“We moved here about six weeks ago,” said the woman, opening the refrigerator. “I’m Millie Monroe. My husband got transferred. He’s a regional manager for Northeast Bank.”
Lucy knew Northeast Bank had recently bought several smaller regional banks. A lot of local people resented the change. “He’s got a tough row to hoe,” said Lucy, accepting a tall glass of iced tea.
Millie shrugged. “He’s due to retire soon, anyway. Sugar?”
“No, thanks. This is great.” Lucy took a sip and put down her glass. “I’m working on a story about the homeless man and I wondered if you might have seen anything unusual?”
“Well, I think getting your supper out of a Dumpster is pretty unusual,” said Millie. “I was horrified. It really upset me. Nobody should have to live like that. But by the time the police got here he was gone.” She took a swallow of tea and turned to Lucy. “The officer told me there was nothing he could do. They said he wasn’t breaking any laws and it wasn’t a matter for the police.” She stirred her tea. “I couldn’t believe it. I told them he was obviously mentally ill and ought to be in a hospital or something but they said there was no reason to think he was crazy and if he wanted to live like that it was his choice. As if anyone would choose to eat garbage!”
“Did you see him after that?”
“Every day.” She stared out the window. “I found it very upsetting.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I tried. I went out and called to him, asked him if he’d like a sandwich or a piece of pie, but he took one look at me and ran off.” She sighed. “Then I heard he drowned in the harbor. The poor man. I just hate to think of him all alone like that. He must’ve had a family somewhere, probably missing him and worrying about him.”
Lucy’s eyes wandered over the photo collection. “I keep wondering why he came to Tinker’s Cove. It seems a funny sort of place for a homeless person.”
“What will happen? Will they have a funeral for him?”
“Maybe your church could organize something,” suggested Lucy. “Otherwise, I think the medical examiner keeps the body for a year or so and then it’s buried in some sort of potter’s field.”
“I’ll do that,” said Millie. “I’ll call the pastor right away.”
“Well, thanks for your time—and the tea,” said Lucy. “I’ve got to be going.”
“Good luck with your story. I hope you find out who he was.”
At the IGA, Dot Kirwan wasn’t much help, either. “It was all we could talk about when we first noticed him,” she said. “It was disgusting, seeing him rooting through the trash like that. So the deli guy, Skip, started setting stuff aside for him, things like unsold pizza slices and leftover salad bar and sandwiches, things like that. Dented cans of juice and soda, I mean, there’s a lot of food here that gets thrown out anyway. Instead of tossing it in the bin, Skip would put it on a tray that he set out on a chair.”
“Did the homeless man take it?”
“Yeah, at least I think he did. You better talk to Skip.”
Lucy definitely planned to do that but first she wanted to ask Dot about Tommy. She remembered him saying he worked as a bagger at the store.
“Before I head back to the deli I want to ask you about Tommy Stanton.”
Dot shook her head, setting the wattles under her chin aquiver. “That poor boy.”
“What was he like when he worked here?”
“He was a real good worker. Had a lot of get up and go. You didn’t have to tell him every little thing, like some of the other kids who work here, if you know what I mean.”
“I know,” said Lucy, thinking of the tactics her own kids used to avoid chores. Toby was a master of the slow-down while Elizabeth preferred a more aggressive, confrontational approach that featured shifting disagreeable tasks to her younger siblings as in “Why do I always have to do the dishes and Sara never does?”
“Did he ever talk about his family?” asked Lucy.
“No. He was real quiet. I used to try to get him to talk. I’d ask him about football and school but he’d just say things were okay. That was his favorite phrase. Everything was okay.”
“But they weren’t,” said Lucy. Nothing in Tommy’s life had been okay. Not his family, not football, nothing.”
“I know,” said Dot, looking grief-stricken. “I should’ve tried harder to get him to open up.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I tried, too, but he kept it all inside.”
Dot glanced at the clock that hung in the front of the store. “If you’re going to talk to Skip you better hustle. His shift is up in five minutes and, believe me, he doesn’t stick around.”
“Thanks,” she said, heading for the deli counter in the rear of the store.
Lucy knew Skip; he’d sliced up many pounds of cold cuts for her through the years. He was a big, cheerful man who always had a smile for his customers.
“What can I get you today?” he asked, adjusting his white cap and snapping his rubber gloves.
“I just want some information,” said Lucy, “about that homeless guy. Dot tells me you were putting food out for him.”
“Just stuff that was going to go into the Dumpster anyway. I figured I’d save him the trouble of diving for it.”
“Did you ever talk to him?”
Skip shook his head. “I hardly ever saw him and then it was only his back. He was like one of those feral cats. You can put food out for them and they’ll eat it but if you try to pet them, off they go. He was just like that.”
Lucy thought it was an apt comparison. She figured Skip was talking from experience. “That was a nice thing you did. The lady in the house behind also tried to give him food.” She looked at the rows of meats and cheeses in the display case. “What a shame.”
“Yeah,” said Skip.
“How’d the investigating go?” asked Phyllis, when she returned to the office.
“It’s just tragic,” said Lucy, slumping into her chair. “So many people tried to help him. The lady in the house behind the IGA put out food for him, so did Skip. He’d take what they left but if they tried to talk to him he ran away.”
“Crazy.”
“Maybe,” admitted Lucy. “But I still think he came here for a reason.”
Phyllis slapped a stack of dummies on her desk. “This is the fall home and garden supplement. Ted wants you to check it for typos.”
“Today?”
“Yeah.” Phyllis was sympathetic. “It goes to press tomorrow.”
Lucy sat down at her desk and reached for the phone. She’d promised Willie that she would pick up the girls today but faced with the entire home and garden supplement there was no way she could do it.
As she expected, Willie wasn’t pleased. “This is so typical,” she fumed.
“Well, it was sprung on me at the last minute. I’d really appreciate it if you could get them today. I’ll pick them up tomorrow and Wednesday.”
“I guess that will be all right,” she said, adding a big sigh.
Lucy didn’t get home until almost eight, long after Bill and the girls ate dinner. But she was greeted by Libby, who was a bit unsteady on her feet but wagged her tail as enthusiastically as ever.