Bookplate Special (9 page)

“Pammy dying and all.”

For just a few minutes, Tricia
had
actually forgotten about it. She handed Ginny her cup.

“I’m sorry I got all weepy over this whole marriage thing. I should go down and apologize to Mr. Everett. He’s the sweetest person on the earth. I feel terrible about hurting his feelings. I think it’s wonderful they’re getting married, and I really am happy for them.” Ginny blew on her cocoa to cool it before taking a tentative sip. “Do you mind if I go down now and apologize? Can I take the cup with me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ginny slid from her stool. “Thanks, Tricia. You really are the best boss in the world.” Treading carefully, she made her way to the door without spilling a drop.

Best boss in the world? Tricia didn’t know about that. And where would she get one of those dorm fridges? She’d probably have to drive to Nashua or Manchester to find one. Or maybe she could find one in the ad section of the
Stoneham Weekly News
. Too bad she’d tossed out the last one. On the other hand, she was having dinner with Russ later that evening. He probably had one hanging around his house.

Tricia leaned against the counter, sipping her cocoa, and caught sight of the box of books Pammy had left behind. Setting down her mug, she circled the kitchen island and crossed into the living room. She sat down on the couch, leaned over, and ran her fingers across the book spines. Nothing here that interested her. A couple of old cookbooks, something Angelica might stock at the Cookery, a few mainstream titles circa 1970, and a few battered children’s books.

Poor Pammy was dead. At least Captain Baker seemed interested in finding her killer, unlike his boss during previous murder investigations in Stoneham. But what if Sheriff Adams interfered with his investigation? What if she decided for him that he should concentrate on pinning the murder on her or Angelica?

Tricia couldn’t allow that to happen. What she needed were facts. What she needed to do was to find out why Pammy had wanted to speak to Stuart Paige.

Tricia stood and glanced around her apartment, looking for and finding her purse. In seconds she’d retrieved the crumpled brochure for the Stoneham Food Shelf she’d stashed away the day before. A glance at the hours of operation made her heart sink. It was open Monday mornings from nine to eleven
only
. However, the Clothing Closet was open weekdays from nine to noon. Tricia frowned. Food would seem to be more essential than clothing . . . unless, of course, you were buck naked. Why the difference in hours?

She’d just have to ask.

The problem was that Libby Hirt was the head of the Food Shelf, not the Clothing Closet. Still, perhaps someone at the Closet could give her Libby’s number. Perhaps. She might need a reason other than pure curiosity to get that number. She could volunteer Haven’t Got a Clue as a food drop-off site. But that still didn’t guarantee she’d get the number.

Of course, she could just look Libby up in the local phone book.

There were four Hirts listed, but no Libby; no L. Hirt. She was probably married, or had an unlisted number. Or didn’t have a landline at all. A lot of people had given them up, using just their cell phones. But that seemed to be younger people, more Ginny’s age. She could try all four . . . and say what?
“I’m just being nosy, asking what happened at the dedication the other day . . .”
And Libby Hirt might not have a clue, thinking Pammy was just one more pushy broad who wanted to get her money-sucking paws on a philanthropist like Stuart Paige.

Tricia scrutinized the brochure, figured what the heck, and dialed the Food Shelf’s number. If nothing else, voice mail might give her an emergency number to call. Instead of voice mail, a real person answered. “Stoneham Food Shelf, this is Libby. Can I help you?”

“Oh, it’s you,” Tricia blurted.

“Y-e-s.” The word was drawn out.

Tricia laughed. “Sorry. I was expecting voice mail. My name is Tricia Miles. I was at the dedication yesterday. I run Haven’t Got a Clue, the mystery bookshop in Stoneham.”

“Oh. How nice. And thank you for coming to our party. You must be a Chamber member.”

“Yes. I wanted to talk about the possibility of having my store be a drop-off point for the Food Shelf. I’d also love a tour of your facility.”

“We gave tours at the dedication.”

“Unfortunately, I got there a bit late. I would love a personal tour—if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. When would you like to visit?”

“How about now?”

“Now would be fine.”

“Great. I can be there”—Tricia glanced at the kitchen clock—“in ten minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll be waiting for you. Good-bye.”

SIX

Tricia was
a little out of breath when she arrived at the Stoneham Food Shelf. Five cars were parked in front of the Clothing Closet’s door, and a blue Toyota Prius was in the slot farthest from the Food Shelf’s entrance, which sported a CLOSED sign.

Tricia pressed the doorbell at the side of the plate-glass door. Libby Hirt soon appeared and greeted Tricia with a smile. After exchanging pleasantries, she gave Tricia a complete tour of the facility, including opening the connecting door to the well-stocked Clothing Closet. Several women sorted through the racks of clothes. They didn’t look poverty stricken to Tricia, and she voiced that opinion.

The twinkle in Libby’s eyes, as well as her quick smile, vanished. She closed the door. “Appearances can be deceiving, Tricia. Right here in Stoneham there are families living paycheck to paycheck—living near the brink. House foreclosures, the tight economy—it all takes a toll on the working poor.”

“I guess I never gave it much thought, and I feel ashamed. I’ve been living in Stoneham for about eighteen months, and I’d never even heard of the Stoneham Food Shelf until yesterday.”

Libby managed a smile. “There are several hundred people who’ve lived in Stoneham all their lives and have never heard of our food pantry, so you’re not alone.” The smile faded from her lips. “Since the booksellers came to town, everyone seems to think that the prosperity has been shared among all Stoneham’s citizens. It hasn’t. And this is New England. People don’t like to admit they have to accept charity.”

People like Ginny.

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Tricia confessed. “I’d like to do all I can to help.”

Libby’s smile returned. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’ve found a collection jar near your cash register is best for a business like yours. Often tourists feel generous with their change, and readily dump it into one of our jars.”

“I’m afraid a great many of my customers pay for their purchases with credit cards.”

“We realize that, but anything you collect will help local families deal with hunger. That’s a big plus, in my book.”

Now to pull out the big guns. “What do you know about the local freegans?” Tricia asked.

Libby’s mouth went slack, the color draining from her face. “I know of them.”

“Have they ever contributed to the Food Shelf?”

Libby hesitated before answering. “There’s a stigma attached to such donations. Even hungry people don’t want to eat food that may have been salvaged from garbage bins.”

“Is the food unsafe?”

“Not necessarily. But if we were to accept such donations—and I’m not saying we knowingly do—we wouldn’t know how clean the trash receptacle was. Was the food in plastic bags before it was, er, liberated? It’s a question of bacterial contamination. We wouldn’t want to expose our clients to any kind of risk.”

“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 glass, 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 assistance. 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 assistance 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 embarrassing 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 assured 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 circumstances . . . 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 municipal lot, grabbed her new collection can, and hoofed it to Angelica’s café, 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.