[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=1a7b30][center]Call of Cthulhu[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

[hr][center][h3][color=0054a6]Chapter One: The Crack'd and Crook'd Manse[/color][/h3][/center][hr]

Date: Monday, May 4th, 1925
Time: Afternoon, sometime around: 4 PM to 4:30 PM, approximately 30 minutes of following actions after arrival.
Location: Streets of Gamwell, Massachuttets

[@RBYDark][@Vertigo]

Like the true detectives the group were attempting to be, it was (perhaps) decided to split up and go their separate ways in the beginning. At least three options were discussed, three close-by locations picked for exploration of a mystery most peculiar. Time would move rather quickly, and yet ever so slow, as if the rules of the Universe didn't always apply to itself. Then again, many hours driving down New England country roads does make everything turn into a blur. 

[color=1a7b30]Sheriff's Office:[/color][@rocketrobie2] - Hoping to gather some additional information before their rendevous with the Dodge Brothers, as well as thinking to elaborate the relations between their case, the local authorities and such, Father C spoke for meeting with the Sheriff of Gamwell. Walking down the street to where a sign pointed him, reading "Sheriff's Office", Father C would enter a modest building with what one might expect of a rural Sheriff's office. 

Organised within one single room, an empty counter would greet the fatherly priest up front with a couple of prison cells placed on his right. Up front, in the back of the room, the irregular and frustrated typing of a typewriter welcomed Father C in less warm of a sense than he'd hope. A lean, old and preoccupied man sitting behind the table holding up the typewriter and several documents, glared up at him. 

[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/FYr12DG/Sherrif-Whitford.jpg[/img][/center]

"Hmpf...blasted piece of mechanical junk...Huh? Who are you? Sheriff Whitford at your service...father? Don't they teach folks to knock anymore? What do you want? Are you here about a horse?"

[color=1a7b30]Gamwell Boarding House:[/color][@rivaan] - Deciding that arranging their accomedations was of the first priority, Eleonora ordered "Maggie" to drop her off at the closest thing to a hotel there was in Gamwell. Humble housing met Eleonora as she would enter the neat and scrubbed building, with a sign at the front entrace making it very clear; "No chewing tobacco, no alcohol, no smoking, no unmarried couples, AND NO NONSENSE." This was certainly meant to be a clean place, like any decent New Englander would want it, unless to drag ones reputation and the Lord down. 

Just like the faux father, Eleonora would be met by a counter, though this one with a certain level of increased activity. A couple of, well, couples stood in line and conversing with the friendly-looking old lady. Perhaps this was the boarding home's owner? Talk of room reservations and tomorrow's planned celebrations cluttered what could be considered 'the lobby', until it was Eleonora's turn to finally speak with the lady behind the counter. 

"Ah, another guest? Welcome madam, welcome! My name is Edith Haggarty, and this is me and my husband's boarding house. Is there anything I can help you with? If it is a room you are looking for, we have a few spare ones, but only for tonight. Wedding-reception tomorrow, lovely isn't it!"

[color=1a7b30]The Dodge Brothers' Office:[/color][@Remipa Awesome] - Two investigators heading for their secondary targets, one gumshoe decided to take the bull by the horns - or the lawyers by their ties, so to speak. Margarete, after dropping off Eleonora would drive the car down the main street, headed for the row of offices not typical for such a rural town. Luck was on her side though, with a small yet visible sign glaring out at her: "Dodge Brothers: Attorneys at Law". 

From a second story window, she might have noticed the face - no, three faces looking down at her, unsure of what to make of this unknown automobile parking outside their office. 

Soon enough Margarete would find her way inside the office building, up the stairs and into the office of the men who'd asked for help. Inside a small office, dusty and damp, three washed-out-looking little men in washed-out-looking little grey suits, welcomed her with timid looks. The middle of the men reached over the desk seperating them from Margarete, holding a small and weak hand for her to greet, before sitting down in a creaky office chair - just as small and washed-out as the men. 

[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/cL1Gx89/Walther-Dodge.jpg[/img][/center]

"So...so you must be the detective Mr. Peacock wrote he would send...we thought there were more of you, but no matter...We're glad you could come as quick as you could, as this is a matter of importance! So..ehm, what do you need of us?" One of the brothers started speaking, by the name plate on the office choosing him as "Walter Dodge". Another brother spoke up, this one a little taller - but not much. 

"Isn't it obvious, Walter? They're here...I'm sorry, she's here to be told what to do. These private detectives need to be ordered, don't they? A helping hand, the first clue, no?" 

"Oh yes, you're right, Reginald. Quite right. Ehm...ehem, yes, the job. Mr. Cornthwaite and his disappearence, as you know, have given us quite the headache. Want we want you to do is simple. Herbert?"

A third brother spoke up, the smallest one but somehow the boldest of them all. Perhaps it wasn't so odd, considering how it seemed they had written down on paper what to ask the investigators to do. Were they that washed-out?

"Since we haven't had contact with our client, Mr. Cornthwaite, for over a week and a half, we are requesting your assistance in this matter. We want you to, number one; to establish the location of Mr. Cornthwaite, or satisfactory evidence of his...ehm, fate. Number two; keep damage to Cornthwaite's estate and property at a mininum in the course of your investigation. If not, we see no other option but to deduct said damage from your pay. I think that was all, Walter?"

Reginald and Herbert Dodge looked expectingly at Walter, as if hoping that Margarete's powerful presence was entirely focused on by their brother. Walter swallowed audibly, slowly but surely melting into a figurative gel in his seat, though putting on a brave face. "Yes, quite...Now, can we answer any questions you have, Miss...? We have his acounts and ledgers, and the keys to both front and back door of the mansion. You may spend the night there, just don't damage anything."