As it turned out, Ava had been referring to Atticus Heron and Mick Tamatoa from The Gleaner. The pair ran Old Town’s weekly newspaper. On the walk over, she told him that the newspaper had been in the Heron family for generations, stretching all the way back to 1817. In the early 1980s when Atticus Heron was in his thirties, he took it over himself as sole publisher. Later in the 90s, he would take on Native Hawaiian immigrant and struggling journalist, Mick Tamatoa, upon his arrival into town. The two had worked side-by-side ever since, sharing the workload of both writing columns and articles, and running the newspaper from its humble abode on Simcoe Street.
They sounded too good to be true. Two long-time residents who had a history with the town and who probably knew their fair share of the town’s secrets, as well. They would have the information he needed, he was sure of it. Maybe even prove useful in the future.
But he was getting ahead of himself, wasn’t he?
Surely, this murder was just a one-off, right?
Patrick asked her: “You know these two well then, I take it?”
“Atticus and Mick? Of course,” Ava told him. “Heck, they even give me free ad space in the paper whenever I want.”
“Well, that’s awfully nice of them.”
Ava nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, I’m saving a couple hundred bucks a month thanks to them. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s an awful lot of competition in the area. Everywhere you look there’s an antique shop here, an antique shop there. They’re growing like dandelions, I tell you. Someone’s got to be number one and I’m hoping it’ll be this gal right here.”
“Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be at work?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I really should. Soon. I’ve got Maggie watching over the store for me. I checked in with her while you were in the washroom at Perry’s store. She said it’s been really quiet today so she can handle it.”
“If you say so. Anyway, after you,” he said, waving a hand at the door to The Gleaner.
“Gee, thanks,” she said, winking, and grabbing the door handle.
The weathered door creaked open, struggling under its own weight. She finally had to throw her shoulder into it to get it open the rest of the way. Inside, they were greeted by tenebrous depths and deafening silence. The stale, musty air permeated at his nostrils.
“Hello?” Ava called out to the shadows. “Atticus? Mick? You in here?”
Patrick squinted into the darkness. “Looks like somebody forgot to pay the electric bill.”
Ava shushed him and went back to feeling around in the dark. “This is sooo weird. Ugh, there must be a light switch or something around here somewhere. It should be here on the left, I think.”
Suddenly, a voice came from the dark. It was faint, but still within earshot. “Like I’ve told you a million times, Mick…”
Ava called out, this time much louder, “Atticus? Is that you?”
“…We can’t— Ava?”
She practically shouted now. “Atticus, what’s going on? What’s going on with the lights?”
“Ava, be a darling and just wait right there. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. We’re experiencing some technical difficulties with the lights, I’m afraid.”
“I can see that, Atticus.” Ava shook her head and looked over at Patrick. By the time she had turned back around, light had filled the room.
The office was a decent size with an open floor plan, rectangular in shape, but also very plain-looking and sort of uninspiring. The walls were painted a dull bisque colour, decorated with aged photographs and what appeared to be maps of the surrounding area. A letterpress cabinet lay against the far wall and two wooden desks sat in the center of the room squished together. Papers and file folders littered the desks in a jumbled heap. A galvanized bucket was being used as a trashcan next to one of the desks. It overflowed with papers, miscellaneous items and the odd candy wrapper.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it was surely more than this array of scattered knickknacks. Near as he could tell, the two so-called reporters didn’t even have a computer in the office. How could you be a reporter without a computer in this day and age, let alone run an entire newspaper? Hopefully they at least owned an iPhone or something.
“Sorry about that, Ava,” Mick Tamatoa said as he entered the room from the right. Patrick knew that it was Tamatoa given his strong Hawaiian features. Square-jawed and jet-black hair tied pulled back into a ponytail. Mick looked back over his shoulder and said, “Oh, it would appear she’s not alone, Atticus.”
“How’s that?” the other one called, lost to view.
“I said, Ava brought company, Atticus,” the Hawaiian called again, this time putting a little more oomph in his voice.
“Company? Well, all right.”
Mick pivoted back to her. “Ava, a pleasure as always.”
Ava turned to Patrick, extending a hand in front of him. “Mick, I’ve got somebody I’d like you to meet.”
Mick studied Patrick. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Mick, this is Patrick Sullivan,” Ava told him. “He just moved to Old Town from Garden City. Patrick, this is—”
Patrick stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tamatoa.”
His sizable hand swallowed up Patrick’s much smaller hand. “Just Mick is fine, Mr. Sullivan, and mutual I’m sure.”
Just then, Mick’s lagging counterpart finally made his appearance. “Now what’s all the fuss about?”
Ava smiled. “Hiya, Atticus. How are we feeling today?”
Atticus Heron lumbered next to Mick, supporting himself on a brown cane. He was definitely the older of the two; Patrick placed him in his early 60s. Balding with hollowed features and thick eyeglasses, Atticus lacked vigor in his drained and unsteady steps. Is this guy gonna topple over right in front of me? “Been better, I’m afraid,” Atticus moaned, “but as you can see I’m still here.”
“You’re not dead yet, old man,” Mick chirped, looking amused with himself.
“These days,” Atticus said, “I might as well be dead with the way I feel.”
“Atticus,” Ava said, attempting to change the subject. “I’ve brought someone.”
“So, you have,” Atticus said, giving Patrick the once-over with an upturned nose and tired eyes.
“Hello, sir,” Patrick said. “My name’s—”
“Patrick Sullivan,” Mick finished for him. “He’s from Garden City.”
“That’s right,” Ava said. “He used to work for Garden PD.”
That piqued Atticus’ curiosity. “You don’t say…”
“Ava’s right,” Patrick told him. “I used to work crime scenes for the department.”
Atticus and Mick shared a short glance.
“Ava, darling,” Atticus now started saying. “Don’t tell me you’re here about this terrible business over on Castlereagh.” He shook his head and moved over to a large wooden counter to his right. He propped an elbow on it to keep himself upright.
Ava half-smiled. “As a matter of fact…”
Mick shook his head in disappointment. “Oh, Ava. Haven’t you learned anything? What is it with you and trouble? I’m beginning to wonder if trouble finds you or if you just seek it out.”
Patrick eyed Ava suspiciously. Curious.
Comments (0)
See all