The Havenport Files: Book One

Day 4

While driving through the rich residential area, I allow myself to truly enjoy the moment of utter quietness from the street and my own mind.

The moment is only saved from being taken over by white noise because of the wind that passes by as gently as a summer breeze, brushing against the arm I rest outside of my window—almost like it wants to welcome me.

The reason why I call it the rich residential area is because, compared to the simple area I live in, this one is where the money was heavily directed, obvious at first glance.

Beautiful—that is the only word that I can use to describe Havenport's most thought-out section: The Summer Breeze Avenue.

To left and right, restored wooden houses from when the city was still growing to be what it is now, no taller than two stories extend to the end of the street, some leaving the ground floor reserved for the best stores around town.

The Needle, a record store that only sells old music, all stored in the way they were thought out too, like in a vinyl or a cassette; Flower Friends, owned by a woman whose life is dedicated to her obsession with flowers, and someone who sure had a hand on decorating the street; and lastly, there is the Old Lantern, the restaurant that competes with Bella's since they set up shop some years ago.

But what truly brings the place to life is the colorful, seasonal flowers growing in their designated areas, on the side of the wooden benches strategically placed facing the stores that bring the most revenue, hanging from the light poles, and the ones growing on the side of some houses.

Surely one of the smartest things the mayor did, but that's it—the one good thing I can say about the guy.

This place has everything for me to fall in love with, but so it's true to everyone else in this city, and that creates the perfect circumstance to test the limits of my second big fear: people.

Not people per se, but more the daunting quantity that steals the air off my chest and makes me feel heavily pressured, as if an elevator is trying to squash me down at all moments.

Since I was a kid, I had this thing inside of me that messes with my head when I find myself surrounded; this thing was at its worst when I was still at the Mountain View Academy, and because of it, I kind of learned how to control it.

Even so, it still leaves me out of breath and light-headed when I'm pushed past a certain breaking point.

With a shake of my head, I put myself back to what matters, leaving any thoughts for later.

I search for Alexandrina's house while I drive down the road; I've never been at her doorstep and never needed to ask where she lives.

That makes things a little bit harder, so I gamble that maybe there's an address sign on its walls or something; if there isn't one, well, then I will most likely lose a lot of unnecessary time, and that would, for sure, not be that good considering I'm on a race against the sun.

Gladly, the first lucky bit of the day shows that it still lives inside of me, countering my belief that it had surely run dry since the events from yesterday night and today's morning.

On the far end of the street, nearest to the park, I find a cozy-looking house with a car parked right in front of a closed garage, one that strikes a chord in my memory.

A red, vintage car that is so different from everything else around, that it convinces me instantly that I've seen it before when Reele was still the detective; if I am right, it belongs to Alexandrina's mom, Mrs. Carvalho, or something.

She used to park in front of the station and rush in with a never-ending stream of questions about the cases he was working on; I always assumed they were a thing, but never got a definitive answer.

Huh? Strange; I don't remember the last time I saw her around the city.

Ignoring that, I go past the low-height wooden fence that separates the house from the street, using the small stone path to the little parking space, and take over the empty spot beside the old car.

Once done, I take my keys and climb out of it, careful enough to avoid hitting my door on anything expensive and end up having to pay to fix a dent in it.

Comparing the whole front yard of Alexandrina's house to the two tall bushes beside my home's door is not fair game, especially as I see that, different from Melissa and me, the journalist seems to spend some good money, or time, to keep the lawn and pretty flowers hidden in between grass blades at a certain degree, never taking over more space than they need.

In the distance, I notice that the fence feels almost forgotten about because of the dissonance between it and the well-kept lawn: the paint it has dried long ago and now is peeling off, disappearing little by little with the washed-out brown, giving off the real color behind the wood used, a honey maple pigment.

Filling up my vision, a two-story house, very normal and with the immediate feeling that a grandma lives in it, becomes my new focal point.

It is held up by four solid walls, made of orange-tone bricks, fitting very well the same aesthetic as the other ones, only more secure-looking; surely a wolf would need to blow very hard to bring it down, a different story from the ones made of wood.

I don't allow myself to be nervous now; this is just a professional visit to her house; certainly, there is nothing to make me apprehensive.

So, telling myself that in repeat in hopes I'll believe it, I casually approach the front door, only adjusting the clothes on my body to smooth out any visible wrinkles.

When facing it, a shadow casts upon me from the small front porch roof, making it slightly easier to notice the blue flowers arranged attentively on three clay pots surrounding an empty-looking wooden barrel, decorating the part right beside me.

Raising my right hand to knock on the door, the words from Alexandrina's message come back to me, the one saying the door would be open as she's expecting me already.

'Does that mean she wants me to just come in? Would that even be okay?' The question arises in the back of my head; nonetheless, I ultimately decide to give it a knock just to be sure while I turn the knob and push it open slowly.

I step inside once the door is fully open, keeping one hand on the knob at the inner side so I can close it right behind me while still managing to get a look around.

The first thing that hits me is the aroma of recently cooked food; it enters my nose and washes away the car fumes that I didn't notice were impregnated on my nasal path.

Then, traveling my eyes around, I study the big space belonging to a living room, with many wooden furniture thrown near the walls, a good-looking couch in the middle, roughly surrounding a coffee table, and some barrel chairs near it too.

My plan to explore a bit more with my eyes is rudely interrupted by the feeling of something hairy bumping against the top half of my ankle, forcing me to act on instinct and jump away, landing with my back pressed against the door, completely breathless, and with a promised heart attack meant only for the old version of me settling in my core.

"Jesus, what the he—"

One of my hands ends up on my chest defensively, feeling my heart beating loudly and strongly against it—so strong in fact that I fear it will rip its way out soon.

A swear starts to formulate on the tip of my tongue as the anxiety dies down and leaves the front stage to a wave of premature anger.

Looking down at the thing that almost managed to get me in a coffin a lot sooner than expected, the anger boiling inside of me goes away as I find myself being stared at by nature's second cutest creation after Pirate, a cute, black cat, looking no older than a month.

Thanks to my sudden, explosive motion, the tiny cat gazes with its wide, scared green eyes, studying my reaction and probably analyzing if it should approach me again or not.

The sight is enough to put my brain back in place and calm my heart rate down to acceptable levels.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Kitty; you gave me a scare." I squat down to the young cat's level, keeping eye contact as my lips are taken over by a calm smile—an attempt to befriend it. "To be fair, I think I managed to scare you a little too, right? But it's fine, come here; I won't hurt you—I promise."

My words of encouragement paired with my vague knowledge of cats allow me to create a comfortable scenario for the creature, and soon enough, it approaches me with its twitching nose, exploring my smell with the intent to learn what the strange thing that entered its territory is.

"Olivia, is that you? Are you fine down there?" A voice originating from the top of the stairs at the end of the entrance's corridor rings down until it reaches my ears; by her tone, I can make out a fraction of what I believe is worry. "I heard a loud noise; did something happen? You didn't get yourself hurt, right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I answer, adjusting my tone so it is loud enough that it manages to reach her without scaring the curious cat. "Your cat just gave me a scare, that's all; by the way, I didn't paint you for a cat person. I mean, your phone case has cats on it, but I didn't think you would actually have one."

"Yeah, I actually have three; in any case, I just got out of the shower. I'll dress myself right now, so stay down there; I'll be down in a moment. You can wait for me on the couch if you want, or just stand where you are; your choice."

"Okay, I'll stay here waiting with your cat then; no need to rush yourself."

My response seems to fall on deaf ears because, as I say that out loud, I'm able to listen to the sound of the woman walking rather fast on the upper floor, almost as if rushing herself.

The good thing is that, because I'll have to wait anyway, that gives me time to look around a little, appreciate the house, and all.

Well, to be truthful here, I'm starting to notice I don't know the 'true' Alexandrina, and I want to learn more about her now that I know she isn't the asshole I thought her to be for the past three years—which was a lot of time to form some bad preconceptions of her character that, if I can, I would like to change in my mind.

Of course, in the end, she can turn out to be the asshole I thought her to be, but, even so, I'll take my chances.

The moment I start walking the corridor while keeping an attentive eye on my surroundings, the young cat chiefly tails behind, acting as a small version of a security guard, keeping close. Hence, the creature gets what it wants—the feeling of being in control over my actions—adorable.

Sadly, to my disappointment, there doesn't appear to exist much to be found.

I expected to encounter a photo from when she was a kid, maybe on a family trip with her mother or enjoying a moment together.

Yet there are instead a lot of pictures of her mom and what I assume are some old friends of hers—plenty of antique memories dated to either before Alexandrina was born or soon after by how time-worn it resides, lying behind a cold photo frame.

Perhaps—for the fact I spotted it—my eyes become sharper towards other frames similar to this one, catching a few thrown atop some furniture around the living room.

In particular, three frames carefully hung on the wall leading to the staircase, pluck my attention the most: first for the position, away from the living room where it could be easily spotted by anyone, and secondly, by what it looks to hold.

It steals me from the choice, unplugging me of my good sense, and proceeds to pull on my curiosity so strongly that I don't even think before I approach it, wanting to get a better look.

Getting closer to it, the more the items chosen to be held behind the security of the glass, and why it isn't on the open area of the living room intrigues me. The frames seem to have the same thing but from different years: one front page belonging to old newspapers.

I stop my eyes on the first one from left to right and start reading in a low tone, starting with the title: "The unforeseen end to the mining operation; the mayor refuses to give any comments about the reason behind the decision."

"This morning, nine of June, nineteen forty-five, all residents of the small city of Havenport wake up to the unexpected news about the closure of the important mines that brought the small city an impressive increase of a hundred forty-five percent in revenue. The assumptions as to the reason behind such an important decision being taken without an official announcement from the mayor are speculated to be directly tied to the end of the war, yet, when questioned about it, the mayor chose not to answer, reinforcing that indeed, there was a scheme behind it, as suspected. It is to be believed that the mayor pocketed public money to use on himself and his family in an attempt to keep his fancy lifestyle. While the miners fled the city in hopes of continuing their work elsewhere, the mayor closed the caves indefinitely. A trustful citizen has informed me that the plan of using the destructive power of TNT to rid the city of the cave mouths is for the sole purpose of hiding the truth in it, a story that the police still keep from investigating even at this moment."

Reading the newspaper entirely, I reach the very bottom of it, where the name belonging to the one who covered the news is displayed proudly: Sharon Moore Carvalho.

"Is that—"

"Yes; it is exactly who you think it is." The second scare of the day happens the moment Alexandrina gets to the end of the stairs; her eyes, for god knows how long, watch me focused on the hung newspaper. She walks closer to me, like a ghost, her red hair swaying—still somewhat wet—from side to side, leaving some drops on the wood beneath her feet. "That was my grandma's best story; she always bragged at dinner time about how she was able to back the man against the wall and make a name for herself. In the end, the mayor was indeed stealing money from the operation; she discovered and gave the police the evidence, and then the mayor was arrested."

"I see. Your grandma, your mother, and then you; being a journalist runs in your family then." To be polite, I take a step away from the frames and turn to face her. "I'm sorry for snooping around, but can I ask why the last frame is empty? It is quite hard not to notice."

The question leaves me, but there is no expectancy in me that she will answer, but, almost if to contradict my mind, Alexandrina looks at the empty frame with a strange expression—pained.

"Each one is reserved for the best work of our family's journalist career—my mother, grandma, and mine. There was a time when mine wasn't empty, but the news I covered up turned out to be no good. It was my biggest failure." Her eyes avoid mine for a moment before they change, shielding from any emotion she had prior, returning to her usual hard-to-read expression, letting clear she wants to discuss something else. "In any way, come with me upstairs so I can show you the problem; the sooner we solve this thing, the earlier you can go back to your investigation and me to my podcast."

I nod in response to her request, readying myself to help solve the problem she has, whatever it might turn out to be.

She then turns around, and walks to the stairs, expecting me to follow, something I do without any more words; as a good surprise, following us both, the small cat does its best to climb one step at a time, not wanting to miss out on what is happening.

We soon reach the second floor; while I stay behind to pick up the small cat as it soon runs out of energy to climb safely, Alexandrina keeps her way forward, passing by other three doors that I assume lead to some other rooms and entering the fourth, on the far left.

Atop her, I notice an attic hatch on the ceiling due to a set of string lights hanging from it—the purpose behind them is a mystery to me. Aesthetic, maybe?

Before she moves totally out of view, I can't stop but notice how, even at her own home, she dresses very professionally: dark blue jeans hug her legs tightly, and a shirt stays hidden beneath a car coat that provides her protection against the cold while not impairing her freedom of movement—all stylish and practical.

I secure the cat in my arms and watch as it tiredly meows and comes to accept that it has no choice but to trust me; that comes after a good attempt to free itself from my hold. Still, even after that, it continues digging the sharp claws on its paws on my overcoat sleeves in search of further safety.

Finally, I'm free to go right after and get to Alexandrina's room; I make sure to enter it leisurely, giving my wandering eyes time to look around out of instinct.

A bunch of recording equipment stands around what I notice is her work table: cameras, an expensive-looking microphone, some professional sound-absorbing panels on the walls, and lastly, a nice-looking computer residing on top of the furniture.

I can tell she is serious about what she does by looking at everything the room has and how it is all organized, seemingly ready at all moments to be used in case she needs it.

Besides her work-related stuff, her room doesn't have much more; nothing that tells me she has a hobby or any other interests—though her bed looks nice, and I end up catching sight of a white, long feline, sprawled comfortably on the covers—sleeping.

The moment I put the small cat on the ground, it meows and begins to play around with the first thing it finds—the item in question is a waterproof pair of shoes, thrown around on the feet of her bed.

"You can sit on the bed if you want; I'll just turn on the computer; give me a quick second." She says with a focused voice as her hands find the button to turn it on; meanwhile, she knowingly looks at the floor and shakes her head. "Stop that, Shoe; you can't simply destroy another of my shoes when you feel like it."

Noticing that the words go past the young cat's standing ears, I choose to lend a hand. "Let me help you."

Bending down on her side, I grab both shoes out of the ground and out of the cat's grasp; then, I look around and find a cardboard box—tall enough so the little beast can't get to it.

After placing the footwear atop the box, I do as asked and sit down at the edge of the bed; composedly, perhaps slightly nervous, I rest my hands atop my thighs, quietly waiting.

"Thank you for that; the little thing is a devil sometimes; just this month there was one destroyed sandal and a pair of boots, and she chewed the front part of one of my shoes as well."

"Don't worry about it; but, that's the reason why you named your cat Shoe? Because it destroyed some of your shoes?"

"Pretty much, yeah; I never was good at naming things, so I just picked up one based on her worst trait and then named her after that."

"Well, it isn't the worst; Mel and I named our dog Pirate because he has only one eye. Not the pinnacle of creativity." I let out a simple laugh at the memory, and then I feel a weight climbing onto my lap and settling on it. Maybe because I disturbed the resting white cat, it resolved to use me as a pillow in return. "Does this one is named after a specific trait?"

"Yes. That is Snowy, and the one by the window is Anakin—that one my mother named after her favorite movie character."

Her words bring my eyes to the window, where I spot an old, gray cat sunbathing silently, eyes closed, apparently sleeping snuggly. I don't plan to disturb it soon; I can even sympathize; if I could, I would sunbathe in my room and sleep all day.

Once I look back at Alexandrina, the computer is fully turned on and displaying its wallpaper, remarkably analogous to the drawing on her phone case.

"Okay, let me fill you in on what happened."

Turning on her chair, she looks at my face and adjusts her posture to tell me the story. "Last night, I was streaming my podcast as usual; I was covering the story from Pete; even if it wasn't especially catchy, it was what I had for the day. Halfway onto the podcast, I get an email from the platform I stream on saying that there was one unauthorized access to my account and a link for me to click on to solve it."

"And you clicked on it, I assume."

"I did; if I hadn't, I would have not called you here. I wanted to solve the problem to continue working; I wasn't thinking straight. The person hacked my computer, and now I can't access anything."

To show me what she is talking about, she attempts to open a browser, and a GIF of a cat wearing a cowboy hat shaking its head pops takes over her monitor's screen.

There's a text above that says, 'No. Keep your paws away, pawtner.'

"Is it just it? Have you checked to see if the hacker only blocked your access to your things or if they did something else? Like, harvesting your data or anything?"

"That's the strange part; they just blocked my access. Everything else was left untouched. I thought they were attempting to get my bank account, so I blocked all credit cards as soon as I found out."

"Look, Alex, I don't know how much help I can offer; I mean, I'm not an IT technician. I can't do much. And there is the email: it must have been sent from out of the city."

"No, I'm positively sure it didn't. I don't transmit the podcast outside the city because of a contract I signed with the mayor—and the GIF you see; I was the one who created it. Every Saturday I open a stream to chat with the city—hear stories, exchange information—that is how I get to know most problems around; the people who use my chat are the only ones who know about it."

"Okay, so, how many people are we talking about here? A hundred? Two hundred?"

"Three hundred and fifty; that is the average number I get of people watching the stream." Hearing that, I do the math in my head, and yeah, this will be almost impossible to figure out; except that, Alexandrina seems to have a plan already formulated in her mind. "You asked how you can help me, and the answer is simple. Your friend, Officer Lee, I did my research; he is very good with this kind of stuff; you ask him to lend a hand, we find the hacker, get my computer back to normal, and then I can help you back."

Fascinating; the fact that she had a plan to deal with it and to cash in the help I owe her; all makes me question if she's telling me the whole story here.

"I can definitively ask him; not a problem. I'll just need to call the station and have Anja pull his home address for us—today is his day off."

"There is no need for that; I so happen to know where he is. That saves you the trouble and my time."

I raise a brow, looking at her with a bit of suspicion plastered on my face; seeing that, she stares back at me with a cold frown.

"Don't look at me with that face. I know you use your socials about never, but other people do; they post about their lives all the time. Your sister does that regularly, even posting selfies at crime scenes; probably a crime in itself, don't you agree?"

Accompanying her argument, she brings her phone out and shows me a selfie of Mel drinking coffee while in the apartment parking lot, the first crime scene. Dammit Mel, I'll have to talk with her seriously about this later.

"Officer Lee isn't much different; he posted ten minutes ago about the taste of the vegan meal at the Old Lantern. I don't know about you, but I am willing to bet he is still around there."

"I get it; it isn't a bad plan. I'll help, or at least I'll try to; just tell me when you want to go there and we go."

"Right now is about good; like I said, I want this resolved as soon as possible."

Alexandrina rises from her chair and looks towards the door, stopping for me to rise to my feet and accompany her.

I check on my phone, seeing that the clock approaches the fifteenth hour; that drags a click of my tongue out of me. Walking down to the restaurant and talking to Lee, I only hope I'll have time to do something about the case before midnight.

Once on my feet, we both direct ourselves to the stairs with our next destination in mind.