Page 92 of One Vote for Murder
“When did the landlord change?”
“Right before I let the lease lapse.”
“Is your new landlord local? Maybe you could have a frank talk with him. Explain your situation. You never know, he might be understanding. It doesn’t do anyone any good to have an empty space.”
“The landlord’s name is hidden behind the LLC, AR Holdings. The management company won’t give me his number. But I don’t think talking would help. From what I’ve heard, the guy wants to tear down the old-fashioned storefronts and modernize things. I think he’d be fine kicking me out and putting in a more stable tenant.”
I scowled. “But you’ve been in this spot forever.”
“Something tells me he doesn’t care. He’s purposely squeezing me dry.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“Well, when it comes to the look of the store, the quaint design of the storefronts is city ordinance. No formula restaurants or businesses are allowed on Main Street.”
“I guess things are changing in Rainy Dale.” He knelt and opened the floor safe. “Supposedly, the city council is open to his ideas.”
“Since when?”
He shrugged, dropping the bag into the safe. “That’s what people are saying.”
Uneasiness shifted through me. “So, you don’t have any idea who is behind AR Holdings?”
He shook his head and stood with a grunt.
“None at all?” I asked.
He closed the register, his expression tense. “I’ve heard a few rumors, but I have no proof they’re true.”
“What are the rumors saying?” I asked gruffly.
“Well…” He met my gaze. “Rumor has it that AR Holdings, LLC is really Michael Raiden.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Maxwell
How could I have been sogullible?
I kicked myself as I scanned the room of people yammering at each other a mile a minute. Like a fool, I’d allowed Mrs. Numi to drag me to a Rotary Club meeting. I still couldn’t believe I’d capitulated. She’d caught me when I was still in the flush of euphoria after walking through my new clinic. She’d sprung the idea on me so suddenly I’d been unable to come up with a good excuse. She’d most definitely bushwhacked me.
Now I stood in a room full of people I had no interest in knowing. To make matters worse, Mrs. Numi had immediately abandoned me to go chat with some other Realtors who were also at the meeting. Feeling completely out of place, I stood, pretending to sip an abominably cheap glass of sparkling swill masquerading as champagne while eyeing the exit. Would anyone really even notice if I made a break for it? Probably not.
I grunted when a chubby, middle-aged man bumped into me, spilling some of my drink. “Good heavens. I’m so sorry,” he said, running a hand over his mop of dark curls. “I was distracted and not looking where I was going.”
You don’t say?
I didn’t respond verbally; I simply wiped distractedly at the few drops of champagne that had splashed onto my suit jacket. If the beverage left water spots, Mrs. Numi was most definitely getting a dry-cleaning bill from me.
He peered at me intently. “Why, you’re Dr. Thornton, aren’t you?”
I took a step backward, eyeing him warily. “Yes.”
He beamed, pinning me with his friendly gaze. “I’m Lincoln Johnson, Rotary Club president.” He held out his hand. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Dr. Thornton. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I grimaced, shaking his hand. “People tend to exaggerate. I’m really not that bad.”
