“A little.” Okay, that was a big, fat lie. She was shocked.
“Have you met my dad?” Eugenia asked.
Good grief! Her father was a freegan, too?
A slim, balding man with graying blond hair, probably in his late fifties and also dressed all in black, stepped forward with his hand extended. “Hi, Tricia. Joe Hirt. Eugenia’s told me all about you-or at least your dining preferences. The cold tuna plate or cottage cheese with a peach half, right?”
Tricia shook his hand and managed a feeble laugh. “We are what we eat, eh?”
Tricia noticed the bicyclers standing behind him. “This is Lisa Redwood, and Pete Marbello,” he said.
They chorused a less-than-enthusiastic hello, and Tricia nodded in greeting. She had never met Lisa before, but Pete looked familiar, though she couldn’t place where she might’ve met him.
“What’s the game plan for tonight?” Brian asked.
“We hit this Dumpster,” Joe said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “and then we try the Italian market down the street.” As the oldest, Joe was obviously their leader. The others fell into step behind him, with Tricia and Ginny bringing up the rear.
“Is there some significance to everyone wearing all black?” Tricia asked.
“Doesn’t show the dirt,” Ginny said. “It does give us a little anonymity, too.”
They stepped from the sidewalk into a parking lot. A mercury vapor lamp overhead cast a bluish glow over the large green garbage receptacle. Tricia wrinkled her nose and sniffed, grateful for the chilly night. She caught an unmistakable whiff of something vaguely sour, but not entirely off-putting.
“Who wants the honors?” Joe asked.
“It’s my turn,” Pete said. Brian stepped forward and gave him a leg up, as though he was about to mount a horse, and Pete climbed into the Dumpster. He landed on a pile of black plastic trash bags, piled high, sinking down so that only the top half of his body was visible. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, grabbed a bag of trash, and loosened the twist tie that held it closed. Next, he shone the light into the bag. “Jackpot!” he called, and lifted a loaf of bread into the air. “The sell-by date is tomorrow.” He tossed the bag down to Brian, who distributed the booty among them all, including Tricia.
“I really don’t want-”
“Shush!” Ginny warned her.
Pete had already opened another bag, wrinkled his nose, and twisted the tie once again. “Paper trash.” He grabbed another bag, and another, until he’d gone through most of them. By the time he was done, they’d collected the bread, nearly two dozen potatoes, several heads of what Tricia would have said was questionable lettuce, eight or ten jars of pickles, eleven boxes of crackers, and half a dozen soft tomatoes.
Pete jumped down from the Dumpster and joined Lisa. “Not bad for the first hit.”
Joe pointed toward the other side of the lot. “Come on. The evening’s getting away from us.” Everyone followed.
“This is your chance to talk to the others,” Ginny whispered, giving Tricia a poke.
Pete and Joe were in the lead this time, with Brian and Lisa following. Tricia caught up with Eugenia.
“How do you like your first time out, Tricia?”
“It’s… interesting,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. What will you do with all that food?”
“I don’t take it to the diner, if that’s what you’re worried about. And my mom won’t accept it at the Food Shelf, either.”
“Do you eat it at home?”
“Dad and I do. Mom… well, she inspects everything really carefully before she’ll touch it. And she washes the jars and cans with a bleach solution in case they’ve got germs. She’s very picky.”
“What got you interested in being a freegan?”
“The Food Shelf, of course. I’ve always known about people going hungry. You can’t believe the waste that goes on in this world-and especially this country. Did you know that grocery stores alone throw out between two and three percent of their food every week? That doesn’t sound bad until you realize it’s like billions and billions of pounds of edible food that ends up in landfills.”
Sadly, Tricia could believe it.
“Dad and I tried to be conservationists, too. We went hunting a few times-but were too squeamish to actually kill something and then eat it. Now we just shoot clay pigeons.”
“I hear Pammy Fredericks accompanied you guys on several of your… forays.”
Although her face was half hidden in shadow, Tricia saw the frown that had settled across Eugenia’s mouth. “She wasn’t a real freegan-she was a scavenger. She didn’t care about keeping viable food out of landfills. She didn’t care about making the planet a better place to live. All she cared about was money. Getting something for nothing-or getting something she hadn’t earned or didn’t deserve.”
“And you got all that from a couple of conversations?”
Eugenia laughed. “That’s all it took.”
“What made you think she only cared about material things?”
“The way she talked. She kept saying she was going to come into a lot of cash-that she’d be set for life.”
“Where was she getting this money?”
Eugenia shrugged. “Beats me. I didn’t really care. I told Dad I didn’t want her coming with us anymore. And the next thing you know, she was dead.”
Tricia stopped in her tracks.
Eugenia paused and turned. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean he killed her. I just mean he told her she couldn’t come with us on another run. And as it turned out, she was dead before we went foraging again.”
Tricia’s dinner sandwich suddenly lay heavy in her stomach.
“Hey, come on, guys,” Ginny called, and Eugenia started walking again. Tricia followed.
Eugenia was young. She wouldn’t understand what-oh, God, did Tricia dare admit that she and Pammy were on the cusp of middle age?-life could force you to do.
She didn’t like to think about it. Instead, she forced herself to think outside of the box.
Lisa looked to be five or six years older than Eugenia. Perhaps she had a different perspective on Tricia’s ex-roommate.
Lisa, accompanied by her bike, walked beside Ginny. They laughed about something, their canvas bags swinging as they walked. They looked happy. They were young and carefree and, for a couple of minutes at least, Ginny seemed not to be bothered by the yoke of debt that bogged down her and Brian, something that seemed to preoccupy her during working hours.
Tricia picked up her pace to shadow them.
“Do you think we’ll score any protein tonight?” Ginny asked Lisa.
“We got those steaks last week. There’s a chance they didn’t sell out what they had, and we’ll score two weeks in a row.”
Eating marginal meat? The thought made Tricia cringe.
“I marinated ours overnight, and they were fork tender,” Lisa went on.
“We did ours on the grill. They were pretty good, but I think next time I’ll try a marinade, too.” Ginny seemed to sense someone dogging her heels and looked over her shoulder. She gave her boss a nod and turned back to Lisa. “Did you know Tricia was friends with Pammy-the old girl who got killed earlier this week?”
Old girl? Pammy was two months younger than Tricia!
“She came picking with us a couple of times,” Ginny went on.
“I remember,” Lisa said irritably. “How could I forget? The stupid cow never shut up.”
Ginny tossed an uneasy glance over her shoulder and cleared her throat. “Tricia wants to know if we remember anything she could’ve said or done that might’ve pissed someone off-maybe got her killed.”
“That woman pissed off the general population simply by breathing,” Lisa said. “Why Joe ever let her join us, I don’t know.”
“How did Pammy know how to find you guys?” Tricia asked.
Lisa shot an annoyed look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry your friend died
, but she was a bitch. She didn’t have a clue about what we’re all about.”
“Which is?”
“We’re making a statement. This country is awash in waste. For example, the U.S. accounts for four percent of the world’s population, yet we consume almost a quarter of the world’s energy resources.”
Tricia had to bite her tongue to keep from saying, Yada, yada, yada. “That’s no reason for someone to kill her,” she said instead.
Lisa stopped, turning to face Tricia. Her expression held no warmth. “Pam Fredericks was a greedy user. She wanted more than her fair share of what we found, and she didn’t stop at picking up food.”
“What else was she looking for?”
Lisa pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. She glared at Tricia for long moment, then turned and resumed walking.
“Lisa, what else?” Tricia insisted.
“Never mind,” she called over her shoulder.
Tricia hurried to catch up. “Ginny?” she implored.
“I can’t make her talk,” Ginny whispered. “Try asking Joe or Pete.”
“Are they likely to share anything she told them with me?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny answered. “Pammy wasn’t well loved by our little group.”
“Could she have made contact with any other freegans?”
“It’s possible, but I don’t think there are any others in Stoneham. And she didn’t seem to stray too far while she was in town.”
Lisa caught up to Pete. They conversed in hushed tones. Was she telling him that Tricia wanted information on Pammy? If so, was he likely to clam up as well?
Joe and Brian veered off the sidewalk, down a side street.
“We’re almost at the Italian market,” Ginny said.
“What are we likely to find here, besides steak?”
“They don’t toss out a lot of jars or cans. The meat we found last time was freezer burned, which means they tossed it in their freezer when the expiration date got too close, then they didn’t end up selling it. But it was edible. It was still partially frozen when we found it. We keep a cooler in the car so we can keep perishables like that fresher.”
Tricia found it hard to hide her revulsion.
“Don’t let the others see you making faces,” Ginny warned, “or they’re likely to ask you to go back to the car.”
“It’s hard for me to understand why you’re doing this.”
“We’ve been over it before.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of the evening. I promise.”
Once again, a bright light shone over the Dumpster, bathing it and the small parking lot in a soft glow. This time it was Brian who did the dirty work and climbed into the large metal receptacle.
“Don’t you worry about rats?” Tricia whispered to Ginny.
“Why do you think I don’t jump in the Dumpster myself?”
The others stood around, waiting for Brian to make a judgment call on the contents of the trash bin. He opened a black trash bag. “Anybody want stale cookies?”
“I’ll take them,” Lisa said, and he tossed the bag down to her.
“Having fun?” Eugenia asked Tricia.
“It’s certainly a learning experience.”
“There’s some skanky lettuce here, but the celery looks passable,” Brian said, and tossed rubber-banded bunches down to Joe, who distributed it around the group.
“I hope we find more usable vegetables. I’ve got a hankering to make some soup tomorrow,” Eugenia said, and stamped her feet against the encroaching chill.
“Do you guys ever worry about being chased off?” Tricia asked.
“Sometimes it happens. Sometimes neighbors will call the cops, thinking we’re trying to break in or steal something more valuable than veggies and jars of pepperoncini. The grocery stores could prosecute us for trespassing, but most of them don’t want to draw attention to the amount of stuff they’re putting into the waste stream.”
“Have you ever done this during daylight hours?”
“I have,” Eugenia admitted, “but it isn’t as much fun. People can be cruel and say nasty things to you, too. I prefer to do it under the cover of darkness, but you need a really good flashlight.”
“Do you ever jump in the Dumpsters?”
“Oh, sure. My dad and I have been doing this for years.” She watched as Brian sorted through another bag of trash. “I’m sorry if I was short with you a while back. My mom wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Your mom’s a great lady. I really admire the work she does for the Food Shelf.”
“I do, too. About your friend… she tagged along with Dad the last couple of times we went out-probably because they’re closer in age. You might want to ask him about her.”
“Thanks, Eugenia.” And I’ll give you a nice fat tip the next time I’m at the diner. Now she had to figure out how to get Joe away from the crowd and willing to talk.
“Jackpot!” Brian called, and brandished a bottle of virgin olive oil, which he held high over his head. “Looks like there’re eight of them here.”
“You’re the one in up to your knees, so you get the extra one,” Joe said.
Brian passed the bottles down to everyone.
“I think that’s about all we’re going to get here tonight,” Brian announced, and climbed over the edge of the Dumpster.
“Where to now?” Tricia asked Ginny. “Do we go get coffee or something?”
“That kind of negates the reason we’re out here,” Lisa said snidely. “We’re trying to leave a smaller carbon footprint-not pollute the world with more paper cups from take-out joints.”
Tricia figured she’d better not mention the sub she, Ginny, and Brian had eaten before they’d joined up with this group-or the papers the sandwich had been wrapped in, the bag it came in, the plastic bottles they’d drunk from, and the disposable napkins that had all entered the convenience store’s trash bin.
“There are restaurants that use china mugs, Lees,” Eugenia said.
Lisa merely sniffed.
“We could try Hannaford,” Pete suggested, changing the subject. “Last week we got those pineapples, oranges, and lemons that were in pretty good shape.”
Joe shook his head. “I prefer to stick to smaller markets. Besides, I’m ready to call it a night.”
“Well, I’m not,” Lisa said sourly. “Besides, the gas Brian used to get here is too expensive to drive all this way and only look in a couple of Dumpsters.”
“I think we’ll call it quits, too,” Brian said, backing up Joe.
“You guys just don’t get it,” Lisa said with a shake of her head, and mounted her bike. “Come on, Pete,” she called over her shoulder. She shoved off and pedaled toward the main drag once more.
“Sorry, guys,” Pete said with a shrug, got on his own bike, and started off after his girlfriend. “PMS or something, I guess. See you next week?”
“You got it,” Brian said.
The five of them looked at one another. “Not much of a score tonight,” Ginny said.
“I dunno,” Eugenia said, and jerked a thumb toward the street, bidding the others to follow. “That olive oil alone was worth the trip. That size bottle retails for over ten bucks. You guys got three, and Dad and I got two-that more than makes up for the fuel we used to get here.”
Ginny fell into step behind her, with Brian tagging along behind. That left Tricia right where she wanted to be-walking alongside Joe. “You’ve got a really great kid there,” she told him.
“Thanks. We think so.”
They walked for a few moments in silence before Tricia spoke again. “Did Ginny tell you why I wanted to tag along?”
“Something about wanting to see what your friend was up to. Sorry about your loss.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I thought I knew Pammy. We’d been friends for a long time. But-when it came down to it, I really didn’t know her at all. Did she tell you much about her life?”
“Just that s
he was broke, but she thought that was going to change.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that from more than one person. Did she say how that was going to happen?”
Joe shook his head. “Seems to me she was the type of woman who always had a harebrained scheme she was working.” He stopped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect your friendship with Pam.”
Tricia managed a grim laugh, and they began walking again. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first one to think that about Pammy. She always had bad luck. Always seemed one step ahead of the repo man.”
“It’s sad, really. A woman like that. Very few friends, a family she was on the outs with.”
“She told you all that?”
He nodded. “Do you know her family?”
Tricia thought back. In all the years she’d known Pammy, she’d never met any of her family. “No. But she always said they didn’t have two nickels to rub together. I can’t imagine why she thought she was about to come into money. She certainly didn’t mention it to me.”
He shrugged.
“And why was she hanging around Stoneham for so long?”
“The night I met her, she told me she wanted to attend the Food Shelf’s dedication. The thing is, it kept getting delayed. Something to do with the HVAC systems. Libby could tell you why.”
Was that why Pammy had stayed so long in Tricia’s apartment?
“Libby told me Pammy was eager to see Stuart Paige at the Food Shelf dedication,” Joe continued. “Coming into money-making a scene to meet a rich man. That almost sounds like a formula for blackmail.”
“Yes, I thought of that, too,” Tricia said. They resumed walking. “I didn’t see you at the dedication.”
“No, I had to work.”
“And where’s that?”
“A public relations firm here in Nashua.”
“That’s a bit of a commute-a whole fifteen, twenty minutes,” Tricia said, and laughed.
“Ideally, I’d like to work in Stoneham, but there’s not much in my line of work in a small town-except for people wanting freebies. And Libby would never leave Stoneham. I’ve got an old diesel Volkswagen that I converted to run on cooking oil. I get all I need from the Bookshelf Diner and a couple of fast-food restaurants between Stoneham and Nashua. It works out pretty cheaply, and I’m not dependent on foreign oil.”
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