Forums » General Roleplay » Ripley and the Ghost Club (1x1)

Ripley shuddered, wincing. "Ugh, right. I actually managed to forget about that." She fished the bone out from under her shirt and carefully untied it from the cord around her neck. It took a bit of fiddling, but she got it free and held it awkwardly. She'd never touch a human bone before. This was weird. It still didn't seem real. She almost went to toss it and then caught herself. She retraced her steps to the creek, leaned over with care, and gently dropped the bone to rejoin the rest of the skeleton. "There. Done."

Jared was still there, still hanging about. It did not look as though anything had changed. Maybe it had, or maybe it just needed time to take effect.

"Yeah, sure, you can have my number, I guess, as long as you don't call me fifty times a day," Ripley said, stepping away from the creek once more. She told him her number, but she didn't have her phone on her, so Francess would have to text her his number. "Keep me updated." Then she turned and walked away.

Despite the relentless teasing he'd endured from her, Frances couldn't help smiling at how Ripley returned the bone. That kind of respect for the dead was important to him. It was why Ghost Club was just as much about helping the ghosts as the living. Once she told him her number, he input it into his phone.

"Understood." he said. "Professional correspondence only." As she left, he waved to her. They did manage to get out of the forest on their own, but Visia needed to help part of the way. After that, he dropped her off at her house before heading to his own.

He spent all night on the internet, searching for any information on their wayward spirit. Jared Gun turned up no results, but he did find a Jared Gunter. That had to be him. The next day, after school, he headed straight for a small restaurant called The Vintage Diner. It was the only connection he could feasibly follow up on. Apparently, Jared worked there while he was alive. Visia followed behind him as a form of protection, since they might be interviewing a killer that day. The door jingled as they stepped inside.

"Salutations!" he said, greeting the server with a smile. "We're...looking for Jared Gunter. I understand he works here?" Investigating a murder was out of his depth, so he could only think to be direct.

The diner was not much to speak of. It was an older diner that had been a staple for who-knew how many years. It was vaguely forties-inspired, but not too particularly faithfully. It was just run down enough that a lot of people didn't even bother to go there, but not so run down that it had a bad score for health and safety. Those who went there were almost entirely regulars, and only three people worked as servers even during the busy hours. Then there was the busboy and two cooks. Only two servers were in at the moment as it was not any of the usual rush hours. One server probably would have been enough.

The server Frances greeted was an older woman with dyed blonde hair, a soft body, and impressive arms under her light blue dress and server's apron. She narrowed her eyes at Frances, simultaneously amused and suspicious. "Salutations? That's a big word for a little boy," she remarked. She glanced Visia. "What are you two kids doing here? Are you with your parents? I can seat you, of course, but you gotta pay for what you order. Do you have money on you, kids?"

"Oh, our parents are..." Frances fidgeted, trying to think of an explanation. Thinking on his feet wasn't his strong suit, even though they got questions like this all the time during ghost investigations. "...they're friends with Jared! And they haven't seen him for a while. They asked us to check here for him."

Did he have money? That was a good question. He pulled out his wallet and sifted through his meager funds. Not much, but at least enough for something light. It was unlikely that they would get much intel without buying something.

"Affirmative! We should be able to patronize this establishment." Of course, he meant that in the sense of purchasing from them. He wasn't aware of the more common meaning of being condescending. If she lead them to a table, they would follow her. "Can we ask about Jared though? Our parents are worried about him."

The woman raised her brows in amusement, but she nodded and guided them to one of the many empty booths. "Here you are, kids! I'll get you something to drink. What would you like?" She took their orders and walked away without answering their question just yet.

After a while, she came back with their drinks, and one of the cooks from the back followed her. "Alright, you two. This is Cory. He worked with Jared Gunter. I'm not surprised your parents are worried about him."

"Worried," snorted Cory, who looked to be about the same age as Jared. "That lay-about is just off having a lark. He'll be crawling back one of these days."

The server smacked him on the arm with her notebook.

"Just water, please." Frances said. This meal was already going to drain most of his finances without getting a drink. There was an awkward pause as he waited for Visia to order. "Visia? What do you want to drink?"

She snapped out of her thousand-yard stare. "Water." she muttered. Frances opened his mouth to ask about Jared, but the server left before she could. While they waited, he studied the menu, doing mental math to see what he could afford, (with a tip included, of course.) He paused his mental math to meet Cory, the cook. Hearing how he went on about Jared, his eyebrows raised. Taking out his own notebook, he started a new page.

Suspects:

Cory from the Vintage Diner

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

Cory frowned at the kids. "Why do you kids care?"

"Because their parents are friends with him," said the waitress. She didn't believe a word of it, but if the kids were willing to go through this much trouble, she figured it wouldn't do any harm in playing along. For now. She spotted someone walking in and excused herself to go take care of them.

"Right," said Cory, who did not bother hiding how unconvinced he was. "I say that because it's true. Who just walks out of their job without so much as a note? It's not like he was any good at it, so no loss here, but won't look good on any resume he's got, wherever he went. He could have won the lottery for all I care. Means I got to get some better help."

Frances tensed up when asked why he cared, but relaxed when the server covered for him. He didn't even realize that she was "patronizing" him in the more common sense of the word. Hearing how Cory went on, he swallowed nervously. If this guy was the killer, his behavior was especially twisted, disparaging the victim, showing no remorse or concern.

"So, I surmise you have no inkling where he could have gone?" the boy asked. "What exactly made his performance so poor?" He was still taking notes as he asked questions. Hopefully Cory wouldn't grow too suspicious of that.

"Do you have any idea how a kitchen works?" Cory huffed. Without giving Frances time to answer, he continued, "Didn't think so, so it doesn't matter if I tell you, does it? You can take my word for it that his kitchen skills were sh- sucky," he hurriedly corrected as the waitress started to walk back. "As for where he went, don't know, don't care. Good luck finding him, but I bet he'll show up on his own eventually. Those type always do."

"You mean your type?" the waitress asked as she stepped up next to him. "Sorry kids, but the cook's gotta go back to his kitchen now." Cory grumbled but was willing enough to hurry away. Once he was on his way, the waitress asked, "Get your answers?"

Well, Frances certainly didn't know how a kitchen worked. Still, one would think Cory would relish a chance to vent about his coworker regardless. The boy pursed his lips in irritation but bit his tongue.

"I hope you're correct." He smiled in relief as the waitress returned. "Most assuredly we did." They had their first suspect, complete with a motive. He looked back down at the menu, assuming she would want their orders, but he did have one more question. "I am curious, was Jared's performance really all that atrocious?" If it wasn't, that could be more reason to suspect Cory. He would have something more against the deceased.

The waitress had taken out her notebook, ready to take their orders, but she paused in the motion of pulling out her pen and frowned at Frances in light confusion. "Atrocious performance? My, big words for a little guy like you! His performance," she chuckled with a gleam in her eye, "was not too bad. Not really. I mean, he was no big-shot in the kitchen or anything, but he was fine. He was promoted over Cory after only a few months even though Cory'd been working here a lot longer. He's always been a bit sour about it. So! You kids want anything to eat? The special there is on sale today."

She took their orders and walked off to put them in, but it would be a few minutes before they'd arrive at the table.

Frances nodded. "I see. Thank you for the information." he said, circling Cory's name in his notes. They had motive. As far as he was concerned, they could prove first degree in a court of law. Of course, this was a highly naive view of the situation, not to mention the legal system. For all his big words, he was still a child.

Hearing that the special was on sale, he muttered under his breath, redoing his mental math. Unfortunately, he didn't have quite enough for two specials, even on sale. "May we have two orders of onion rings?" he asked. Once she left, he waited patiently, legs kicking over the seats that were too big for him.

When the food came out, he thanked her and started eating. Visia ate hers as well, but didn't have as much of an appetite. He would clean his plate whereas she would have leftovers. To pay their tab and provide a good tip, he ended up emptying his wallet.

The older waitress kept an informal eye on the pair as they ate. She didn't check in on them, but she did glance their way whenever she was in the area. They didn't seem to be in trouble or under any kind of duress, so she figured they were probably fine. Maybe their parents were letting them go out and get some "real life" experience by going to a restaurant by themselves. They certainly did not look like they were out on a date.

As Frances and Visia were finishing up. Ripley walked in. She'd made an attempt to braid her hair today, but it was crooked with bits sticking out. Plus, there were leaves and tiny twig bits in her hair. She went straight to the seats at the counter and hopped up on one of the stools. When the waitress came over, she slapped a bill on the counter. "Applebeer. On the rocks. Keep it coming until the money runs out. Be sure to keep yourself a tip."

The younger waitress bit her lip in amusement and nodded. "Tough day, kid? You sure you can handle something that hard?"

"Come on, ma'am! Haven't you had a rough day? I'll drink responsibly," Ripley protested.

"Alright, but I might have to cut you off if you get rowdy," the waitress laughed. She walked off and soon returned with a glass of applebeer and ice.

Frances had got up to leave, then froze in his tracks when he spotted Ripley. Still as friendly as ever, he smiled and strode over to greet her.

"Ripley! What a pleasant coincidence!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?" It didn't even cross his mind that she might have come here for the exact same reason as them. When she said she was leaving the investigation to them, he took her word at face value.

Ripley jumped in surprise, almost spilling her soda. "Oh. Fank," she said, making an honest mistake with his name. "Hi. Uh, what am I doing here? I come here... a lot. Pretty regularly. It's a great place to get away from... things. What are you doing here?"

In truth, she'd been riding her bike along the road where the bones had been found, trying to figure out which way the dead guy might have come from. She thought he'd been in a car because all grown-ups traveled by car, and that meant going really, really fast on her bike for as far as she could, in her mind. This was the second direction she had tried, and she was hot, tired, and so worn out her legs felt like jelly. It was going to be a rough ride home.

Frances raised his eyebrows in surprise. Once again, he took her word at face value. "That is quite the coincidence then!" Glancing around to make sure no one would hear, he leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Our acquaintance Jared used to work here. There's a culinarian named Cory who's been working here a lot longer, but Jared got promoted over him. You couldn't ask for a more definitive motive."

He peered towards the back nervously. "To be honest, even if we do find the culprit, I'm not certain how we'll confront them without involving the authorities. Normally, a wayward spirit would want their murderer to face justice. Perhaps a confession would be enough to bring him peace? Even seeking that out would be risky."

Ripley stared at Frances blankly for a moment. "Culinar... Do you mean a cook or a chef?" she asked, bewildered. She looked around the diner, taking it all in. "Okay, so, the cook here, Cory, he wants a promotion. Fair enough. Motive for some foul play, but, uh, Frank? Have you actually looked around this place? Do you really think someone would kill for a job here? Maybe in a really nice, high-end, lots-of-stars restaurant, but here? Really?" She took a long gulp of her soda as if to underscore a brilliantly made point.

Clearly considering her point, Frances furrowed his brow. He gazed around the diner, at the decor that likely hadn't been changed in decades, the clientele that was probably shrinking more every day. It certainly wasn't a glamorous place to work at.

"You do raise a salient point." he said. "But you didn't see how irate this man was. He clearly has a vindictive vendetta against our Jared. I mean, he's been missing, and he wasn't even concerned."

"People can be cruel." Unexpectedly, Visia spoke up. "They've done much worse than kill over a job." There was a tinge of bitterness in her deadpan voice, as though she was speaking from personal experience. Frances looked nervously between the two girls. He knew exactly what she was talking about, but didn't feel it was his place to explain, so he changed the subject.

"Regardless, we'll do some more digging. Perhaps we can locate an even more likely suspect."

"Yeah, people can be pretty big buttheads," Ripley agreed, eyeing Visia uncertainly, "but I still don't see anyone other than an absolute psychopath killing someone for a job here instead of, oh, I don't know, framing them for eating all the hamburgers or messing up their work or leaving the freezer door open. I guess he's still good for your list if he really was angry, though." She took a long slurp of her soda. "Do you guys have any other leads you're working on? Or is just this?" She waved the hand holding the soda to indicate the old diner.

Frances nodded, chin in his hand in deep thought. "That does seem like a more proportional response." he agreed. "Right now he's our only suspect." He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through Jared's social media account he'd dug up. "Jared seemed to live alone, his family lives elsewhere, didn't see any indication of..."

His eyes widened. "Look at this!" The feed showed several angry interactions with a particular woman, followed by a status update that Jared was now single. ((Leaving it vague in case you wanted to add details))