We spent the next couple of hours trying to track down the names of the people on the marriage certificate and the name of what appeared to be the married couple’s child. The child was born about 6 months after the couple was married and seemed to disappear along with the couple.
“Look, I don’t know how this fits into your theory, but I found a Pamela Jenkins.” I pointed to the document I’d found.
“Pamela Jenkins died in San Francisco, California, in October of 2015. That can’t be the same Pamela Jenkins as my mom.” He shook his head. “My mom died when I was a kid. I think.”
“This Pamela’s age definitely fits the timeline that is on the birth certificate and marriage certificate that you have,” I said, pointing to the corroborating information. “Is the birth date on the child’s birth certificate the same as yours?”
“Yes, that is what made me think that I’m not actually Tobias Matthew Sampson. I’m Johnathan Matthew Jenkins, and my parents were Pamela and John. This is weird,” he said, shaking his head and setting down the birth certificates.
“I can imagine it must be bizarre. Is there anything in any of these boxes that tell you why they would move across the country and change their names?” I asked, wondering what could be in the other boxes.
“I have no clue; I got this far and I knew I needed to talk to someone about it,” he said, as he sighed.
“Thank you for trusting me with it especially after, well, everything,” I told him.
“I create fictional mysteries every day, but I can’t figure out any of this,” he said, as he pulled more papers from the box.
“We might not need to figure out anything. Maybe your dad wasn’t killed; maybe he just died,” I suggested.
“I need to figure out why they left Chicago, changed their names, and moved here. I guess I need to figure out who I am.”
“You know who you are. A name is a name, it doesn’t define who you are. You defined who you are the day you left here,” I told him
“That was very profound; thank you.”
“Okay, what else is in that box?” I asked.
He pulled out a stack of newspapers and some other miscellaneous papers, then opened another box. There were some pictures, an old yearbook, and more miscellaneous papers. The third box had some journals and ledgers. Everything was out of the boxes and laying on the floor surrounding us. We went quickly through everything and tried to organize it into piles. I went back to work on the computer trying to find any information I could about Pamela and John Jenkins from Chicago.
I used the various genealogy websites and built a small family tree with the information I found and could easily verify. When I start researching, I tend to get lost and don’t pay a lot of attention to the time or what is going on around me. Such was the case as I went down the rabbit hole that Toby’s family research took me down. I heard soft snoring behind me and turned to see that Toby fell asleep on my sofa with one of the journals in his hands.
It was nearing midnight, but I wasn’t ready to quit yet. I found myself feeling bad for Toby. I couldn’t imagine learning that my parents weren’t who I was led to believe they were. Yes, a name is just a name, but this goes a lot deeper than just changing because someone didn’t like their name. This had something serious behind it which made me hope we could put the pieces together and figure it out. If for no other reason than for peace of mind for Toby.
By 2 am, my eyes burned, my shoulders ached, and my butt was numb, so I decided it was time to go to bed. Toby was still sound asleep on the sofa, he actually seemed to make himself comfortable after I put a pillow there and covered him with a blanket. I added a couple pieces of wood to the stove, put heavy quilt over Toby, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed by Frosty.
It took a while for me to fall asleep; I continued to roll all the information around in my head, trying to make sense of it. I couldn’t figure out how to positively declare that Toby’s parents were once Pamela and John, even though everything indicated that they were. There was just nothing that made it undeniable; that is what I was after so that Toby wouldn’t have any doubts going forward. They had to have run from something or someone, but from who or what? Then it dawned on me, and I nearly jumped out of bed to wake Toby and tell him my theory.
The mob- that had to be it, didn’t it? Mr. Sampson would have been a young man in the 1950s in Chicago; there must be a tie to the mob. A tie that meant the only way out was to change their names and move far away to a place no one would ever think to look, and what better place than an old mining town in the mountains of Northern Nevada?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Chapter 19
“Oh, that coffee smells good. How did I not even hear you make it?” Toby asked, as he stretched and raised himself off the sofa and looking around to find me propped up in my bed, under the blankets, and typing away on my laptop.
“Help yourself,” I pointed toward the coffee pot on the counter next to the sink.
“What are you busy with already this morning?” he asked, on his way to the coffee pot.
“A couple of things. Actually, I got to thinking last night that your dad might have had some kind of mob connection that forced him to change his name and move out here,” I explained my theory as Toby filled a cup with coffee and went back to the piles of papers we had sorted out.
“The mob? Are you serious?” he asked, unsure if he should laugh or not.
“Look at the newspaper articles he saved. Each article was about either the body of a well-known mobster being found or an indictment; why would someone have articles like that if they weren’t part of it, somehow?” I contemplated.
“I guess it does make sense,” he shrugged and looked through the newspaper articles.
“The only thing I can’t seem to find is anything about your family’s disappearance. I would think that a young family disappearing would have made the news.”
“What time is it? My phone is dead and the guy from the heating company is supposed to be here at 9,” he asked, looking around for a clock.
“It’s 8:15. You might as well plug your phone in and let it charge; I guess you’ll be here for a while today,” I said, as I climbed out from under the covers and handed him my charging cord.
“Does it get so cold in here that you need to sleep in sweats and heavy socks?” he asked when he noticed I was indeed wearing sweats.
“What I sleep in is none of your business,” I snapped at him, as I added more wood to the stove. I had to admit as much as I enjoyed the heat a wood stove could put out, I also got tired of dealing with it. I had to have small amounts of wood delivered and paid extra to have it hauled upstairs and stored at the end of the hallway. It made a dusty mess, and I had to constantly keep it going. It would be nice to have a furnace that I could just turn on.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable here with just the stove. I would think by morning it would be freezing.”
“I got up earlier and added wood, made coffee, and decided to just relax in my bed while I continued researching, really for no other reason than you were crashed on the sofa,” I explained to him why I was seemingly fully dressed in my bed. Still, none of his business. As I went about straightening up the apartment I wondered if he was really going to be around all day. I hoped not; I had things I wanted to do and entertaining him wasn’t on my list.
“You’re kind of cranky in the mornings, aren’t you?” he jabbed at me.
“And you’re just kind of a jerk all the time, aren’t you?” I snapped back at him. What the heck? I gave up my entire evening to work on helping him figure out his family’s past and he decides it’s a good time to pick on me.
“Sorry, just having some fun with you,” he replied.
“I’ll give you a key to the bakery door so you can go deal with whatever it is you have scheduled for today,” I told him as I handed him my set of keys.
“Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll get
out of here and let you have your space back,” he said, as he started gathering up the stacks of papers and books that were in the boxes.
“Do you mind leaving those? I’m so far into the research I’d like to continue if that is okay?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have more answers, but don’t want to impose on your time off.”
“I offered. Like I said, I’m so into it now and intrigued, I’d like to see what else might be out there.”
“You got it, it’s all yours. I’ll be downstairs in case you find anything, or whatever,” he said closing the door behind him.
Whew, I was finally alone. I went back through the newspaper articles writing down any names or places that were mentioned, then stacked them in one of the boxes. Some of the other papers made no sense to me; there were some utility bills, pictures, and receipts. The ledgers didn’t mean anything, and neither did the pictures. There were no names or dates on the photographs, so I put those away and was left with the journals.
As I started to flip through the first journal, I found some recipe clippings, a few drawings, and a couple of pictures that once again had no names or dates on them. At first glance, it appeared to be another dead end. Then I saw something strange; it looked like a couple of the pages were stuck together. As I looked closer, I could see that two of the pages were glued together to make a pocket of sorts, and in that pocket was a piece of folded paper. I went back through the journal more slowly, lifting corners, feeling behind papers that were glued onto the pages of the journal, and found folded papers hidden everywhere. I went through the other two journals and found them to be the same. These journals obviously held someone’s secrets. Whatever the secrets were, they weren’t mine to uncover.
I took a shower then dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater, ran my fingers through my hair, then poured another cup of coffee for myself and one for Toby. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I could hear him near the back of the bakery talking with someone about the furnace. Not wanting to interrupt, I showed him the cup and set it on the counter just as my phone vibrated in the pocket of my sweater.
“Please entertain me with a good story,” Paula’s text message read.
There was too much to tell her over text, so I went back upstairs where I would have the quiet and privacy to call her and fill her in on everything.
“You don’t really think his parents were in the mob, do you?” Paula asked in disbelief.
I told Paula about all the stuff in the boxes Toby found and everything we found online.
“Wait, hold on just a second, back up a minute,” she stopped me.
“What?”
“You said last night when the two of you were working on finding information and then you said you told him this morning what you found after he fell asleep. Did he stay the night with you?” She gasped.
“Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. He fell asleep on the sofa. I kept working, then picked up where I left off this morning when I woke up. Believe me, I have no interest in having anything happen with him,” I tried to make it very clear with her that I had no desire to have any kind of relationship with Toby beyond our mutual desire to figure out what happened to his father.
“Darn it, he’s so handsome. Not to mention the fact that you could sure use a man in your life. You are too young to be alone like you are,” she sighed.
“Now you hold on. You haven’t liked him since he got to town, now you think he should be part of my life? Did you hit your head when you fell?” I asked her, shocked that she would even insinuate I get involved with him.
She laughed, “you can’t blame an old lady for trying. You can’t deny how handsome he is.”
“You are right, he is rather hot, but he’s also a jerk most of the time,” I told her again, hoping she would drop it.
“But he’s your most favorite author; what could be more enticing than a hunky man telling you stories in front of the fireplace on a cold winter night,” she drawled on.
“That does it, you have lost your mind,” I laughed at her. “I’m just not into arrogant jerks.”
“It actually sounded like you two figured out how to get along. I was beginning to think maybe he was alright, but if you insist he isn’t worth your time, then so be it. But I won’t give up hope you’ll find someone eventually,” she said firmly.
“When the time is right, if it’s right, I’ll find someone if I’m meant to.” I let her know that I wasn’t ruling out finding someone, but I wasn’t searching either. “I better get back downstairs and make sure everything is going all right.”
I said good-bye to Paula and went back downstairs to find half the bakery torn up.
“What the heck?” I yelled, looking around at the mess.
“Don’t worry, it will all be put back together. Part of the walls were built around the old furnace, so they had to come down in order to put the new one in, which is much smaller and more efficient,” Toby explained.
“But - um, thank you, but… how long will it take to put it back together?” I panicked, thinking I would have to be closed for more than just my normal Monday and Tuesday.
“I actually wanted to know if you would like to do a bit of remodeling, at my expense of course. The new furnace can be moved so this whole area can be opened up for more tables or another oven or to enlarge the counter.” He walked around pointing out all the possibilities.
“Seriously? Wow, I’m not sure,” I stuttered, shocked at his ideas and offer.
“You don’t have to decide right this second; we can talk about it,” he offered.
“But the timing is so bad,” I wanted to cry at the mess.
“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Hey, are you up for a bit of an adventure while these guys finish in here?”
“Sure?” I replied, with hesitation.
“Grab a coat. Let’s go.”
The next thing I knew we were going into his dad’s jewelry store next door, the place his dad had met his end.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Chapter 20
“What are we doing in here? Are we even allowed to be in here?” I asked nervously.
“I do own the place, remember?”
“Right, but what about the investigation?”
“The Sheriff said I could come in any time, now. I was curious if there might be any more information in here and thought maybe you could help me look around,” he explained. The shop hadn’t been open since I found Mr. Sampson. I wondered what Toby would do with it but didn’t want to be rude and ask, even though I thought that I did have a right to know.
“It’s very, um… creepy in here,” I said, as a chill ran up my spine.
“I’ll turn the lights and the heat on; that should help,” he said, as he went about flipping switches and turning on the heat. He went over and locked the front door so no one would think the store was open. We went to work looking for anything that might give us more insight into who Toby’s father really was.
“There is some really nice stuff in here,” I commented, as I looked in the various display cases at the jewelry.
“Yep, I guess he does have some nice things. I’m kind of surprised, actually,” he said, as he took a closer look into the cases.
“Why does it surprise you?”
“He used to carry a lot of locally made stuff - cheap, fake gems and imported stuff, you know? He never carried this kind of quality. I guess he was doing alright,” he shrugged.
“Did you get the information about his properties and whatever else there might be?”
“Not yet, but I’m expecting it any day now.”
We looked everywhere we could think of and didn’t come up with anything out of the ordinary. There were boxes of receipts and bookkeeping ledgers under the display cases, along with a bunch of empty jewelry boxes.
“Is there an upstairs in here like there is in the bakery?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” he said, as he looked around for a doorway simila
r to the one next door. “If there is a doorway, it must have been closed off. There is only the door to the restroom and one to a storage closet.”
I went outside and looked up at the building which stood just as tall as the building that housed the bakery and my apartment. There were windows and a door that led out onto a balcony, so there had to be a stairway somewhere. If there was a door, it had to be in the storage room at the back of the store. I just didn’t want to go there and see the recliner I found Mr. Sampson in.
“There has to be a living area of some sort upstairs; there are windows and a balcony,” I told Toby when I went back inside. “If it’s anything like the bakery, the stairway would be at the back of the store, most likely in the storage room you pointed out.”
“Let’s check it out,” he said, heading that way. When he realized I wasn’t right behind him, he paused and turned around. “It’s okay, I had all the old man’s stuff removed from here.”
I took a deep breath and walked toward him feeling kind of silly for being leery about seeing the chair. Toby opened the storage room door and took a step backward, almost knocking me over, “Holy cow, what the heck is all this stuff?”
Peeking around Toby, I saw that the storage room was completely full, with only a narrow walkway into it. There were all sizes of plain cardboard boxes. There were no markings indicating what might be in the boxes, but it did look like there were shipping labels on them.
“These were all sent here from an address in San Francisco,” I pointed out.
Toby took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “What was that crazy old coot up to?”
“We’re going to have to pull these out of here in order to find a door, I think,” I said, trying to see further into the room.
“I think you’re right,” he said, grabbing a box with a grunt. “What’s in here? Books?”
We worked on moving the heavy boxes out of the storage room and into the back part of the store where Mr. Sampson once had his recliner and television. This entire mystery was becoming more and more strange with each discovery.
Murder on Main Street Page 10