one else they believed best for such a job. "Curiosity has never gotten the better of you about what's considered important enough to be posted for everyone?" Ironically, now that they were paying their own mind to it, it was hard to consider majority of what was pinned or taped up much more than garbage or unimportant. Their head tilted to the side in consideration of the question, weighing whether they wanted to give away their true intentions of investigating the past more than the future. "Anything temporary," the brunette decided on. "I don't want to get sucked into anything too concrete. Plus, I imagine any interesting cast of characters are to be found there, people just passing through and picking something up. Have you ever noticed a lot of that?" They bit their tongue from adding on the the October time range they were more interested in, and where exactly those that worked at an event that entirely went to shit managed to scamper off to after the fact--or if they were still hanging around right under their nose.

Bryn didn't have a washer and dryer in his trailer. How would he fit one in such a small space, anyway? Well, he could. But it was not something he was interested in adding to his trailer, with all the modifications done to it already, and still needing to be done. He held up Neanderthal by John Darnton as he took a seat near where the washing machines were currently swishing away, leaning his body over and resting the elbow of his free hand on the folding table as he did. A blue raspberry lollipop in his mouth, shifting every so often as he absently went about his unbothered day. However, when someone started to mutter to themselves nearby, he glanced over, realizing they were just talking to themselves. He glanced around at the rest of the laundromat, seeing there was no one else. Then looked back to the other, quirking an eyebrow, wishing one of the other regulars was around to handle this.

“Hm.” He offered at first, his gaze moving back to his book as he moved his free hand over to turn the page, “I try not to get invested in it, most of the time.” Bryn answered. Though this would technically be a lie since he loved cataloging all of that kind of thing, and more, going on about town. Bryn glances up as the other continues, staring at them for a moment. Then he returned his attention to his book, debating on what to say to them next. Bryn rolled the sucker around, shifting it from one side of his mouth to the other using his tongue, and then spoke, “What kind of job are you looking for?” He asked, again flipping to the next page of his book, eyes still locked onto it with the majority of his attention.

[cfmysteries]

AS THEIR BROWN EYES ROVED THE SEEMINGLY UNHELPFUL arrangement of flyers, which still included far too many missing pet posters they couldn't help but notice, which seemed odd now considering how much had happened since the great animal escape at the veterinary clinic, they couldn't help but feeling a bit dejected at the idea of reaching yet another dead end. They were tired of drowning in a bunch of loose ends without being able to tie some of them up, or just connect enough dots to get one big break. It wouldn't have been as frustrating if they weren't well aware of the burning file they had nabbed from the basement of the mall, unable to prove anything with it just yet. Inching closer to the edge of something wasn't very helpful if the final push seemed to be lacking. Their near constant eye contact with the board was broken only to give an unimpressed look with Paige's answer, catching onto the familiar accent, hand coming to their hip while they instead let the researcher stumble over her wording. "Nice catch. Weird isn't exactly the word your boss prefers to be likened to." The dry comment fell from their lips without as second nature, no real hostility within their words nor did they have any interest in creating a hostile work environment despite their penchant for sarcasm. "I'm interested in tracking down as many people who were working or volunteering at that Halloween trainwreck, not for any particular reason other than I feel I'd get some more reliable information." Especially considering it was an event providing free drinks. "But finding a starting point for that is suspiciously more difficult than I expected." That, or anything that didn't immediately work out for them was seen as suspicious in Zeliha's eyes. "No, I can't actually. I thought you had a coffee cup permanently embedded into the palm of your hand at this point."

With her hands occupied, engaged in a riveting game of Castlevania on her Gameboy Advance, Paige was not at first paying much mind to the voice that spoke at her. If she was, then she might've made more of an effort to reveal herself as the very same research expert that was enduring the same kind of inaction in their community. Instead, she stuck her tongue out through her cheek and mashed the buttons harder. "I do not know, I don't work here," she said, never less than completely honest, even if it did unsettle most. It had taken another few seconds and beats of silence before Paige's head jerked up and the hoodie that concealed her identity fell off the top of her head, pooling around at her shoulders. "Srát. Zel, it's just you," she sighed. "Ah, I thought that sounded weird. Weird, in a, uh... Family way. Familiar way, I mean." She spared another glance down at her Gameboy only so she could save the game and exit safely. Quickly, she joined Zeliha at their side and began pondering the white board as well. "Um, I do not, no... But I'm good at hiding, so, maybe I just miss it. What are we looking for here, exactly?" As if she weren't a grown woman with no necessity for explaining herself, she decided to offer an excuse anyway, "I only come to do my laundry. I did not even have coffee before coming here. Can you believe that?"

[cfmysteries]

Scooby Doo Where are You | "Foul Play in Funland"

[cfmysteries]

where : the flying dutchman laundromat when : early december who : @anchoragestarters cap : 0/4

ALL THE EXPLOSIVE NEWS that had come out of the town's eventful Halloween celebration was ultimately good news for Zeliha who had been seeing dwindling numbers on the most recent episodes of the Midnight Thrillers Mystery Busters' gang's podcast that followed those that detailed their own events earlier in the beginning of autumn. (For as many allegations of exploitation of other's misfortune that were thrown their way, at least they could honestly say they weren't above taking advantage of their own suffering for the benefit of the show, either.) The frustration was always born when between themselves and their research expert, they were barely able to find enough interesting information to fill just fifteen minutes of recording, leading them to resort to where the brunette stood now with eyes scanning the bulletin board in the back of the laundromat after rows of washing machines and dryers to find anything worthy of their attention. "Have you ever taken notice of if this is kept up-to-date?" Their hope was that it wasn't, and some sort of flyer asking for volunteers or workers for the fateful Halloween gathering could've stuck around. "With no internet, I presumed some open jobs would've made their way onto here. One would with all the help needed with community events, they'd be all over outreach such as this, too," they mused casually, head turning to glance at the closest bystander who they had just assumed had nothing better to do while waiting for laundry than to entertain their prodding. "There's a couple for the winter events, but I don't recall seeing any for that big Halloween one, do you?"