Chapter Twenty-One

Jameson

Something occurs to me while Scott’s filling out the paperwork.

“Umm, Dennis, what’s the name of the local newspaper around here?”

He scratches his head as he thinks. “Uh, well, I suppose that would’ve been the Edgerly Enquirer. I used to deliver it when I was a kid. But it folded up like ten years ago.”

Well there goes that theory. Unless…

“Do you think they’ve got it archived somewhere?” I ask hopefully.

“Oh, you looking for back issues?”

I nod. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, some guy bought out the entire set-up—equipment, phones, desks—all of it right down to the last paperclip. If anyone’d have them, it’d be him.”

I say a quick prayer for a teeny-tiny miracle, and then I ask, “I don’t suppose…do you…do you happen to know who he was or where he was from?”

It doesn’t take him a second to answer. “Sure, he was from that town down south of here. The one with the whacky pie lady who tells fortunes.”

I suck in a breath. “You mean…Mayhem?”

“Yup. That’d be the place… God, what was his name? Something weird and…aristocratic, maybe? Uhhh…Prince? No, that’s not right,” he mutters to himself.

“King?” I offer. “Could it have been King Colby?”

Both Dennis and Scott are now staring at me as if I’ve morphed into a giant leprechaun on the verge of breaking out into a jig. And I’m tempted to do just that…the jig part, anyway. Not the leprechaun bit. Though I do look good in green…

…

It takes most of the trip back home to Mayhem for me to explain what I’m thinking…and why. While he seems impressed with my ability to think “out of the box,” Scott doesn’t seem to be nearly as excited about this prospect as I am. And I’m very excited as we pull up onto Main Street and park—not in front of O’Halloran’s, but across the street, in front of the office of the Mayhem Gazette.

Scott’s got Jackson in the stroller and is fast on my heels as I push through the glass door and walk up to the counter. That’s when Jackson catches sight of Bryan, who rents office space here.

“What the helllllll, Brybry!” he shrieks.

Bryan’s assistant, Helen, stops her phone conversation mid-sentence to look at us, her garish orange eyebrows perched high above her bejeweled cat-eye glasses.

“Sorry!” I mouth quietly so as not to further interrupt her transaction. She shakes her head and smiles.

“Jameson, good to see you!” Bryan says as he approaches us. “And Scott, good to see you, man. How’s Big Win doing?”

“Well, there was a little improvement with his vitals yesterday, and he’s responding to painful stimulus, so that’s good,” Scott says, “but we’re still in the window of time where things could go either way.”

“Well, we’re all thinking about him,” Bryan assures us and then drops down onto his haunches to be at eye level with Jackson. “Hey there, little man! Gimme five!”

Jackson smacks Bryan’s palm with his own considerably smaller hand and starts to jump up and down excitedly until Bryan liberates him from the stroller.

“Bryyyyybry!” he squeals when Bryan starts to tickle him.

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Bryan!” Helen squawks as she slams down the handset on her desk phone. “How do you expect me to get any work done when you keep torturing that boy!”

“Helen, I’m so sorry—” I offer.

“No, no, no, no,” she says, shaking her head as she approaches us. “Here. Give me that child.” Bryan reluctantly hands him over, and she proceeds to bounce him gently up and down in her arms while speaking softly and sweetly to him. “How’s my big guy, huh?” Jackson is transfixed with her voice and, I dare say, her cotton candy-textured orange hair. When he reaches for a fistful of it, she snatches his chubby little hand and pretends to chew it. “Nom nom nom nom.”

“Helen, this is Scott Clarke, Big Win’s son,” I say, gesturing toward Scott standing behind me.

“Oh, nice to meet you, Scott. We’re all pulling for your dad,” she says with a nod.

“Uhhh, thanks…” Scott murmurs, staring a little too closely at the troll doll-like woman.

“Helen, is King around?” I ask before she notices.

“He’s just stepped out for a little lunch. Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, still jostling my son.

“I hope so…I understand that some time ago, King acquired what was left of the Edgerly Enquirer after it folded—including their archives. Any chance he held onto those?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve got those all filed down in the basement. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I am…I’m just not sure what that is…” I explain with a sheepish smile.

“You sound like King when he’s in ‘investigation’ mode,” she says knowingly. “Well, they’re not digital or anything, but I’ve got it sorted by date if you want to thumb through the files…”

“Oh, Helen, that would be amazing!” I exclaim, trying not to jump up and down like Jackson. “I just need to call the pub and see if someone can take the baby for awhile…”

“No need. I can keep an eye on this one for you.” She pokes the toddler’s belly, and he chuckles, as if he’s the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

“Really?” Bryan and I both ask at the same time.

“Who’s going to answer the phones?” he asks. “And handle the walk-ins?”

She quirks an irritated eyebrow at him. “You’re a big boy, Bryan. I think you can answer your own phone for an hour or two. And King’ll be back any minute,” she informs him and turns her attention back to us. “The door to the basement is back there on the left. The light’s at the top of the stairs. You’ll find the archives in the black lateral filing cabinets, organized by year, month, and date. Help yourself to the copy machine.”

I can only beam at the strange, sweet, surly woman who’s managed to thoroughly enchant my child.

“Helen, you have no idea how grateful we are,” I murmur, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze as Scott and I make our way toward the basement.

And the past.