Miss Mona tells you that this time of day there's no local "hot spot", but you might find a few people in the shops. The diner usually has a decent crowd around lunch time. She is more than willing to help you with anything you need as well.

"Thanks," he said, smiling. "I was hoping to speak to some of the livestock farmers, but I'm guessing they'd be working. What kinda time do they tend to come into town, and where do they like to do their drinking?"

Once Miss Mona had responded to his question, Frank thanked her once more, and headed down the main street to gather the word on the street about the attacks.

Mona tells you that people usually start heading in to town after dinner, around 7 or 7:30. You won't have trouble finding them because there's only one bar in the whole town: Sasparilla's Tavern.

You head outside, but the town is very quiet. Many of the shops look like tourist traps, and you notice that most of them are only open evenings and weekends anyway. The only open businesses are the diner, which has a few cars parked out front, the hardware store, which has a memorial set up in front of it, the bank, the barber, and the general store. Some of the bigger storefronts are empty, and you suppose that the must be a Wal-Mart in the next town over which has taken business from the local stores.

As you walk around town you also notice that the campaign to replace the murdered Mayor has already started. Apparantly the town is small enough that they have no vice mayor or other person to replace the fallen mayor. The current candidates are Solomon Wolfe, whose picture you recognize as being the preacher from the news footage you saw earlier, Trent Barton, and Earl Lindscomb, who was the second victim of the attacks and whose name (and face) is on the front of the hardware store.

Frank was amazed by how quiet the town seems to be. He makes a mental note to speak with Mr Wolfe, given his comments regarding the attacks, and also given that it is now apparent that two of the men attacked were obstacles to him becoming mayor.

He decided to visit the hardware store first, as it seemed to have been owned by the second victim, Earl Lindscomb. Whoever was running it now was likely to know about the attack, especially if they were a relative of Mr Lindscomb.

Frank crossed the street and walked into the hardware store.

Big Earl's Hardware store is exactly as countrified as its name makes it sound. It sells mostly farm equipment and tractor parts, but also basic home repair needs. The end of every aisle are plastered with posters and cardboard cutouts of Big Earl himself, announcing whatever happens to be on sale that day.

At the front counter is a lady who might be in her late 50's, wearing a black arm band. Her name plate reads "Mrs. Earl".

Frank entered the shop, and felt like he should doff his hat, except he didn't have one. Perhaps while they were in the middle of nowhere, it would be suitable to buy one. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, approaching the counter. "I'm truly sorry to hear about your husband; a terrible business, that."

"Mrs. Earl" looks up at you.

Thank you kindly, stranger. She looks back down at her clasped hands and says it was just horrible, what happened. One minute we were happily married, and the next minute I was a widow.

The sadness in her voice is not fully reflected on her face. Perhaps she has run out of tears to shed.

"Life can be cruel," he said, sympathetically. "Sometimes when we are most happy. This is something else entirely, though. Are the police investigating these attacks? One animal attack might be a tragic accident, but three in as many weeks? That's unlike anything I've ever heard of."

Frank found himself falling back on his police training, trying to judge how much he could ask Earl's widow. He was worried that perhaps he might have pushed her too far, but she did seem to be past the initial stages of grief, so perhaps she would be able to cope with talking about it. He wasn't planning to linger too long on the topic though, just try to find out 'Mrs Earl's' thoughts about her husbands death.

It's not unheard of, but it's been a very, very long time since anybody has been attacked by animals, let alone killed. With all the farms there's nowhere for them to live.

She sighs. The police around here are a joke. They couldn't find their ass with both hands and a flashlight. She quickly looks up at you. Uh... if you'll pardon my French.

She looks back down at her hands. There's simply never any crime around here for them to get any practice. So they take their state money and their Homeland Security money, and of course the tax money from the hard-working citizens of Ford, and they stand out back of the station shooting at targets.

"An understandable sentiment, ma'am," said Frank. "Police are a necessary evil, mostly. Still, sad to hear yours have given you reason to hold such a low opinion of them."

His statement was honest, it did sadden him when he saw police forces who had little idea about service of the public, integrity, or any of the other values that metropolitan forces were held up to.

"Sorry to draw you into that conversation, though," he continued, "I actually only came in here to buy some de-icer. Don't want to get caught out by the Montana weather."

OOC: Frank is bluffing to make it seem that his questions were merely customer curiosity, rather than active questioning, and that he came in to buy something specific.

23:58, Today: Francis 'Frank' Decourcey rolled 20 using 1d20+11. Bluff check (de-icer).

Aw, maybe I was too harsh. I still can't get used to the fact that my Earl...

The sheriff means well, and he tries hard, he just... I dunno, he needs help.

When you mention de-icer, she breaks out in roaring laughter. She laughs and laughs and laughs and just when you think she is done... she laughs some more. After an interminably long bout, she finally slows to a stop. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she says, Oh thank you, stranger. I really needed a joke with the way I've been feeling.

_{De-icer in June...}, she mutters. She starts giggling, but manages to keep control of herself.