2019-12-26 - Suspicious Minds

This meeting was pre-arranged. It's snowing outside, but that's not going to stop RESEARCH! So Anne tells Alexander to meet her at City Hall. It's closed on account of the snow and the holidays and because city government just seems to totally shut down between Christmas and New Years but Anne's got keys and here they are, in the BOWELS OF THE ARCHIVES. It's actually just a regular basement, but Anne wants to be dramatic, so that's what she's calling it. The water-damaged walls are lined in heavy, overburdened file cabinets, and there's one of those machines that lets you read old newspapers. There's a few wobbly tables that go along with the wobbly chairs. It's quaint.

"So we've got a day and a place. Tuesday and the carousel," Anne is parked at the ancient computer; it's taking forever to load. It probably still uses Windows 95. "Not much to go on, but I think if we start with the place and just toss out anything that didn't happen on a Tuesday, we can narrow it down?"

Alexander likes drama, especially where archives are concerned. He also likes being allowed in the BOWELS OF THE ARCHIVES, so he's got a smile on his face as he enters and looks around, like a man unexpectedly turned loose in a treasure vault. He also stopped by a bakery, and brought a small fruit tart for Anne, as thanks for helping out with the research project. He grabs a chair and settles in near the computer. "We can also probably start thirteen years or so ago - I'd probably remember anything during the time I've been here as an adult that would be that affecting on the landscape. And if it's centered on the carousel...when was that installed? Would it have existed in the Veil before it was a real thing in our world?"

"I mean, to be honest, we can probably start thirty-two years ago. I've been here all my life," Anne considers this as she leans back into her chair, breaking off a corner of the fruit tart to pop it into her mouth while she waits for this ancient machine to get to some sort of start-up screen. "Ooh, this is good. Did you get it from the Patisserie downtown? I've been meaning to go there.." The computer finally wakes up and Anne leans forward, pursing her lips as she navigates to the archival database. "The carousel was put in 1911. Two years after the Riverfront Park carousel in Spokane. It was around the time that Gray Harbor was doing this whole.. family friendly revitalization," which makes sense, considering the Gohl murders were in 1910.

The 'archival database' on the computer is positively abysmal, the program hasn't had an update since the 90s. So the green text on a black background is going to make their eyes hurt. "Yep, see, right here," she taps the screen. There's a listing of articles about the carousel's grand opening along with which filing cabinet they are (hopefully) in. "The city was really hoping to bring up their image."

Alexander nods. "Yeah. Everything there is good, and the proprietor is...interesting. If you get the chance to talk to him, you should." He leans forward a little, himself, reading what he can from his current distance. His eyebrows go up. "That seems like a lost cause to me, but I guess the local government does what it has to do to try and keep the taxes and tourists coming in." He pulls out a notebook, and writes down the filing designation. "Mmm, okay. Want to take these as we find them, or go ahead and build up a list of possible suspects and examine them all at once?"

"I'll keep that in mind," Anne says of the patisserie's owner, frowning contemplatively as she clicks along the database. "It didn't really help. The carousel, I mean. The mayor spent a ton of money having it built. Do you know who Charles Looff is?" she raises a brow at Alexander, but keeps on going. "They used a competitor of his. Some local carpenter, made a few carousels for the surrounding towns. He was arrested six months after the park's install," she wrinkles her nose as she informs Alexander: "Impropriety with children. He was a real sicko. But you won't read that in the news," she considers this.

"Maybe see when he was arrested? Matthew Whittaker was his name, you can probably find him in..." she looks about herself, points a finger at one of the filing cabinets. "Third drawer."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Even without the knock-off child molestor, it takes more than a carousel to make Gray Harbor 'family friendly'," Alexander says, his voice dry. He rises to his feet. "Matthew Whittaker. Will do." A pause. "Also might look into any of his victims. If they later came back and did something to the carousel, or at the carousel, it could have resonated."

On that cheery note, he pads over to the filing cabinet and pulls open the third drawer, quickly going through it to find the right files, and bring them back.

"I think they tried to put on a few fairs," Anne says cheekily before she returns her attention back to the computer while Alexander goes to fetch the files. "We're not going to find much about his victims here in the archives. That'll probably take some digging into police records. Do you know anybody who could give us that kind of access?" she looks back to Alexander and shrugs. "I wonder who ran the carousel. It was the city's property, I think, but.." Hmm. The chair legs scratch the basement floor as she gets up and moves to an entirely different filing cabinet.

There are only a few newspaper clippings on Matthew Whittaker in the file that Alexander pulls. The first is the announcement of the carousel's opening - that happened on a Monday. The second is the police blotter that mentions his arrest - Thursday. There's a half page article from the Gazette, aged and yellowed, that talks about Whitaker's crimes, but it looks like he took the kids out into the woods. And finally, there's a record from 1912, when Whitaker committed 'suicide' in jail. But that happens on a Sunday.

"Yeah," Alexander says, first. Then, after a moment's thought, it becomes a rueful, "Maybe. I don't know that he'll be impressed by what we want it for. But I'll ask and let you know?" He wanders back, looking through the files as he goes. "Hmm. No correlation on the days, at least with the arrest and his death," he says, with a frown. "And the crimes didn't take place at the carousel." Still, he notes days and dates in his notebook, then puts the files neatly aside for re-filing once they're done. "What else have we got that centers on the carousel?"

"Sure," Anne replies of Alexander's cop friend, while she's digging deep into the filing cabinet. "You could always tell them you're doing research for the archives. It makes for an easy excuse, I've got all sorts of projects going on. And I'll vouch," she looks over to flash Alexander a grin, before she returns her focus to the filing cabinet. "Ah-ha, found it. Let's see here.." she straightens up and walks the folder back over to Alexander. This one's thicker and it makes a THUD! when she drops it onto the table. "This should have everything on the carousel itself, and at least the original operator. Shall we divide and conquer?"

"It might be required. The vouching. But we'll see," Alexander says, and returns the grin with a fleeting one of his own. When she plops that big old file down, his whole face lights up from inside with sheer delight. "I like big books and I cannot lie." It's said very solemnly, and ruined in the next moment when he has to add, "Not that this is, strictly speaking, a book. But same principle applies. I'll be happy to take half and see what we can manage." He suits actions to words and grabs about half the stack to go through. "How is your holiday shaping up, Anne? No other attempts by the universe to drown you in a snowglobe?"

".. Those other researchers can't deny," Anne hums along happily with Alexander's solemn statement, giggling under her breath. There's absolutely delight glimmering there in her own blue eyes as she tugs out a few smaller folders from the larger stack. "This is my favorite part of the job," she admits to him, "Digging through the records. The smell of old paper. There's so much history here," she enthuses, flipping open one of the folders she's picked through. There's some original newspaper clippings, but an awful lot of copies, all date arranged at least. When he asks about her holiday, her eyes bulge a little, but she clears her throat and shifts, looking down at her papers. "Oh, you know. It's going fine," she's totally blushing. "I've been enjoying the snow. What about you, and Isabella?" She doesn't look up, focusing on the research, tapping a finger on one of the articles. "Says the original operator was a .. oh, that's interesting," she sits up a little straighter. "Jacob Baxter."

"When a folio walks in, with an itty-bitty binding and a thick sheaf of pages in your face..." Alexander sings back. He actually has a decent voice, even if the scanning is all wrong. "And I enjoy it, too. I think I'd like to try what Isabella does, the field work, at least once, but I imagine the feeling is very similar. Uncovering something that no one recognized the significance of, learning about what has been lost, filling in the gaps of time." His voice is a little wistful, there. And he notices the blush. Eyebrows go up. "I take it you and Patrick managed to find an accord of some sort? Or have you buried him in a backyard somewhere? He sent me a Christmas gift, so I'm absolutely willing to entertain the possibility that you fed him to a doppleganger or something."

He's joking. Probably. Maybe? And then it's his turn to blush. "Ah. We're okay. She, um, invited me to holiday dinner with her family. No one shot me by the end, so I think it went okay? I like them." And then the Baxter name comes out again, and all else is forgotten. "...goddamn it. What is it with that family." He's going through his stack, reading quickly, and sorting neatly. And now he has a name to look for.

"You get SPRUNG!" Anne finishes up the song with a burst of cheerful laughter, the giggles tapering off as she shakes her head and looks back down to the records. "I really admire what Isabella does. She's like a female Indiana Jones!" she speaks of her friend fondly, a smile on her face that doesn't vanish when Alexander brings up Patrick. But the blush does get darker. The talk of feeding the Addington to a doppleganger has her laughing all over again. "No, no. It's nothing like that, we're just.. coming to something of an understanding," there's a soft smile, but it vanishes after. "It's really complicated. But he got me a nice Christmas present." And that makes her blink, looking back to Alexander. "You said he got you something? What was it?"

As for the research, there's not a ton on Jacob Baxter. He's mentioned only once, in an article about the Gray Harbor city fair in 1925. "It's really hard to find information on them, you know. The Baxters. But they come up in the most.. random things," she considers this, frowning as she digs through some papers. "Oh, here you go! It looks like on Tuesdays in the 60's, they started doing Rock'n'Roll days at the carousel. Did you know Elvis Presley was born on a Tuesday?" Random history.

Alexander laughs at the enthusiastic finisher. "I dare you to sing that version to the other Archivist if the opportunity ever arises," he says, teasing. Then nods. There's the barest suggestion of heart eyes as he says, "I do, as well. And I suppose she does have all those dashing qualities. All she needs is some Nazis to fight against, I guess." He gives her a sidelong look at 'something of an understanding', and makes a noncommittal sound.

Then, a soft laugh. "He got me a snow globe. Well. I'm sure it was found somewhere. It's actually one from that movie...Dark City? One of the few fictional movies I like, oddly enough. It was a nice gift." And then he nods. "Yeah. When I first started researching them, I tried to find any record of their deaths. There's not a single Baxter body, under that name, buried in all of Gray Harbor. That I could find, anyway." He hums. "Would Rock'n'Roll days be enough? I mean, I guess the Carousel could have just really enjoyed it." He starts looking for any papers that might mention that. "...hmm, yeah, I think my mom mentioned that. She's a big Elvis fan."

"Goodness, could you imagine?" Anne giggles about singing to the Archivist. "It'd probably ban me from City Hall. Or try to marry me. I'm not entirely sure which," nor does she want to know, so says her tone. But there remains the glimmer of amusement in the blue of her eyes as she returns to fishing through the paperwork. "It's probably for the best that there are no Nazis left for her to fight, all things considered," she says of Isabella. And then Alexander mentions the snow globe. That brings her attention back to him, blinking once or twice. "Really? If you tell me that yours sings 'I'll be Home for Christmas', too, I'm going to be very upset."

But, this isn't about Patrick and his stupid snow globes. This is about carousels and Tuesdays. "I wonder where they are all buried?" Anne wonders that about the Baxters, before she shakes her head. "I can't see why Elvis Presley would have that huge of an impression on the carousel, but maybe that's it. I'm certainly not finding anything else in my pile." Which means it's all up to you, Alexander.

It won't take Alexander long to find what he needs to find, at least. In the pile, there's the front page of the Gray Harbor Gazette dated Tuesday, August 16, 1977. The headline reads THE KING IS DEAD, CITY IN MOURNING and there is a half page article about the death of Elvis Presley. But buried in the bottom half of the paper is a very brief blurb about Jill Baxter, daughter of Jacob Baxter IV. There's very little there, except that Jill disappeared while riding the carousel that her father, Jacob IV, currently operates.

"Ban you," Alexander says, without hesitation. "His heart belongs to Byron Thorne, as far as I can tell. I'd be terribly disappointed if he was fickle." He drops his voice to a stage whisper. "I'm still hoping those two crazy kids can make it work." And if Byron ever finds out Alexander said that, they might never find the investigator's body. He at least does reassure her on one front, "Mine doesn't sing at all. It's for 'Shell Beach'. A place that doesn't exist."

"I couldn't say--" And then he stops. Frowns. goes back and re-reads the article. "Interesting. Looks like Jacob Baxter had a daughter, Jill, who disappeared while riding the carousel." His mouth twists. "Ironically, on the day Elvis died."

Anne snickers under her breath about the Archivist's love affair for Byron. "It seems pretty serious, if the creepy walking wax guide was any indication," she remarks, looking perhaps a touch relieved when Alexander mentions his snow globe doesn't play a song. "I guess I can't blame him for being uncreative? It's at least a very relevant gift. And I suppose yours didn't come with the same note mine did, so I won't beat him up about it." There's a heartbeat of a pause before she adds with another impish smile: "Too much, anyway."

The smile fades though when they come across this tidbit of information, Anne tilting forward to look at the article that Alexander found. "Jacob Baxter the fourth. Interesting," she frowns, rising from her seat to go back to the computer. There's some tapping on the keyboard and a few clicks before there's a frustrated little sniff. "Nothing about Jill Baxter or Jacob Baxter. If they found her, they didn't write about her in the newspaper.." She nibbles on her bottom lip and reaches into her pocket for her phone, pacing back to Alexander while she types. "And Google says the carousel's operated by someone else entirely now. Odd."

Alexander shudders, lightly. "I do kid, but at the same time - I've heard about that thing from Isabella, and 'creepy' seems to sum it up. At least he seems content to yearn from afar?" He does chuckle at the rest. "Probably not the same note. Or, at least, I hope not. And I don't know that it's uncreative, exactly - we did almost get murdered by snow globes together. It has a certain synergy. And it could have been worse. He could have been sending out naked baby angels."

His fingers tip tap tip on the tabletop. "That doesn't surprise me. It almost seems like this article just slipped through, you know? Under the other news." He glances over at her computer. "Who's it operated by now? And are there public records on Jacob? Where he went afterwards, anything like that?"

"I'm fairly certain that Patrick will never be able to look at cherubs again, for as long as he'll live," Anne says of naked baby angels, frowning down at her phone and then back over the computer. She turns back, tapping a bit on the keyboard, but .. "Nothing. No housing records, no tax records. And if he died in Gray Harbor, well.." She doesn't have to say it. It's a dead end. "I think this is all we've got, Alexander." She turns back to him with a frown. "A Baxter girl who's father was the carousel operator goes missing on what is probably one of the most famous Tuesdays ever. We could keep digging for other things that could've happened, but... I think we know why the carousel over there turns a different direction on that day of the week."

Alexander grins. "So, you're saying that you're definitely getting him a large cherub for his birthday? And...yeah, seems so. How odd. I wonder if the girl is still...involved, somehow." He frowns. "Time and death don't seem to work in quite the same ways that we're accustomed to, over there. So maybe we should keep an eye out during our stake-out. I don't suppose there's a picture." He doesn't sound at all hopeful about that. "And why do you suppose it's so often a Baxter that is at the center of things like this?"

"His birthday's in October. That's.. well, I suppose we'll see when we get there," there's something that passes over Anne's expression - maybe an expectation of disappointment, before she shakes it away. "If there's a picture, it'll be in the newspaper articles. Here, lemme see that folder," she makes wiggly fingers for the folder where Alexander found the article in question and starts digging. "I don't know, to be honest. But they were the first ones here, you know? Baxters, then Addingtons. I don't think it's entirely coincidental that they keep showing up," she frowns, finally finding what she was looking for. "Can you believe they stuck the picture in the back pages? That's.." she breathes out, "Really sad."

The photograph is a picture of a cute little girl in pigtails and overalls; the picture was taken on one of the horses at the carousel.

Alexander hands over the folder. He doesn't miss what passes over her face, and he stares at her for a moment, before letting it go. "Yeah. And a Baxter preacher burned a bunch of women at the stake. From both families, and a couple of others, too. Still not sure what that's about, but I'll let you see a copy of the photo one day. See if you see what some of us see in it. And Margaret Addington is prepared to blame everything on the Baxters." A pause. "She might not be wrong. They - we - do seem to come up an awful lot when disaster strikes."

He considers the picture for a long moment. "Yeah," he says, softly, "it's very sad. Poor girl. This is not a good town."

Anne's eyebrows go up at the mention of a Baxter preacher burning women at the stake, her frown deepening as she closes the folder and slides it back into the stack. "Gray Harbor is a city of secrets and mystery," she comments quietly, rustling her fingers through her hair. "But sometimes I wonder if things are just.. forgotten. Lost. Like this girl. You know there's nothing about how the Baxters found this place? It's all very strange," she breathes out. "I'm not sure, but if you can get your police friend to help, maybe there's some record about Jill Baxter going missing. Maybe she was found, and the carousel just spins that way because it really liked Elvis."

"It is. But I always wonder...why? I could see somewhere closer to St. Helens having some sort of occult significance. Or the major cities. Or a fault line. But," Alexander shakes his head, a touch of frustration coming through, "I cannot imagine why this tiny little timber town warrants rents in reality and all sorts of weirdness like it does." There's a huff, before he smiles. "But that's a question for another day. I'll check on that with Javier. A cold case is still a case, after all. And...didn't we all like Elvis?" He gives her solemn, over-large eyes.

"I've been asking the 'why' most of my life, Alexander Clayton," Anne says in a quiet sigh, frowning to herself. "That's why I stay here. To know why. Why us, why this place? I don't know," she looks disappointed with that. "But I mean to find out. And I'm glad I met you, and Isabella. Maybe we'll find more information, now that there's more of us looking for it." And that's about the time she gets up to start putting things away, though not before she says with a reassuring laugh: "I love Elvis. Thank you for doing this with me, Alexander."

"Maybe," Alexander agrees. He smiles. "And I'm glad that I met you, as well, Anne. We might not find the definitive answers, but I think we'll manage to shed at least a little light on the mystery." He moves to help her put things away, then clucks his tongue. "Nonsense. Thank you for inviting me. I love things like this. I'm happy to be your research buddy anytime." He grins, then takes his leave, calling, "Don't die, and don't freeze," over his shoulder.