The Darkening Archipelago by Stephen Legault Read Free Book Online Page B

Ravenwing’s body had been recovered yet. There would be a traditional potlach ceremony on Tuesday. Gary Kwakana, the band chief of the North Salish First Nation, would lead the ceremony. Greg First Eagle, the representative on the band council for Parish Island and Port Lostcoast, would also be in attendance, as would representatives of the provincial government.
    And so would Cole Blackwater. Nancy felt Cole’s loss. Archie had been more than a client to Cole. He had been a friend.
    She closed the browser for the North Island Advocate and opened the website for the High River Tribune . She quickly found the archive section and was pleased to see that she could search for stories as far back as 2001; Cole had travelled west in 2002. She knew that he had stopped at the family ranch in the Porcupine Hills, south and west of High River, and that his father had passed away while he was visiting.
    She searched for “Henry Blackwater” and found an obituary. What she read unnerved her.
    No wonder Cole didn’t want to talk about his father. His obit revealed that he had taken his own life with a shotgun. Suicide was “the likely cause of death,” the story said. He had used a branding iron to pull the trigger. And the story left the distinct impression that Cole had found the body.
    â€œYou must have been one miserable old fuck,” said Nancy, looking for follow-up stories that confirmed the medical examiner’s initial impression of suicide. “To kill yourself and leave your body for your family to find. No wonder Cole hates you.” She searched through several other stories about the death of Henry Blackwater but found no further reference to the cause of death. Nancy went to the staff kitchen for a cup of coffee. The cream curdled at first but she stirred it in and sipped. Not too bad.
    Back at her desk she found the number for the High River Tribune . She picked up the phone.
    â€œCasey Brown,” a man answered on the first ring.
    â€œHi, it’s Nancy Webber calling from the Edmonton Journal . How are things down south today?”
    â€œGood, thanks. Actually a really nice day. Pretty clear. Supposed to get some rain or wet snow tonight. What can I do for you, Ms. Webber?”
    â€œIt’s Nancy, thanks. Well, I’m just curious about a story in the Tribune from a few years back. It’s about the suicide of a man named Henry Blackwater. Do you remember that story?”
    â€œI know it happened, but I wasn’t reporting here then. I was still in college.”
    â€œWell, I found a few stories about it in your online archives, but I wonder if there is more to the story than what was online?” “Could be. The paper hasn’t put everything online. Just some features.”
    â€œSo there might be more?”
    â€œSure, I guess. I mean, if there was an update on the story, like a sidebar or something, it might not make it online.”
    â€œCan I find out?”
    â€œCan’t see why not. But that would be a job for Betty Oberg. She’s our receptionist. She does all the research and library requests. She’ll be in on Tuesday.”
    â€œYou can’t have a look?”
    â€œI’d love to, Nancy, but I’m here alone today, and I’ve got four stories to write for our Monday paper. I’m really jammed.”
    Nancy tapped the rim of her mug. “What if I came down? Could I look myself?”
    â€œCan’t see why not. We have all the past editions on microfiche. You could have a look.”
    â€œAre you there tomorrow?”
    â€œBoy, you’re really interested in something, aren’t you? Care to share?”
    â€œIt’s more a personal interest than professional. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll be in around nine. Then I’ve got an auction to cover at noon, but I should be back around two pm.”
    â€œGreat. If this clear weather holds I can be down there by