Chapter 15

The drive back to Arbutus House is a blur after Madame Carolina. My head spins the whole time with thoughts of Eddie Calhoun. I am certain the first name goes with the last. I spend the rest of the weekend racking my brain, thinking of resources and research methods that might verify his existence. Maybe a trail of bread crumbs will lead from there to justice for Akasha. I think about texting Patty to share my lead with her, but if Mom sees the message, she’ll lose it. I will tell Patty in person as soon as I can. I hope she is still my best ally.

Monday morning arrives and I can barely concentrate on getting ready for my first shift at Visions Vintage. Jane is sending me on a city bus; this is a special exception as normally I’d have to be fifteen to go on transit without supervision. Neither Jane nor Mariah can come with me, so she’s willing to settle for hand-delivering me to the bus and telling the driver where to drop me off. I’m not allowed to get off before or after Davie and Burrard.

The shop is not exactly downtown, as I pictured. I am back in the West End, temptingly close to the heritage home that teased me with possibility before. I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand as I reach for the door handle.

A digital bell chimes overhead as I walk in. The shop is not what I expected, surrounded by glass towers and expensive cars. Worn-out clothes, old books, grand-motherly jewelry, weathered paintings; Visions Vintage is a time capsule in the heart of BC’s contemporary urban culture.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

“Coming!” yells an irritated female voice. I am instantly on edge.

A short stocky woman with olive skin and a thick black braid flowing down her back bustles through a curtain next to the cash register. She is carrying a plump dark green garbage bag that she can’t quite get her arms around.

“You the new girl?” she says, out of breath. She has a strong French accent. She doesn’t wait for my reply. “You’re late. Bad start.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was supposed to be here for ten a.m.”

“Nine. We open at ten.”

My pulse quickens as I realize I have forgotten the shopkeeper’s name. Mariah and Jane both told me, along with the address and start time. The only information I have with me is a sticky note of the street number and time. Should I show her the note in Jane’s writing? How could I be so stupid as to not write her name down? I have to tell her. I can’t go on all day not using her name. I search her colorful tunic for a nametag. There is nothing.

“I’m so sorry …,” I pause, thinking hard. “I will be here at nine for any other morning shifts, I promise. It was just a misunderstanding.”

My new boss has recovered her composure and clears a space on one of her display tables. She upends the garbage bag and clothing tumbles out.

“What’s your name again?” says my new boss.

“Katelyn. Katelyn Medena.” My pulse is still racing and my stomach hurts.

“All right, Katelyn, I’m Noémi. I’m the owner, manager, one-woman-band, so to speak.” A rush of relief cascades from my forehead to my feet. Noémi.

“Where should I start? Would you like me to sort these clothes?”

Noémi sizes me up, considering me carefully. “Yes. You give me three piles. One for throwaway, one for keep-but-cheap, and one for high-end or brand-name.”

“I can absolutely do that.”

“Good. I am in back until post carrier comes.”

“What about customers? Should I help customers?”

“Yes, help customers! Any sales, you call me for the cash register,” says Noémi. She abruptly turns and marches back through the curtain into the back room.

I am grateful to be alone so I can recover my calm. I look around the shop again and back to the pile of clothing. Motion outside the front window and the glass door catches my peripheral vision. A couple has paused to look at the window display. The woman points at something and moves on. I relax further. I turn my attention to the pile of clothing and begin the task.

Piles for throwaway and keep-cheap build up quickly, but I can find very few high-end or brand-name options. A GAP shirt and a pair of Levi’s jeans are all I have as I get to the bottom. The digital doorbell sounds and I look up to see Patty walk in.

“There’s my little shopgirl,” says Patty with a beaming smile. She looks so proud, but I want her to leave immediately.

“Hi Patty! I’m glad to see you, but I don’t think I should have visitors here. It’s my first day and I got here late by accident.” I steal a glance back to the curtain.

“I won’t stay long; I’m on my lunch break. I just wanted to check on you. Jane called to tell me she had set you up at Visions and I was delighted. This shop has a great reputation in the social work community.” Maybe my visitor wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Really? That’s great. I’m sure Noémi will be pleased to hear that. Do you know her?”

“Not personally, but I’d love to meet her. Can you introduce me?”

“Before we do that, I have a new lead I wanted to tell you about. I went to see a psychic. Bryce took me. I got a first name for the brothel owner I saw in my dream. His name is Eddie.”

“Are you kidding? That’s amazing! How did that name come up?” I can tell from the tone of her voice that Patty is not convinced.

“She said my friend had a name for me, and the name was Eddie. It makes sense, it was the missing piece of the puzzle.”

“Did she specifically mention Akasha?”

“Well, no, but she said my friend was there with us and needed to give me a name. It just has to fit.”

“You were there. If you believe, then I believe you.” It’s tough to tell if Patty’s encouraging me or humoring me.

“That means so much to me. You have no idea. Would you come back to the library with me? I want to go back to Special Collections and see if they have his name anywhere. If I can’t find Akasha, I might be able to find Eddie Calhoun.”

“Absolutely, we’ll go. Should I pick you up at the house after I get off work tonight?”

“I’m not sure how this works with my day passes. I should probably ask Mariah first. Can I text you tonight to make plans?”

“You bet,” says Patty as Noémi re-enters the front of the shop.

“Good morning, Madame!” says Noémi with a warm smile. “Are you being served?”

“Actually, I came in to say hello to Katelyn. I’m a social worker with the Province and I’m a family friend.” Patty extends her hand to Noémi. The cheer drains from Noémi’s face as she realizes she’s not talking to a customer.

“She was late this morning,” says Noémi as she takes Patty’s hand.

“I heard about the misunderstanding. Katelyn has a great work ethic. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll keep her busy and we’ll see.” Noémi smiles for the first time and I feel hopeful.

The rest of my first shift passes slowly. Noémi is not actually able to keep me busy. There are no more clothes to sort. A few customers wander through the store — a university-aged girl, a businesswoman, a group of vacationing retirees — but each time I offer assistance the customers decline. Noémi spends most of her time on her computer at the desk behind her curtain. Or this is what I picture her doing, based on the one time I poked my head back there and she snapped at me to get back out front.

I have time to think. About what it would be like to work in a shop as a real full-time job. About what might have shaped Noémi’s gruff personality. About how soon Patty and I might get back to the Special Collections desk at the Central branch of the Greater Vancouver Public Library. Two o’clock arrives and my shift is over.

I manage to hold on to the thought of my library trip with Patty until I get back to Arbutus House. Mariah agrees to let me use a day pass that weekend. I have morning shifts at Visions Vintage for the rest of the week and she doesn’t want me using a pass on a work day until further notice.

Saturday morning takes a long time to arrive, but when it does, I spring into action. I wolf down my peanut butter toast and rush out to the sidewalk to sit and wait for Patty to arrive. Our cover story for my mom is that I’m shopping for her birthday present and want a guide for downtown. Mom’s birthday is a few weeks away, so the timing is perfect.

I still marvel at my luck in having Patty on my side, so much so that she’s willing to lie to Mom. Whether she believes me or not, she’s helping me, contradicting Arbutus House, and Dr. Werdiger. Even Bryce isn’t that supportive.

Patty’s car turns the corner and I am already running across the street while she parks.

The trip downtown feels familiar now. Morning traffic is light. We reach the concrete spiral of the library and park alongside it.

The library opens at ten. We make our way to the core of the spiral and up the escalators, back to the desk where photos and records might vindicate me. What I’ll do with proof, once I finally get it, I’m not sure. I need to stay focused on finding proof before I let myself daydream about what to do with it.

A short, middle-aged woman stands behind the Special Collections desk today. Patty has agreed to take the lead this time.

“Hello there!” says Patty.

“Good morning, ma’am,” says the librarian.

“Are you able to assist my niece and me with research for a school project?”

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

“We have an ancestor — my great-great-grandfather — named Eddie Calhoun. He was the first of our family to come to Canada, around nineteen hundred. We’re using him as the top of our family tree, you see. And we wanted to find some kind of official document about his arrival in Vancouver. Maybe a photograph, if we’re really, really lucky.” Patty is masterful with her story. I stand silently, content to let her do the talking for me.

“Let me see what I can find. Most of those records are hard copies, but we do have digital records I can search. Come back in about half an hour.” The librarian notes something on paper in front of her.

“Thank you so much,” says Patty. She scoops her purse off the counter and we retreat downstairs.

Patty buys me a bottle of strawberry-kiwi juice and we sit at a café in the spiral’s outer ring. I watch people come and go out of the library while Patty tells me about her week at work. I know I should be interested, but I am too preoccupied with trying to picture the librarian finding a photo of Eddie Calhoun. I hope that if I visualize the thing, it will come to pass and we will go upstairs to find her proudly displaying a photo of Eddie and Akasha standing in front of the heritage home in the West End. Patty will gasp. I will laugh. It’s still a far cry from proving that Eddie murdered Akasha, but that will be my next mission.

We return to the Special Collections desk and I am vibrating with anticipation. This is the moment of truth.

“Oh, hello there. Sorry, but I wasn’t able to find anything for you. Maybe try one of those ancestry web-sites. I hear they’re getting quite comprehensive,” says the librarian.

“Look again, please, there has to be something here,” I say urgently.

“Sorry, dear, I’ve looked through both hard-copy and digital collections. We have no record of an Eddie Calhoun. Most of our documentation centers on buildings, monuments, government, and public figures. For random people, it’s hit or miss. This one’s a miss, I’m afraid,” says the librarian.

I want to argue, but I can see that it’s pointless. Patty puts her hand on my shoulder. My nerves won’t let me leave. I realize how badly I wanted this, how much I’d come to count on finding something here at this library. And then I let go and walk back to the escalator. I assume Patty is following me and when we reach her car, I see her reflection behind me in the passenger door window.

“Take me home, please.” I am out of energy.

And then a flicker of Radhika’s face crosses my mind. She thought she had some family records related to the Komagata Maru! It won’t connect me to Akasha, but it’s something. How can I get her to dig through those old boxes as soon as possible?