Bookplate Special: A Booktown Mystery Part 8

"So such donations are not something you readily welcome."

"Unfortunately, we don't always know where the donations come from. If we do, we naturally screen it, as we screen everything that comes in."

"Screen it? How?"

"First of all, we accept only nonperishable items," Libby said, and seemed grateful for the opportunity to veer away from the initial question. "Next, we examine every container. Cans that are dented near the seams are not distributed, nor are rusty cans. If the product comes in gla.s.s, we make sure there are no cracks. Nothing with bulging lids is accepted, either. And we check the expiration dates on everything that's donated. We'll accept food up to two years after the expiration date."

Tricia wrinkled her nose. "But isn't it spoiled by then?"

"Not at all. Admittedly, it may not be at its best, but when you're hungry, you're not as fussy."

Tricia took in the boxes, cans, and jars of donated food that lined the shelves along the walls. "Surely a steady diet of all this processed food isn't healthy."

"We're an emergency service," Libby explained. "The Food Shelf was never intended to supply individuals for an extended length of time. I'll admit processed food isn't always the healthiest food on the planet. It's full of sodium and high-fructose corn syrup, but when the alternative is to go hungry, donated food is literally a lifesaver. We do look out for a number of our chronically ill and elderly clients who depend upon us for food when their Social Security money runs out--usually the third week of every month. We take their dietary limitations into account and supply them with as much low-sodium and fresh food as possible."

"How many of those clients do you have?"

"Right now, ten--that number varies throughout the year."

"You mentioned fresh food?" Tricia prompted.

"Yes. Money donations buy bread, milk, cheese, fresh vegetables, and meat to last our clients several days."

"Has the Food Shelf ever run a soup kitchen?"

"No, but one of the local churches did. That was before Everett's Food Market went out of business. The owner, William Everett, donated all his less-than-perfect produce. It was a big blow when he went out of business."

"Did you know he now works for me?"

"Yes, I think Grace Harris did mention that to me. I've been told to save the date for their upcoming wedding. Isn't it sweet that two such nice people found each other?"

"Yes. Now, you were saying--?" Tricia prompted.

"Oh, the soup kitchen. Yes, they tried to solicit donations from other sources outside of Stoneham, but they were already donating to programs in their own towns. It would be nice if we could get another such service going again--but it doesn't seem likely."

Tricia nodded and looked around the gleaming new facility. "It was very generous of Mr. Paige to make a matching donation to the funds your organization has collected."

"Yes. He's been a good friend to the Food Shelf over the years. We're grateful for people like Grace Harris, and for all the Chamber of Commerce has done, too. We never could have come up with the funds if it hadn't been for the Chamber. Bob Kelly is a saint."

Tricia had never thought of him in that regard. "Can just anybody use your services?"

Libby shook her head. "We're here for individuals and families who need emergency a.s.sistance. I'm sure you can understand that some people might want to take advantage of such a program, and that's why our volunteers verify the need before our drivers make their weekly deliveries to those who've requested help."

"You make deliveries?"

"Every Monday. That's also when our volunteers make pickups from food drop-off points. At the end of the month, they collect the money from the change jars."

Which explained the limited hours the Food Shelf was open.

"It's important that we let the people who need a.s.sistance maintain their dignity," Libby continued. "And with the price of gas these days, they often don't have the where-withal to get to us."

Tricia nodded in understanding. She couldn't think of anyone she knew who would want to advertise the fact that they needed charity.

She thought about the real reason she'd come to the Food Shelf. Time to get down to business. "It was a wonderful dedication. Too bad it was marred by that woman's temper tantrum," Tricia said, not admitting her acquaintance with Pammy.

"Yes," Libby agreed. "I never did find out what she wanted. Someone told me later she wanted to talk to our guest of honor. Harangue, more like. I was grateful that Mr. Paige's security people dealt with her. It would have been extremely embarra.s.sing for him had she made a fuss during the ceremony. Especially since the press was in attendance."

The press? Oh, she meant Russ. Funny, Tricia never really thought of the Stoneham Weekly News as a serious news organ. Wouldn't Russ be furious if he knew what her real opinion was?

Too bad Libby hadn't known why Pammy had tried to crash the dedication . . . but then again, if she did, she had no reason to divulge that information to Tricia. And why should Libby speak frankly? Until today, she hadn't met Tricia, and had no reason to share anything she knew.

Too bad.

"Goodness, look at the time," Tricia said, with a show of looking at her watch. "I'm sorry to have kept you so long."

"Not at all," Libby a.s.sured her. "Let me get one of our change jars for you. One of our volunteers will visit your store to collect what's been contributed at the end of every month. We're very grateful to the Chamber members who've elected to help us out in this way."

Tricia took another look around the tidy room as Libby rummaged in a locker for a collection jar. She thought about the Clothing Closet next door, and the boxes of food ready to be delivered to the people of Stoneham who were too ashamed to let others know their circ.u.mstances . . . and felt grateful for what she had and the life she lived.

After missing breakfast and talking food for so long with Libby Hirt, Tricia was hungry enough to eat her own foot. As it was almost noon, she parked her car in the munic.i.p.al lot, grabbed her new collection can, and hoofed it to Angelica's cafe, figuring on grabbing a quick bite before returning to Haven't Got a Clue.

Ginny was right. Booked for Lunch was booked solid. There wasn't a seat to be had, and people stood in the entry-way, waiting for an opening. Tricia did an about-face and headed north down the sidewalk for the Bookshelf Diner.

Another destroyed carved pumpkin lay in the gutter outside the restaurant. How many of the village's children were heartbroken over such vandalism? Tricia bypa.s.sed the mess and entered the diner.

Though Angelica's cafe had put a dent in the Bookshelf's lunchtime trade, it hadn't killed it. All but one booth was taken, and the one Tricia was given was only a two-seater. She shrugged out of her jacket, set it over her purse and the collection can, and sat down. Not thirty seconds later the waitress arrived, pouring fresh water from a frosted gla.s.s jug into Tricia's waiting gla.s.s.

"What can I get you?" Eugenia, the perky, blond, college-aged waitress asked. "The usual?"

Tricia shook her head. "Today I think I'll be daring. How about a bowl of vegetarian chili--with extra crackers?"

Eugenia winked.

"Hey, I thought you only worked evenings," Tricia said.

Eugenia smiled. "I do. But Hildy called in sick today, and since I only have a couple of morning cla.s.ses, I agreed to fill in. I'm a starving college student. I can always use the extra money. Be right back with your chili," she promised, and headed toward the kitchen.

Was it Tricia's imagination, or had Eugenia lost some of the hardware she usually wore? Gone were the eyebrow rings and nose studs--although the young woman still had at least three sets of gemstone-like post earrings, in a mult.i.tude of colors, decorating each ear. Should she mention the young woman's new look, or had Eugenia taken enough teasing about her former look from the more staid villagers that acknowledging the change wouldn't be appreciated?

Eugenia reappeared in record time with Tricia's order. She settled the bowl, with the requested extra crackers, on the paper placemat in front of Tricia. "Hey, I heard you met my mom."

Tricia looked into the intense blue eyes above her. "I did?"

"Yeah, Libby Hirt. She runs the Food Shelf. I talked to her on the phone a few minutes ago. She said you'd been by to scope out the place and that you'd volunteered to be a drop-off point. That was really nice of you. Thanks."

News traveled fast. She'd left Libby only some fifteen minutes before. Hadn't Grace mentioned that Eugenia had been ill as a child? She certainly didn't look the worse for wear now. "Oh, well. Just my civic duty."

"No, it's more than that. Thanks to Mom, I grew up knowing that there were hungry people all around here. Not everyone is as enthusiastic about helping the Food Shelf. They think it encourages people to be b.u.ms or something." She rolled her eyes disapprovingly.

"Since most of my customers are tourists, I don't know that they'll feel generous toward the cause, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to try." And she intended to salt the jar to get things going.

"You're right," Eugenia agreed, "but you'd be surprised how fast loose change mounts up." She nodded toward the collection can that sat by the diner's register. It was at least a third full with quarters, nickels, dimes, pennies, and a few folded-up dollar bills. "Add up all the collection cans in town, and it makes a big difference to the Food Shelf's bottom line," she continued. "I mean, we can't depend on bigwigs like Stuart Paige to pick up the tab all the time. The people of Stoneham have to take some responsibility for the villagers who need help making ends meet."

The words didn't sound rehea.r.s.ed, but they weren't the jargon of a twenty-year-old, either. Eugenia must have grown up hearing the same speeches over and over again. That she'd taken them to heart said a lot about her character.

"I'm glad I can help."

"I do what I can, too," Eugenia said, her gaze traveling back toward the kitchen.

"Hey, what's it take to get some service around here?" called a male voice from behind Tricia. The accent sounded like he was a Long Islander.

" 'Scuse me," Eugenia said, and took off to take care of her customer.

Tricia turned her attention to her lunch, plunging her spoon into the chili. She had always enjoyed talking with Eugenia. She was a nice kid. Like her mom . . . although with that brilliantly blond hair, and her little pug nose, she looked nothing like her mother. Then Tricia remembered again that Grace had mentioned the girl had been adopted.

She unwrapped the first of her cracker packets, crumbling them on top of the chili.

A minute later Eugenia returned, this time with a carafe of coffee. "Sorry, I never asked if you wanted anything other than water."

Tricia shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"All set?"

Tricia nodded.

Eugenia dipped into the pocket of her ap.r.o.n, withdrew a piece of paper--the check--and set it on the table. "Thanks for coming by today--and for helping my mom."

Tricia nodded, and the young woman headed back up the booth-flanked aisle, checking with the rest of the patrons, making offers of refills as needed.

As Tricia finished her lunch, she wondered what Eugenia had meant when she said she'd done all she could to support her mother's cause. Did she contribute some of her tips, or was she one of the volunteers who packed canned goods into cartons at the Food Shelf?

Today wasn't the day to ask.

Tricia finished the last of her chili, picked up the check, her jacket, purse, and the collection jar, and paid at the register. Minutes later she was back at Haven't Got a Clue with time to spare before it was time for Ginny's lunch break.

Tricia hung up her jacket, stashed her purse, and settled the collection jar beside the register.

"Another one of Libby Hirt's soldiers against hunger, I see," Ginny said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Yes. I hope we can help make a difference," Tricia said. She opened the register and took out a couple of dollars in quarters, dimes, and nickels, adding it to the jar. The money made a rather shallow layer. It would take an awful lot of change to fill it.

A woman approached the cash desk and set four books down by the register. Tricia rang up the sale while Ginny bagged the books. The woman handed her thirty dollars, and Tricia returned her twenty cents change, which the woman promptly dropped into the collection can.

"Thank you," Tricia said as Ginny stifled a grin.

The woman sketched a wave good-bye and headed out the door.

"See, we're making a difference already," Tricia said. She looked around the store. "Did Mr. Everett leave?"

"Grace stopped by and picked him up. Something about talking to the caterer at the Brookview Inn," Ginny said, and sighed. "While you were gone, we had a lull. By the way, it looks like the book club is off for tonight. Grace and Mr. Everett are busy; Nikki and Julia both called to say they can't make it, either. I figured what the heck, and made an executive decision to cancel the meeting."

"It's just as well," Tricia said, and sighed. "I forgot I have a date with Russ for tonight. Does everyone know?"

"Yes, I called them all. We should be good to go next week--although Grace and Mr. Everett will be on their honeymoon. We may want to postpone the meetings until they return."

Tricia nodded.

"I also called the Board of Selectmen to see about renting the gazebo in the park for our wedding. No go."

"Have you tried Milford?"

"They've got a big gazebo in the Oval, but I'm not sure they'd rent that."

"What about that ball field next to the hospital?"

"I could try that next," Ginny said uncertainly.

"What about your own yard? It's pretty big. And you could rent a tent just in case it rains."

"I hadn't even thought of that. I'll put it on the back burner. I mean, I haven't even talked to Brian about any of this. He might not want to get married at home or under a tent."

"I think an at-home wedding would be lovely."

"I'm warming up to the idea," Ginny said. "Oh, the music's stopped. I'll go change the CD." She headed for the coffee station, which also housed the store's stereo system.

"Anything else happen while I was gone?" Tricia asked.

Ginny flipped through the jewel boxes. "Captain Baker called. He said he'd call back some other time."

"What did he want?"

"He didn't say." Ginny chose A New Journey by Celtic Woman, setting it on low volume. "It probably had something to do with Pammy's death, though--don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly. But I don't know what else I can tell him. She didn't confide in me all that much. And sometimes she'd disappear in the evenings and didn't tell me where she'd been. If only I could find one of the local freegans, I might find out more about what Pammy was up to."

Ginny returned to the sales counter. "What do you mean?"

"Pammy told Angelica she was a freegan. They Dumpster dive for food."

"I know what they are," Ginny said.

"I asked Libby Hirt about them, but she didn't want to talk about it. Obviously there are people in the village who know about them, but I don't know who else to ask."

"I might be able to help," Ginny said. Her voice had dropped.

"You know someone?"

Ginny nodded. "In fact, I know several freegans."