“Please, stop yelling at me,” I said quietly, hoping he would listen.
“Don’t tell me what to do. If you don’t like my terms, then get out,” he continued yelling.
“I just wanted to try and work this out with you. Paula and I aren’t troublemakers; we are both excellent tenants with great businesses. We’ve worked hard to build our businesses and don’t want to lose them,” I yelled back, unable to control the frustration I was feeling having to deal with this man.
“Throwing some kind of female hissy fit won’t get you anywhere with me and I’ll warn you, tears don’t work either, so don’t bother trying that,” he spat.
I was raised to always respect my elders, but this guy didn’t deserve any amount of respect. His unwarranted attitude and disrespect for me depleted any respect I had for him; I didn’t care who he was.
“You are a mean, nasty old man. You obviously don’t care about anyone or anything. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite you,” I snarled, as I turned and walked back to my shop.
I hate confrontation, and I hate that I lost my temper, especially in front of half the town. That old man pushed my buttons and now I was about to lose the business I worked so hard on for the past few years. I didn’t know what I was going to do, and I only had a few months to figure it out. There was no way I would be able to pay twice the amount of rent that I’m currently paying when I had to figure in trying to save enough to help float me through the bad months. I was already going out on a limb by planning to participate in the bar crawl events, hoping that all the people drinking would want to eat. I could let Julia go, but I couldn’t do it by myself.
The bottom line, no matter how I looked at the whole situation, I was screwed. Plain and simple, there was no way I could survive here. At this point, all I could do was hope and pray old Mr. Sampson would have a change of heart. It wasn’t likely, but I could hope.
CHAPTER THREE
Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying desperately to put together a plan to save my business and home. It didn’t matter which way I ran the numbers, there was no way I would be able to pay double the rent unless I let Julia go or took in a roommate, neither of which I wanted to do. But desperate times were beginning to call for desperate measures, and I had to make some tough choices.
“I sure hope that old man gets what is coming to him,” Paula declared later that evening, as we shared a pizza at the bar down the street.
“Any ideas about what you’ll do?” I asked her.
“I’ve been playing with the numbers all day and I think if I sub-let part of the space, open some space for consignments and start accepting custom orders, I might be able to make it,” She explained the ideas she came up with.
“Will the old man let you sub-let?” I would be very surprised if he were okay with that idea.
“Well, the current lease doesn’t say anything about sub-letting or having a partner. I’m assuming the only difference in the new lease will be the increase in rent, so I figured I’d take a look at it, sign it, then bring in a tenant,” Paula shrugged.
“Serves him right. That sounds like a great idea as long as you can pull it off.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“To make it work I either need to let go of Julia or bring in a roommate. I’m also going to have to consider staying open later and offering more afternoon treats.” I sighed with the reality of the situation.
“You can’t possibly run the place by yourself.” Paula reiterated what I already knew. “Where does Julia live?”
“She lives down the hill in Reno. Why?” I wondered why she would ask that question about Julia.
“Does she rent a place there? I just think if she rents a place down there, she might be interested in having your extra space upstairs in exchange for work and a reduced salary,” Paula suggested.
“Hmmm, that might be a possibility. The upstairs is actually supposed to be two apartments and I’m only using part of it. The only thing is the other part needs some work. I’ll have to give this idea some thought,” I nodded, as I started turning over ideas in my head on how to make Paula’s idea work.
“Hey ladies, I hear old man Sampson is being a royal pain in the backside,” Dan said, as he slid into the booth next to Paula.
“I don’t think I will ever get used to how fast word travels around this town,” I sighed.
“There are quite a few of us that have had run-ins with the old man over the years. Don’t worry about it too much,” he shrugged. Dan owns one of the clothing and gift shops on Main Street and is one of my regular customers.
“Easy for you to say; he isn’t doubling your rent,” I said, in defeat.
“Holy cow, double? I’m sorry, Abby, I had no idea he was doubling it. How can he expect anyone to pay that much?”
“He doesn’t care. He said as much this morning when I tried to talk to him about it,” I shrugged. I finished off the piece of pizza on my plate and told Paula and Dan that I was tired and ready to head home. There was no need to sit there and keep rehashing everything; it wasn’t going to change anything. I wanted to go home and take a look at the second area upstairs to see what it would need in order for someone to live there. I also needed to pull out my lease and make sure it didn’t say anything about renting out the other half of the upstairs or having a roommate. If there weren’t any issues with the lease, I was thinking I would do the same thing Paula was thinking of doing - just sign the new lease then bring in a renter. It might be an underhanded way of solving the problem, but I didn’t know any other way to save my home and business.
“I’ll walk up the street with you; I left my car at the shop,” Dan said, grabbing his coat. We said goodnight to Paula and headed up the street. Dan’s shop is just before mine on the same block, but on the opposite side of the street.
As we reached the front door of his shop, he told me to hang in there and that a lot of people in town were on my side, and that somehow things would work out. I crossed the street and continued up the block toward my bakery and home, knowing Frosty would be waiting for me. As I approached the front door of the bakery, I noticed a light on next door in old man Sampson’s store. He never left a light on at night, saying there was no need to pay a higher electric bill to keep a light on when no one was in there.
I was curious about the light being on, so I decided to look through the front window. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the front door to his shop was ajar which was even more strange than the light being on. Mr. Sampson routinely locked his shop door at precisely 5 pm, walked down the street to the end of town, crossed at the crosswalk, and disappeared into his tiny blue house. No one ever saw him out in the evenings or on Mondays, the only day of the week he closed his shop.
I debated whether I should investigate the open door and light, or leave it be. If Mr. Sampson was in his shop and I went barging in, it could very well set him off again which I wanted to avoid at all costs. It was just so strange; in the nearly three years I’d lived here I’d never seen the old man back after dark. Of course, most nights I went upstairs after I closed the bakery and wouldn’t know if he came back. Even when I sit in the window seat that overlooks Main Street, the roofs from the various buildings extend too far out over the boardwalk. I wouldn’t see him coming.
It was getting colder the longer I stood there debating what to do, so finally, I decided to see if old man Sampson was in the building. Maybe he forgot to lock the door earlier and the wind blew it open, or maybe he forgot something and came back. Worst case scenario was someone broke into the shop. I didn’t notice any movement inside while I stood outside debating on what to do. Finally, with my ears and nose frozen, I decided to push the door open enough to yell in and see if the old man was in there.
“Mr. Sampson, are you in there?” I called loudly. I waited for a response, which I didn’t get.
“Mr. Sampson?” I called louder and waited again.
“Mr.
Sampson, if you are in there, please let me know, otherwise, I’m going to call the sheriff’s department,” I yelled loudly, this time. There was still no answer, so I pushed the door open and stepped inside being careful not to track in any snow or dirt. I knew if I did, the old man would throw a temper tantrum and probably quadruple my rent.
“Mr. Sampson, hello?” I called, as I made my way toward the middle of the long, narrow building. The light was coming from the end of the shop where Mr. Sampson had a recliner and small TV. It was where he spent most of his day, while his two employees ran the shop under his close supervision.
“Hello? Is anyone here? The front door was open,” I called out again. I stood still and listened for any sound of movement. Fairly confident there was no one else in the building, I continued toward the back of the store. If anyone was in here, they certainly heard me yelling and would hide until I left. At least I hoped they would hide and not attack me or anything. Then a funny thought struck me - maybe one of Mr. Sampson’s ghosts, the ones that he believes in, opened the door and turned the light on. I giggled to myself at the thought, as I made my way around the many display cabinets and finally reached the back of the store.
“Mr. Sampson, are you okay?” I asked when I saw him laying back in the old recliner.
“Hello! Mr. Sampson, wake up!”
There was no response, and as I looked and watched him, it didn’t seem as if he was breathing. There was no movement… oh no, he’s dead, isn’t he? I thought, feeling surprised and shock.
The only thing I could do was to approach him and check to see if he was breathing or had a pulse. Yuck. Why me? My gut was telling me the old man was dead and my head was spinning about what to do next. I counted to three, took a deep breath, and then chickened out.
“Okay Abby, pull it together. It’s not a big deal, just go over and check him then call the Sheriff’s department,” I said out loud, trying to build up enough nerve to approach the body. I counted to five this time, took another deep breath, and went over to the chair. I shook Mr. Sampson while calling his name, then felt for a pulse. Yep, he was dead alright.
“Dang it, this is not a good time to have a dead cell phone,” I said to the dead body, while I absentmindedly shook my phone trying to get it to come to life. “A dead body, a dead phone. This is just great,” I sighed. Thinking through the current situation and knowing Mr. Sampson, I imagined there must be a land line phone in here, somewhere. I made my way to the counter where the cash register is kept, figuring that would be the most logical place, but I came up empty. The only other place would be back by the recliner, so after another count to five and a deep breath, I approached the recliner once again.
On the opposite side of where I stood there was a small table with a landline phone on it. Bingo! I crossed my fingers hoping it was still working. Disappointment and the beginning stages of panic washed over me when there was no dial tone on the other end of the phone.
Now what? I thought as I set the receiver down.
“STOP RIGHT THERE! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND TURN AROUND,” a very loud voice yelled, scaring the living daylights out of me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chapter 4
“Abby, what in the world are you doing in here?” Deputy Gregerson asked, as I complied with his demands and turned around to face him.
“Thank goodness you are here. Mr. Sampson is dead,” I blurted out, relieved to see the deputy, while completely oblivious to the fact that he had his weapon drawn and pointing at me.
“What is going on? What are you doing in here?” he asked.
“I noticed a light on, and the front door was open, so I came in to make sure everything was all right and found Mr. Sampson here.” I pointed at the dead old man.
Deputy Gregerson put his weapon back in his holster and walked over to the body to confirm what I’d already found. “Yep, he’s dead alright.” He spent the next few minutes on the phone, presumably calling for the coroner. I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I wait or just go home? I didn’t think there was any need for me to stay, so I started making my way toward the front door.
“Abby, don’t leave. We need to talk,” the deputy said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you needed me for anything,” I apologized, as I walked back to where the deputy was standing.
“I need a full statement from you before I decide if I can release you or not,” he said in a tone that sent a wave of panic over me.
“What do you mean, release me?”
“First of all, you are trespassing. It’s possible this could be a case of breaking and entering. There is a dead body with no immediate indication of how he died, which means he could have been murdered. You are the only one present and the only one who might know something, so until I get satisfactory answers to the lengthy list of questions I have, you aren’t going anywhere.
“You think I broke in here and killed Mr. Sampson?” I questioned him, unable to believe he would suspect me of anything so ludicrous. Never have I ever been accused of anything even remotely illegal, let alone breaking and entering or, heaven forbid, murder. The trespassing I can understand; I did actually enter the building without permission, but murder? He had to be joking, but the tone of his voice didn’t indicate any kind of humor.
“Well, you tell me how suspicious all of this looks,” he grunted, as he brushed past me. I watched as he went to the front of the shop and turned on the inside lights. He studied the door, the knob, and the frame then went back to where the body of Mr. Sampson still sat in the recliner. The deputy seemed to study the dead body from every conceivable angle without touching it.
“Abby, does this look familiar?” He asked, pointing to something on the ground and indicating that I should go over to where he was standing and look at what he was pointing at.
“It looks like a scone?” Wondering why he would want me to see a scone. “It looks like one of the scones I gave Mr. Sampson earlier this morning.” I was surprised that any of the pastries I gave to the old man as a peace offering made it inside. I thought most of them fell out of the basket when he knocked it out of my hand. I looked around to see if the basket was visible anywhere.
“What are you looking for?” The deputy asked, when he noticed me looking around.
“I gave Mr. Sampson a basket of baked goods this morning. Most of them fell out of the basket when he took it from me, so I was surprised to see a scone survived. I was just wondering if the basket was around here.” I shrugged, not thinking too much about what all of this meant.
“So, it is one of your scones and you gave him more?” he questioned me.
“Well it is a scone, no doubt about that, but I couldn’t tell you with certainty that it is one I made. Although, since I’m the only one in town that makes them and I did give him some, it would make sense that it came from my bakery,” I snipped.
“It looks like it has a bite missing.” He pointed to it again, then took a plastic bag from his pocket and scooped it up from the floor. “I’ll have to send this to the lab, have them check for poison.”
“Poison?” I laughed. “You can’t be serious. Why would I poison someone? I bake for a living; if people thought I was poisoning people, I’d be out of business in minutes. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I remarked loudly, forgetting who I was talking to.
“Do you give Mr. Sampson baked goods often?” he asked, as he flipped open a small notebook.
“No, this was the first time. I’ve offered him things before, but he’s never taken anything.”
“Why was today different? Why all of a sudden would he take something today?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, I thought everything fell out of the basket when he knocked it out of my hand.”
“I thought you said he grabbed it from you? Look, Abby, we can talk about this here, or if you aren’t going to cooperate, we can go to the station and talk about it formally. The choice is yours,” he said sternly.
“
Cooperate? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I wasn’t cooperating. I didn’t want to make a big deal about the basket of treats. I can see now that this whole thing is going to blow up into something it’s not,” I sighed.
“Care to explain what you mean?”
I took a deep breath before launching into the whole story which I didn’t really want to get in to, but knew I needed to.
“I’m sure by now you’ve heard the gossip about Mr. Sampson raising the rent on my building and Paula’s building,” I paused to see what his response would be.
“Hold on, the paramedic is here and so is the Investigations Sergeant,” he said, then headed toward the front door.
I watched as the paramedics came in and respectfully removed the body of Mr. Sampson. Deputy Gregerson and the Sergeant spent the next few minutes deep in discussion which ended with Gregerson showing the Sergeant the scone. Both of them came over to where I was waiting.
“Abby, I don’t think we’ve ever met, I’m Sergeant White. I’m in charge of investigations. I’ve had a lot of great food from your bakery; I’m glad you opened it here. Unfortunately, current circumstances being what they are, we do need to ask you a few questions.”
“I’m glad you have enjoyed your food,” I replied. It was always nice to hear that people enjoyed the service I offered. I strive to produce quality items that will keep people coming back.
“Deputy Gregerson mentioned you might have a story to tell us regarding Mr. Sampson?”
“Yes, I suppose I do, no matter how it might make me look.” I took a deep breath, “Mr. Sampson informed both Paula and me this morning that when our leases are up, he would be doubling our rent. It came as quite a surprise. Neither of us can afford to pay double what we are already paying. I thought I might be able to reason with Mr. Sampson, so I put together a basket of goodies and went to talk to him. He knocked the basket from my hand when I offered it to him, then proceeded to yell at me about not changing his mind. I’m sure half the town heard the commotion and I’m sure everyone has heard the rumor by now.”
Murder on Main Street Page 2