As we made our way along the wooden walkway toward the saloon, Dan joined us, curious as to what the latest news was. We quizzed Dan first about any knowledge he might have about the Sampsons. Unfortunately, Dan hadn’t been in town long enough to know anything other than Mr. Sampson was married at one time many, many years ago, and that is where the unknown starts. Some people say she packed up and left, never to be heard from again. Others say she died mysteriously.
It seemed to me that someone would know something true about Mr. Sampson. There were plenty of people that lived here that were Mr. Sampson’s age, at least I thought so. Then again, other than tourism, there isn’t much here for folks, so it would make sense that people who were raised here left when they had the opportunity.
The saloon was busy with the last of the day’s tourists. It wouldn’t be long before they would head out and the locals would come in for dinner. We decided to take a table near the bar thinking it would be a good place to see everyone that came in. As expected, it didn’t take long for some of the older locals to come in for a drink or dinner.
“The only problem is, I don’t know any of these people. I’m not sure how to go about talking to any of them,” I admitted.
“Just leave that to me,” Paula said and went to the bar where a couple of older men were talking while having a beer. Dan and I waited to see if she would come back with any information. We tried our best not to look in her direction in case the men she was talking to turned around and spotted us. I knew people were leery of me after the rumors went around town about Mr. Sampson.
“They didn’t know anything,” Paula said, as she rejoined us at the table. She brought us each a beer which she bought as her excuse to be at the bar and talk to the guys sitting there. “The one in the blue said he moved here a few years ago and the other one hasn’t been here very long, either. Said he came here as a tourist and fell in love with the place, especially the trains.”
“Maybe one of the bartenders could point someone out that would have information?” Dan suggested.
“That’s a great idea; they always know everyone’s stories,” Paula said cheerfully, and went back to the bar. This time she walked toward the end of the bar that was empty and waited for the bartender to approach her. They talked for a while before she came back to the table.
“Okay, he said he couldn’t think of anyone off the top of his head. We figured we would have to go back at least fifty years. If the snake that came into the bakery earlier is really the old man’s son, it had to be at least that wouldn’t you think?” she asked.
“You think he’s over fifty years old, right?” I wanted to make sure I understood what she was saying.
“Wouldn’t you say that guy was at least fifty? I mean he was handsome as all get-out, but I would guess he’s at least fifty-five,” she mused.
“I agree, I would say fifty-five.”
“So, we are looking for someone who would have lived here fifty-five years ago?” Dan asked.
“I would think so, then they would know when old man Sampson came to town or if he was already here,” I thought.
“Makes sense,” he agreed.
Dan said he wanted to get home and get his wood stove going. It’s what I should have done, but instead decided to go across the street with Paula for some dinner. Neither of us were ready to go home to cold, empty, lonely places. The pizza place we frequented also served other things and had a bar, so Paula asked the bartender if he knew of anyone who had lived in town for at least fifty years. While she talked with him, I ordered our dinners and waited.
“Bingo!” she exclaimed, as she slid into the booth across from me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chapter 7
“The bartender, Matt, said that Jessie and her husband both grew up here and he figures them to both be at least into their seventies. He said if anyone knew about Mr. Sampson, it would be those two,” she said excitedly.
“Were they friends?” I asked. Thinking if they had been friends it might not be the best time to go asking about the old man and his past.
“Quite the opposite, according to Matt. He doesn’t know why they hate each other but knows there is no love between them.”
“That surprises me,” I said.
“Why? No one else in this town was friends with the old windbag, why should Joan and Stuart be friends with him?” she asked.
“Because Stuart does all the snow blowing and shoveling in front of our shops, including Mr. Sampson’s. If they hated each other, why would Stuart do that, and why would Mr. Sampson let him?” I wondered out loud.
“The historical society pays Stuart a little bit each month to do the snow removal on the walkways,” she informed me. I’m not sure why I never knew that; I just assumed it was part of the lease. When I experienced my first snowfall here and saw Stuart out front shoveling the snow, I tried to pay him and all he ever told me was that it was all covered. I tried several times, each time he gave the same answer, so instead of giving him money I started giving him some hot coffee and a pastry. Although friendly, Stuart is always very quiet, just tending to his snow removal duties.
“I guess that explains it, then. Well, at least we have a place to start. If Joan’s shop is open tomorrow, I’ll try to take a stroll in there,” I told Paula.
Joan owns an antique shop along Main Street about a block and a half from where Paula and I are located. During the winter she is only open a few days a week and I wasn’t sure what those days were. I never had much of a chance to get out of the bakery during the day and visit the other retailers. I’d met Joan a couple of times when I was looking for specific pieces of furniture for the bakery and for my living space upstairs. I don’t think she has ever even been in the bakery.
The retailers along Main Street are busy; most of them run their shops by themselves which doesn’t leave much chance for interacting with the other business folks. I don’t know how many live here or just have a shop here. In fact, I don’t know much about any of them now that I think about it. Our businesses demand so much of our time and attention that we become rather isolated. I need to make a point of getting out more.
“We are supposed to get some snow tonight, so maybe Stuart will be around in the morning, too.”
“Hopefully we can get some answers before Mr. Sampson, Jr. comes back, if he comes back, that is,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t come back again anytime soon. Handsome, yes. Friendly, no. Trustworthy, doubtful.
“Now, why wouldn’t I come back?” We heard a voice, and both looked up to see the younger Mr. Sampson standing by our table.
Paula and I looked at each other and started laughing. Somehow we felt as if we’d been caught telling a secret.
“To be rather blunt, we have no idea who you really are or if what you claim is true. Maybe you are a con man here to try and steal the old guy’s property,” Paula said, not holding back.
I could tell he was a little angered by what Paula said, but I also didn’t care.
“I’m not sure exactly what I can do or say to convince you right now, but I can assure you that I have no desire what-so-ever to steal anything from anyone, to pretend to be someone I’m not, or to even be in this town,” he barked, and walked away.
“Um wow, I’d say you struck a nerve with him,” I winked at Paula. We watched as the stranger went to the bar, picked up a to-go container, and left the building without looking back.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, as I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. I wanted to see if I could tell where the stranger was going. Was he staying at the old man’s house, in a hotel, or somewhere else? I figured it might give me a better idea if he was being truthful or not. I tried to stay in the shadows as I followed him up the street. I figured he had his truck parked outside and I would only be able to get the general direction of where he was heading, but instead, he kept walking, so I kept following.
I watched as he passed the bakery then paused in front of Mr. Sampson’s jewel
ry store. He put his hand up to the side of his face as he put his nose to the glass trying to block the streetlight and get a better view of the inside. After a few minutes, he continued walking. I stayed a good distance behind him, hoping he wouldn’t spot me. He took a right at the next corner. A right-hand turn takes you up to “B” Street. I say “up” because the town is built on the side of a mountain, so the streets look like stair steps, each one is higher than the one before it. There are no hotels on “B” Street, but there are a couple of bed and breakfast places, although I don’t know that any of them are open this time of year. I finally reached the corner but was disappointed when I turned. There was no sign of the stranger.
The only road with streetlights is Main Street, making everywhere else in town very dark. I didn’t think I wanted to go traipsing around in the dark, so I turned around to head back to the pizza place. Besides, our dinner should be ready by now. I knew this because my stomach was insistent that it be fed.
“Why are you following me?” a stranger’s voice asked very close to my ear as he grabbed my elbow and spun me around. “I must say being stalked is kind of flattering, but being stalked by an accused murderer is frightening,” he said, staring at me.
“Um, well, um, I was…” I stuttered as I tried quickly to make up a believable excuse as to why I was following him.
“Nice try, you might as well admit that you have been following me.”
“Alright, alright. I’ve been following you. There, are you happy now?” I said, as I wrenched my arm from his grip. I turned to leave but was pulled back to face him again.
“Why? Why were you following me?” he asked.
“I just wanted to see where you were going. Curiosity I suppose.” I shrugged like it was no big deal.
“You do know what happened to the cat don’t you?”
“What cat?” I asked, immediately thinking of my old Frosty and wondering how he knew about Frosty.
“The cat that curiosity killed,” he said, without adding the “duh” at the end like he should have. How did I not realize what he was referring to?
“Is that a threat?” I asked, suddenly realizing that I had no idea who this man was and that no one knew where I was.
He laughed, then laughed harder. “A threat - gosh woman, are you paranoid?”
“No, I’m not paranoid,” I responded quickly, irritated he would ask me that.
“Let’s try this again then, shall we? Why were you following me?”
“Well, obviously to see where you were going. Duh.”
“Oh, a smart ass murdering stalker…great, just what I need. Could my life get any better?” he sighed and let go of my arm.
I stomped my foot like a two-year-old having a tantrum. I was growing more and more frustrated every time he opened his mouth. “I’m not a murdering stalker!”
Once again, he laughed. “Just a smart ass toddler then?”
I couldn’t take it anymore and headed back to the pizza place as fast as I could and before I said anything more that he could use to taunt me. Was that the way he normally interacted with people or was he purposely goading me? Either way, it made me not want to be around him at all.
Trying to catch my breath from the near run I had just made, I slid into my side of the booth across from Paula and took a quick drink of my beer, “That guy is an arrogant jerk.”
“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back,” Paula said. “What happened? Did you see where he went?”
“I followed him up the street to Taylor where he took a right. I thought I was far enough behind that he wouldn’t see me, but somehow he did and scared the heck out of me around that corner. I have no idea if that is where he was heading or if he took the first opportunity he could to get me off his trail,” I shrugged.
“Maybe he’ll leave town now that he knows we are onto him and are keeping an eye on him,” she said.
We talked about the possible places he could have been heading, if he really meant to turn on Taylor. There are quite a few houses once you get off the main street and one would have to assume that since he picked up a to-go order of food, he was going to wherever he was staying so he could eat it.
“Hopefully Joan, or even Stuart, will talk to us tomorrow and give us some of the information we are after,” Paula said, as she stood and put her coat on.
“Be careful out there; it is starting to snow so it could be slippery already.” I hugged her and watched as she got into her car and pulled away from the curb.
As much as I dreaded the thought of walking back up the icy street and going into my cold apartment, I knew that it was the only way to get there. Frosty would be waiting for his nightly treats and to curl up by me, and if I didn’t get my wood stove cranked up soon, it would be below freezing in there by morning.
“Goodnight, Matt,” I waved as I headed out.
“Be careful out there, Abby,” he yelled, as the door closed behind me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chapter 8
“Good morning Julia. Hey, two things this morning. Would you let me know if you see Stuart outside shoveling snow, please? And also, remind me to go upstairs and stoke up my wood stove. It just started warming up in there this morning, so I’d like to try and keep some heat in so I can work later.” Julie is more than my right-hand person, she is my eyes and ears too. I love having her around, she is young and enthusiastic and great with the customers. She’s kind of become the daughter I never had.
“No problem, but why did your place get so cold?” she asked.
“I had a visitor yesterday just as I was closing that delayed me for a while, then Paula and I went to dinner. By the time I got home and got the stove cranked up it had gotten so cold that it took forever to warm up. The only thing I could do was crawl in bed with the electric blanket on and watch TV,” I sighed.
“Who was your visitor? Or is it none of my business?” she asked.
“Some jerk claiming to be old man Sampson’s long lost son.” I told her about the encounter and trying to find someone who had been in town long enough to know the story, and how I followed him later that evening and then had dinner.
“And with the weather turning cold and now having snow, none of that helped with the temperature, either. Poor Mr. Frosty,” she said, as she bent down to give the old cat some attention. He was curled up in his box by the ovens.
“He wasn’t very happy about the cold, and he sure let me know it. He ended up curling up under the comforter last night.” I assured her he was well taken care of and watched as he stretched and shifted position.
“You need to be careful, Abby. First, you went in Mr. Sampson’s store without knowing what was going on in there, and then you followed a stranger in the dark. What are you thinking?” she shook her head.
“I’m thinking I don’t like being accused of murder and I really don’t like strangers walking in here trying to start trouble,” I shrugged. I know I shouldn’t have gone into Mr. Sampson’s store, I know I shouldn’t have followed the man claiming to be his son, but I did and I’m okay.
While Julia and I worked pulling the fresh baked goods from the ovens and filling up the display case, we talked about the stranger and his claim and then tossed around different theories about the whole situation. I ran upstairs to check the wood stove before we opened for the day.
Paula was on her way in as I came back downstairs. “Stuart is working his way up the street; he should be here soon.”
“Good. Next maybe we’ll make some progress on who this stranger is,” I hoped.
Paula had her coffee and pastry while Julia and I started prepping for lunch. We were all eager to see Stuart and couldn’t help but keep looking out the window for him. When he finally appeared, it was like the Three Stooges trying to get out the door to talk to him.
“Well, good morning ladies,” Stuart laughed as we burst through the door. “What’s up?”
“What can you tell us about old man Sampson?” Paula blurted
out.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” he said, with his smile disappearing from his face.
“Because you don’t know anything or because you don’t want to talk about it?” she tried to dig deeper.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied, then put his head down and continued shoveling the snow away. I watched as he made his way toward the front door of Mr. Sampson’s shop. He stood and looked through the window for a few minutes then continued up the walkway.
“That didn’t go as I expected it would,” Paula said.
“Nope, and now he’ll probably never talk to us again,” I said, disappointed that Stuart wouldn’t talk to us about old man Sampson.
“I’ll go down and talk to Joan later, if she’s open. She will understand and be helpful, I’m sure of it.” Paula walked to her own shop and made her way in to begin her day. It was bright and sunny out, and the fresh snow made the sites extra pretty. So with any luck, it would be a busy day for all of us.
Julia and I worked through the morning coffee rush and finished prepping for lunch just in time for the noontime crowd; the constant business didn’t fall off until closing time. Today’s was a particularly good tourist crowd; it would be great if every day’s business could be like today’s. It encouraged me to get back to trying new recipes with the intention of staying open through the late afternoon.
When I went to lock the front door and change the sign to ‘closed’, I saw Paula walking up the street in my direction. We went inside and I locked the door behind us, hoping to avoid a repeat of the afternoon before when the alleged Mr. Sampson walked in.
“Well, was Joan of any help?” I asked eagerly.
“More so than her husband, that’s for sure, but…” she said as she helped herself to a cup of tea. Paula and I often ended our days with a cup of tea together. We would either go to our respective homes, or more often than not would end up going down the street for dinner.
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