The Color Yellow Loves A Challenge, And I'd Say We've Got One


It was just past three in the afternoon when Mabel and Ray made it to the station the next day. The final arrangements for the initial investigations had been wrapped up at five in the morning. Mabel barely remembered passing out on top of the covers when they had returned to the hotel. By the looks of Ray's third cup of coffee, his experience was likely similar.

"What are we doing here again?" Ray asked, rubbing the bags under his eyes.

"I want to have a word with Deputy Chief Frederick. After that, we need to pick up the files for interviews at the bar."

"Oh, right."

Mabel had decided that the next course of action, while the body and evidence were being analyzed, was to head downtown to check out the bar scene. After her interrogation of the neighbor, Ms. Dirk, Mabel had found out that the victim frequented a local place called The Blue Moose Inc. Invoices littered about the man's trailer corroborated her account. It was time for Mabel to do what she did best: talk to people.

It took some time to find the deputy chief's office, tucked in a corner of the crowded precinct. Mabel knocked on the door and when no one answered she tried the handle.

"He's not in." Officer Archer announced as she arrived, "He left early today. Around two, I think."

"So he's avoiding me?" Mabel grumbled.

Hand on her hip, Madison tilted her head in question.

"It's nothing." Mabel relented, "Did you find what I asked for?"

"Tyrone is working on it right now. Will you be needing anything else this afternoon? A police escort, for example."

Smiling at the woman, Mabel answered, "No, we'll be fine on our own. Just poking around to get some more background on our victims."

"Sounds good." Archer nodded, "Well, if you wait right here, I'll go see what's holding Ty up."

"Thanks." Ray said for his partner as Archer strode off.

Bored with the lack of activity, Mabel let her eyes wander over the busy station. It looked a lot like the Sacramento Police department actually, but she guessed, some things just came standard. Like a corkboard filled with notices, wanted posters, and missing persons reports.

Her brow crinkled together at the sight, and an unwanted memory swam to the surface: sitting a dirty, padded chair at another police station, much smaller and quieter than this one. Waiting. Watching. It was the first time she could remember Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland being serious. The first time they diligently asked questions and filed paperwork. The first time she realized something was truly and terribly wrong. Grunkle Stan willingly went to the authorities.

Dipper had been gone for three days.

And the only thing that changed after their visit was an eight by eleven inch sheet of the paper bearing his image, pinned on a corkboard, yellowing as it aged. For thirteen years.

"Found him!" Archer's call snapped Mabel out of her reverie and she forced a smile on her face. The woman waved and tugged Officer Golar along as he tried to keep the folders he was holding from spilling everywhere. "He got lost in the records room."

"Did not." Tyrone sniffed.

Mabel took the files, letting the information stream through her mind to push out the unpleasant flashback. Distracted, she didn't notice Ray had thanked the officers and dismissed them until he had guided her into the afternoon sunlight on the way to the car. Blinking like an owl, she dropped into the passenger seat.

"Seems like the gears are turning." Ray observed as he started the vehicle and pulled out onto the city streets, "Is it the case or something else? Possibly sleep deprivation?"

"Something else." She muttered, "Give me some time."

Ray nodded and turned on the radio instead. Scanning the stations, he caught the tail end of trivia game and let the sound fill the car.

"Is the answer 'toaster'?" hesitancy clearly colored the contestant's voice.

"Correct!" the host declared enthusiastically, "Congratulations, you've won two tickets to see Oregon famous, master or illusions and magic, Gideon Gleeful. His show will be…"

Mabel spun the knob on the stereo, not bothering to tune in to anything. As a result, static hummed over the speakers. Ray shot her a worried frown, turning down the volume. "You have a thing against stage performers or something?"

"More like a thing against, Gideon Gleeful." She muttered into the window.

Ray didn't say anything, letting her work it out on her own.

Shops and restaurants flew by, their appearance steadily decreasing in quality. She wondered if they would be doomed to roam around only the shady parts of Salem for the duration of the investigation. It was cause for wondering just what kind of killer was seemingly motivated by the sheer need for committing murder.

Pulling into a parallel parking slot in front of a rundown chapel, Ray asked, "Ready?"

Drawing a deep breath, she replied, "Of course."

The bar was a few blocks away, but they arrived in no time. A chime on the door announced their entrance, and belatedly, Mabel realized that among this crowd their suits made them more conspicuous than professional. A few eyebrows raised, but soon the late-afternoon drinkers returned to minding their own business and Mabel made her way up to the bar.

The bartender, a heavily tattooed man that looked to be in his forties, put down the glass he was cleaning and came over to where she and Ray sat.

"Anything I can get for you?"

"I'll take a Pitt if you have it." Mabel ordered.

"And you?" he directed at Ray.

"Just water."

The man shot Ray a dirty look.

"Bottled water then."

"What are people like you doing in a place like this?" the bartender asked as he pulled the requested drinks from a cooler under the counter.

Ambiguously, Mabel responded with her patented cheer, "We're here to meet some people."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, nearly-black eyes sparkled with intelligence "Not many meetings of the sort you dress up fancy for happen in this part of town."

"Strictly casual meetings then." Mabel amended. "If you might point out a few of your regular customers, we can get out of your hair much quicker. And pardon me, but I don't think I caught your name."

"Those kind of meetings, huh? The name's Andrew Jekyll. But don't go jumping to any wild conclusions. Working here every night doesn't leave me a lot of space in my calendar for a crime life, detective."

She was about to respond, only to be interrupted by a yell that came from the back room.

"Jenkins!" Mabel caught sight of the bartender rolling his eyes before she turned to find the source of the commotion. A younger looking man, tall and skinny with hair obviously dyed the same shade as ink, stormed out the connecting door. Silver earrings were the only thing brighter than black in his rocker apparel. He had a rolled up cable slung over his shoulder.

"I've told you a million times, kid. It's Jekyll. You don't listen. It's amazing that you have the hearing capacity to produce music for a living."

The rocker bristled, the action striking Mabel as familiar.

"I can't find my spare guitar strings." He seethed, "You promised me everything in that closet would be secure. You'll be paying for a replacement set."

Jekyll sighed, formulating a response, but Mabel interrupted him.

"Robbie?"

The young man stared at her, not bothering to hide the way his gaze lingered on places they normally shouldn't. "Do I know you?" he finally muttered.

"'Robbie!'" Jekyll sputtered, "That's cute, Valentino."

"Shut up," Robbie snapped, "That's what people used to call me when I was a kid…" His voice trailed off and his eyes snapped back to Mabel. "Pines?" it came out as a question.

"Glad to hear I was memorable."

That was sarcasm.


It's almost Halloween. What a coincidnece: (starfleetrambo tumblr com/post/101415830973/come-home-soon-we-dont-celebrate-halloween)