“Hey, they are books. At least these boxes are,” Toby declared, as he pulled out a stack of vintage looking books. He started opening more boxes and found they were all full of books - some old, some newer, and then he stopped. I went over to see what he was looking at and couldn’t believe what I saw.
“All your books,” I said picking them up one by one. So many thoughts ran through my head. Did old man Sampson know all along that his only son was a writer? Did he actually care?
“It’s quite a unique collection. I don’t get it.” He shook his head.
As he mulled over the boxes, I went back into the storage room to move the last few out.
“Hey Toby, I found it,” I yelled when I saw the door in the back corner of the room. The boxes hid it from plain sight, but once everything was moved it was obviously a door, and it was evident that someone didn’t want anyone to go through it by the looks of the locks on the outside.
“I feel like we’re in one of the mysteries I write,” he joked.
“Should we get the Sheriff?” I asked him. “This is weird and really kind of creepy.”
“Do you think someone is locked up in there?” he laughed nervously.
“Honestly, I have no idea what might be in there, but if it’s a person or a body I don’t know that I want to be part of finding it after…”
“I can understand that; yes, let’s get the Sheriff over here. I think I would feel better having him here too.” He agreed with me, which surprised me.
While we waited for the Sheriff to come over and open the door, we checked in on the progress in the bakery, had some lunch, then went back to the jewelry store and opened more boxes of books. I verified that all the shipping labels came from the same address and that they were all indeed sent to the address of the jewelry store. But they weren’t sent to Mr. Sampson, they were sent to Toby.
“So, someone knew we were here and sent all these books - why would he keep these from me?” His hat came off again, and his hand went through his hair, obviously a habit when he was confused or frustrated. I wasn’t sure which he was, but I could understand him feeling either way.
“We can look up the address and maybe find out who lives there. One of these boxes was shipped just two months ago,” I suggested to him. The Sheriff finally showed up as we finished opening the last box.
“What is all this? Are you going to stock up and re-open the store?” The Sheriff asked, as he made his way to the back, where we were.
“No way. As soon as I get stuff straightened out here, I’m heading home,” Toby said, as he shook hands with his old friend.
“Darn, I thought maybe you’d stick around for a while.”
I felt myself almost become disappointed that he was planning to leave. It wasn’t like I’d been hoping he would stay; I actually never gave it a thought. But over the past few days he seemed to always be around and as much of a jerk as he could be, I guess I was getting used to it. Then dread dove into my head as I realized that if he was planning to leave town, he would probably be selling the buildings and Paula and I would be dealing with either a new landlord or closing our businesses.
“So where is this mysterious door?” The Sheriff asked.
“In the back of the storage room. We were curious if there is an upstairs living area in this building like there is in the bakery, but when we finally found the door, we also found that it has a bunch of locks on it. We just thought it best to have you open it, just in case…” Toby pointed at the door.
“In case of what?” the sheriff asked.
“We have no idea. I never even knew the door was there until today and I grew up in here.” Toby explained about the boxes of items he found in the attic at his dad’s house and that after going through everything, we wondered if there was any more information hidden away in the store. After all, it is where his dad spent most of his time.
“Do you have keys?” The sheriff asked after looking at the locks.
Toby shook his head in response.
The Sheriff laughed, “so you want me to break the door down?”
“I suppose so, or I guess I can if you’ll stand by,” Toby offered.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity now, so go ahead. I’ll stand by and protect you from any wild creature that might be on the other side,” the Sheriff continued to laugh. I didn’t think it was funny. I was actually a bit frightened by what might be in there.
The sheriff and I watched as Toby took a saw to the door and before we knew it, he had a hole cut into it. He stepped back and motioned for the sheriff to take a look.
“Well, it looks like a stairwell, just like you thought. There are a bunch of boxes on the stairs. It’s dusty like no one has been in there for a while,” he said, as he moved his flashlight around looking through the hole in the door.
When he stepped back, Toby increased the size of the hole and stepped through it with the Sheriff right behind him. I waited. No way was I going in there. They weren’t gone for more than a few minutes when Toby yelled down the stairs to me, “Abby, you won’t believe this, you have to come up here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Chapter 21
As I reached the top of the stairs, I went through the open door and looked around at the same type of cardboard boxes we found in the storage room. Each one was addressed to Toby, and again, they were all from the same address in San Francisco.
The room appeared to be the living area of an apartment. There wasn’t any natural daylight since the windows were boarded over. There were a few doors that must lead to bedrooms and a bathroom.
“We have to figure out who lives at that address, then maybe you can find some answers,” I suggested. The postmarks on the boxes upstairs dated back to when Toby was a kid.
“Well, I’ll leave you two kids to all these scary boxes,” the Sheriff laughed as wiggled his hand making a ghostly sound. I don’t blame him; it probably was pretty silly to have him come over. I don’t know why we were both freaked out over opening the door, but it didn’t matter. It’s open, and we now know there is indeed an upstairs, and what is up there.
“Toby, are you okay?” I asked, noticing him standing in one spot looking at a box.
“I don’t understand any of this. Could the Paula Jenkins who died in San Francisco be my mom and was she the one who sent these boxes of books?” he asked no one in particular.
“Somehow that makes sense. I’m not exactly sure how yet, but it does, right?”
“I think so,” he chuckled. “There are a lot of questions to answer though.”
“I have an idea. Let’s go check in at the bakery and kick the furnace guy out for the day. I’ll make some dinner, and we can research that San Francisco address and see if we can find you some answers,” I offered, hoping to make him feel a bit better and not so overwhelmed.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want you to feel like you have to give up any more of your time on this mess.” One side of his mouth lifted in half a smile.
“I don’t know if this will help us figure out who killed your father, but I’m so intrigued by the mystery that I’m all in at this time. It’s kind of fun. Actually, I’m living one of your mystery books.” I smiled to let him know I was sincere.
“Alright then, let’s go,” he said. He placed his hand on the small of my back to direct me toward the door. It was nothing more than a friendly gesture, but it made my stomach do a small flip flop. Paula was right, it had been far too long that I’d been alone, but this wasn’t the time to think about it.
When we walked into the bakery, it was still a mess, but it was nice and warm for the first time in months. The furnace guy looked to be all packed up and was washing his hands. Toby went over to talk to him as I walked toward the area where the old furnace had been, wondering what to do there that might make the most sense. I would love to have another oven, but I would also like to have more counter space or a bigger refrigerator, but more seating would be good too.
; “What do you think about the space?” Toby asked as he came up behind me.
“I don’t know. I’m just not sure what makes the most sense at this point and time,” I shrugged, and went behind the counter to pull out some stuff to take upstairs for dinner. It would be a night for bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sandwiches, with a bowl of cream of broccoli soup.
“That sounds fantastic. What can I do to help?” he asked, setting down some of the ingredients on the counter.
“Get the darn fire going; it’s freezing in here. I got so caught up in all the mystery I forgot to check the wood stove today,” I sighed.
“Only if you’ll let me get the furnace guy back here to install some kind of furnace up here,” he said, stubbornly.
“Okay, okay,” I agreed. It would be nice to have real heat in here. I worked on putting dinner together, which didn’t take long, then we sat on the sofa to look up the address in San Francisco. We pulled up the address in a satellite program to see what it looked like; disappointingly it was just a regular San Francisco row house. There was nothing special about it.
We dug around for a while trying to find who lived in the house but came up empty. I stood up, stretched, and excused myself for a few minutes. As I walked by my bed, I saw the stack of notes I pulled out from the journals earlier.
“Oh, man, I totally forgot. Look at this.” I took the journals and the notes to Toby. “These notes were all hidden in secret spots in the journals. On the surface, the journals look like scrapbooks but take a closer look, you can see all the secret hiding spots.”
“Wow, who would have ever figured that out?” he said, intrigued with what I found in the journals.
I left him alone with the notes and journals while I changed into another set of sweats, so I was warm and comfortable to settle in and do some serious research for the night. When I went back to the sofa, Toby was absorbed in the notes I found in the journals.
“Anything good?” I asked.
“These are all different notes my mom wrote after we moved here. She wrote about how scared she was coming here, and how much she hates it and hates my dad. They aren’t dated, but you can see how it seems to get worse for her until suddenly they just stop.” He handed the stack of notes to me.
“You remember when she disappeared, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember if she seemed to be extra sad or sick or anything?”
“Not that I recall, but I was so young when she died,” he said, sadly.
“I’m going out on a limb here; I wonder if she died, or if she left and ended up somewhere like, say, San Francisco?”
“What’s with the books then? It’s not just a few books, it’s enough to open a bookstore,” he exclaimed.
“Hmm, I have a thought. Are you up to going back to the books for a few minutes?” I asked.
“I guess - sure, let’s go,” he hesitated for a second.
I put shoes on and grabbed a jacket while Toby made sure there was wood in the stove, and we went next door to the jewelry store. I thought it was eerie earlier in the daylight, but after dark it was downright spooky. I hoped my theory was right and we could make this a quick trip.
“What are we looking for?” he asked, as we went to the back of the store where we stacked the boxes.
“She hid those notes in those journals before she disappeared; what if she did actually leave and there are hidden notes in the boxes she sent?”
“You think?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s certainly possible,” I shrugged, hoping I wasn’t getting his hopes up too much.
We each opened a box and started taking out the books; I wasn’t sure if we should be looking in the books, or if there would be a journal or something in each box.
“Ah ha, look at this.” I showed him the book I found in the box that I was looking through. “It looks like it’s all warped but look inside - it’s just like the journals.”
“Holy cow, I can’t believe this. Wow, I don’t even know what to say,” he said, as he sat down on the floor next to the box. “This is unreal.”
I went through the rest of the box I had opened but didn’t find another book that looked altered in any way. I moved to the next box and again found an altered book. I glanced over to where Toby was and found him looking through the altered book I gave him.
“You know, I’m thinking we should probably go through the boxes that are upstairs - the oldest ones. I have a feeling that is how you will get the whole story,” I suggested.
“I think you are right; I just can’t believe this.” He put the book down and stood. We went through the storage room door then through the hole in the back door and up the stairs. He flipped a switch but no lights came on, so we were at the mercy of the flashlight on his phone. With so many boxes it was hard to know where to start, but logical thinking told us to start in the furthest corner, figuring the oldest boxes would be the furthest away.
It was hard to see with just the flashlight, so we decided to just open a few of the oldest boxes, and we weren’t disappointed. Even amongst the children’s books, there was an altered book. It was going to take a while to get through all the boxes and find all the altered books.
“Let’s grab a few and go back to my place, then tomorrow we can bring some lights up here and go through more boxes,” I said to him. It was freezing, and I was tired. I’d stayed up way too late the night before, and it had been a long day.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, just as we heard a strange noise from downstairs.
“What was that?” I asked, slightly scared.
“It almost sounded like a door shutting,” he said, as he hurried toward the apartment door. I was right behind him - there was no way he was leaving me up there alone, even for a minute. I’m not usually scared by much, but it was just too darn creepy up there.
When we climbed through the hole in the door into the storage area, we noticed immediately that the door that led to the store was closed. Toby went to the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“What? Locked? Are you sure? Maybe it’s just stuck.”
“Pretty sure it’s locked; the handle doesn’t turn, and the door won’t budge. When I opened it from the other side, it didn’t stick so, no, it’s not just stuck. It’s locked,” he barked at me.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to panic, so I tried desperately to remain calm and waited for Toby to figure out what to do. He tried the door several times realizing it wasn’t about to open. He kicked it, tried to ram it with his shoulder, and nothing happened. There was no way out, we were stuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chapter 22
“At least it’s warmer in here than upstairs,” I said, trying to find the positive in this scary situation.
“Do you have your phone with you?”
“No, I didn’t figure we would be gone long. For the most part, there really isn’t anyone that would try to get a hold of me anyway, I admitted.
“Well, mine is no good. It’s going to…” he said, as the light went out on the phone leaving us in complete darkness.
I took a deep breath. “I’m totally freaked out now; what if the killer locked us in here and is going to come back for us?”
“Come here.” He pulled me toward him and put his arm around me. “Someone will come looking for us, hopefully not the killer, so try not to worry too much.”
“But someone locked us in here on purpose. Who else but the killer would do that?” I wondered.
“I’m not sure, but we’ll figure it out. Look how much we’ve already figured out,” he tried reassuring me.
“Let’s sit down, we’ll be here for a while.” He pulled me down on the floor next to him and put his arm around my shoulder.
“Not the way I anticipated spending the night,” I sighed, thinking of my nice comfortable, warm bed.
“You started it with an invitation to your apartment;
what exactly did you have in mind?” His hand squeezed my shoulder as he teased me. At least I thought he was teasing me. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t want to get involved with an arrogant jerk.”
“You were listening to my phone call?”
“I wasn’t exactly listening. I overheard you when I went upstairs to find you so I could tell you about the extra space in the bakery. So, what is your story anyway? You pretty much know everything about me there is to know, including what isn’t on the internet, but I really don’t know anything about you,” he said.
“I’m not sure what you would want to know - there isn’t much to tell,” I shrugged.
“Where did you move here from? Why did you move here? Is there or was there someone special in your life? You know, tell me all of it,” he nudged.
“I was born and raised in Idaho, went to Boise State, and when I graduated, I got a job in, of all places, San Francisco. I left the job and the city a few years ago to move up here and open the bakery.” I summed it up into a neat little package. Not too many details but just enough to satisfy his curiosity. Or so I thought.
“Oh, come on, there is more than that,” he coaxed. “Where did you work? What did you do? What about your parents?”
“I went to work for a textbook publishing company in the history and social science department. My parents are both still alive; they sold the family home, bought an RV, and have been traveling for the past few years, They’re never in one spot more than a couple of months.”
“Okay, you don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to. I just like to know the people I spend the night with,” he laughed.
He made me laugh at the thought of our rather unusual sharing of the night. “When I first moved to the city, I loved it, I shared an apartment with some other girls that worked at the same company. We worked all day and went out in the evenings trying different restaurants. We didn’t stay out late and weren’t into the bar scene; it was all about the food. On the weekends we would frequent the museums, the beach, or go to plays. I met Tim at one of the museums, he had just taken a job at one of the larger, more prestigious law firms in town. We dated for a year or so then got married. We were both working our way up our respective corporate ladders and saw very little of each other. We moved our way up from a tiny flat above a Chinese restaurant to a large row house with a view of the bay. Each move we made we agreed we would spend less time at work and more time at home together, but that never happened. As the history books I worked on began removing significant pieces of history or were rewritten, I became more and more disheartened. After twenty years working for the same company and fifteen years of a dead-end marriage, I got in my car one day and started driving. Can you believe that in the twenty years I’d been in the city, I never really left it? Early in our marriage Tim and I went on a few vacations, but that was it. We never took weekend or even day trips. Anyway, I got on Interstate 80 and just kept going. Before I knew it, I was in Sacramento. I saw the sign on the overpass that said Reno was only a hundred fifty or so miles, so I kept on going. Once I got to Reno, I found my way up here to Virginia City which I’d read all about over the years. Mark Twain wrote about it, and I couldn’t wait to see it. Of course, I fell in love with the place and knew immediately that I needed to live here. It was time to make some major changes in my life, and this is where that was going to happen. I was walking along Main Street and saw the bakery was for rent, and the rest is history, you could say.”
Murder on Main Street Page 11
