Part 20 (1/2)
”Oh, look at that, will you?” Once again, I was forced to abandon my thoughts when Jennifer spoke. ”One more jar of spaghetti sauce left.” She reached far to the back of a shelf in the corner. ”Way back here. Oh, somebody's going to love this. Then again . . .” Her eyes twinkling, she grabbed the jar of sauce and tucked it under the table, then gave me a wink. ”Old Mrs. Wyjacki loves spaghetti and she's always at this Ma.s.s. I'll slip it to her when she comes down here and no one else is looking!”
Though I'd been in Hollywood for six years, believe me, I didn't live under a rock. I knew there were plenty of people who were hungry, but nothing brought it home like looking at the half-bare shelves of St. Colman's food pantry or thinking that one jar of pasta sauce could be so treasured.
”I can bring more next week,” I told Jennifer, even though I wasn't sure what might be left over or what George would find to pack. ”Maybe bread. Or pasta.”
”Or maybe our Robin Hood will show up again. We wouldn't even have this much if it wasn't for him.”
The mention of the Food Pantry Robin Hood took my mind off George, the bottle of Irish whiskey, and the AA meeting that wasn't. See, Robin Hood was exactly what I'd hope to talk to someone about. I'd planned to choose my time carefully, but since Jennifer brought up the subject, I didn't have to worry about that anymore.
”Was Jack Lancer doing a story about the food pantry?” I asked Jennifer.
”The Lance of Justice?” Jennifer was a short woman, and as round as she was tall. She pressed a hand to her ample bosom. ”Isn't it just awful what happened to that wonderful man? He was always so nice. Always so friendly.”
”You knew him?”
”Well, he did a story on TV about the food pantry. Oh, I don't know . . . three or four years ago.”
I wasn't exactly sure why this bit of news. .h.i.t me somewhere between my heart and my stomach. I moved a stack of tuna cans from one side of an empty shelf to the other. ”He wasn't working on a story now? He already did one?”
She nodded. ”Like I said, three or four years ago. We just wanted to get the word out, you know, that we were here and that we were able to help people out. Father David, he called the station and they said they were happy to help. Weren't we all just knocked out of our socks when the Lance of Justice showed up to talk to us!” All these years later, the excitement lingered; she fanned her face with one hand. ”Such a nice man. Such a terrible shame what happened to him.”
”So, if he did a story about the food pantry years ago, he wasn't working on another one now.”
”Well . . .” I don't know how long I'd stood there thinking all this through and holding a can of tuna, but it was apparently too long. Jennifer plucked the can out of my hand and placed it on the shelf. ”Now that you mention it, it was kind of odd. You see, about a month or so ago, the Lance of Justice, he showed up here again. Weren't we all just thrilled! But he never did run another story. Not about the food pantry. And when he was here . . .” Thinking, she tipped her head. ”Well, all he really seemed to care about was Robin Hood. You know, the person who leaves food for us now and again. Shows up out of nowhere. Like a miracle! Boxes and boxes of food. And n.o.body knows who drops it off. We come in and there it is. One day it's a pallet of canned chili. Another day, it's fresh veggies. Lots and lots of them. And I'll tell you what, that's a real treat because the people who get food here, they don't have the luxury of buying a whole lot of fresh vegetables.”
I thought this through. ”When was the last time Robin Hood left food here?” I asked Jennifer.
”Three weeks ago. No, two,” she corrected herself. ”Twelve cases of peanut b.u.t.ter.”
My head snapped up and my brain spun. Twelve cases of peanut b.u.t.ter?
It wasn't the first time my questions about Jack Lancer led me back in the same direction, and this time, like last, I knew exactly where that direction would take me.
I left the church and headed over to Serenity Oaks.
Chapter 17.
”Bingo!” Sophie grumbled the word, then glanced around to make sure Vi and Margaret, who were sitting at the table with her, weren't watching. She rolled her eyes at the same time she crinkled up her nose and made a face. ”Can't say I like bingo much,” she said, leaning in close so I was the only one who could hear her. ”Boring game designed for old people. They make us play every afternoon.”
”Incentive,” I told her, talking out of the side of my mouth. It wasn't like I was afraid of what either Vi or Margaret thought of me, but hey, if Sophie was going for secrecy, I wasn't going to argue. Especially since secrecy was exactly what I'd come to Serenity Oaks to talk to her about. ”The sooner you're up and moving on your own, the sooner you can leave. Then you won't have to play bingo anymore.”
”Bingo? Everybody loves bingo!” Margaret was supposed to be hard of hearing, but the moment I saw the silvery-haired woman with the sharp dark eyes, I figured she was a shrewd old bird. She waved at the young woman at the front of the room who was calling out the numbers. ”Hey, Melissa! We've got a visitor. Get her a card!”
”No. Really.” I pushed my chair back from the table. ”I've got to get over to the Terminal. I don't have time to-”
”Everybody has time for bingo!” Sophie was on my right, her friend Vi sat on my left. She patted my arm with one incredibly wrinkled hand. ”So soothing. Don't you think, Sophie?” Vi's eyes twinkled with mischief. ”Perfect for old ladies like us!”
Sophie's lips puckered. ”Old ladies.” She added a harrumph to make her opinion clear. ”When I came here for rehab, I thought we'd have time for gossiping about the old days. And catching up on our soaps. And flirting with some of the fellas here.” As if to prove it, she twinkled across the room at a guy with a receding hairline and flamboyant handlebar mustache who grinned back at Sophie like a teenager at his first mixer.
”But no!” Sophie dragged out the last word to emphasize her point. ”They keep us busy all day long. Meals and bingo and therapy and more meals, and the food isn't anywhere near as good as it is at the Terminal. They treat us like we're old! I can't stand it. I'm not old. I run my own restaurant, don't I? I haven't lost my marbles and I haven't lost my energy, even if this dumb knee . . .” She glared down at her right leg. ”Even if it isn't working quite right yet. It will be. Soon. Then watch out, world!”
I had no doubt she'd make good on the promise, but for now I was grateful that she was something of a captive audience. I popped out of my seat and grabbed on to the back of Sophie's wheelchair. ”Let's go outside,” I suggested, and I never gave her time to object. ”There are some things I need to talk to you about.”
”Thank goodness,” Sophie said once we were out of the activity room and in the garden behind Serenity Oaks. It was a pleasant s.p.a.ce shaded by broad trees and dotted here and there with pots of pink impatiens and white begonias. There were benches along a brick path, and I parked the wheelchair next to one and sat down. The better to look Sophie in the eye.
”Thanks for saving me from bingo, kiddo,” she said.
”That's not why I'm here,” I told her.
”You want advice. About the restaurant.” Sophie was so sure of this, she nodded. ”I can understand. I know you have experience, but cooking for those highfalutin Hollywood stars, that's different from actually running a restaurant with real food and real customers.”
”I don't need advice about the restaurant,” I said. ”In fact, the Terminal's been doing really well. We had more customers last night than we've had in the last month.”
All the days of the last month combined.
I didn't bother to point this out since I didn't want Sophie to feel bad.
”So, if you don't want to talk about the restaurant . . .” Sophie's cheeks shot through with color and her eyes flew open. ”It's got to be love! It's Declan, isn't it? Well, if you want my opinion-”
”I don't,” I a.s.sured her with a little too much oomph in my voice to convince either one of us. ”I'm not here about the restaurant. And I'm sure not here because of Declan. I'm here about peanut b.u.t.ter.”
She did her best to play it cool, but don't think that I didn't notice that all that color drained out of Sophie's face in an instant. Stalling for time, she cleared her throat. ”Do you like peanut b.u.t.ter? I do. Extra crunchy.”
”Peanut b.u.t.ter and I don't exactly get along,” I told her, and I didn't bother to explain that was because I'd once lived with a foster family who fed me nothing but peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches for breakfast and lunch every single day of the six months I was with them. ”But that doesn't matter. I'm not here because I eat peanut b.u.t.ter.”
”You're looking for recipes! To add to the menu at the Terminal!” Relief washed through Sophie's expression. ”Peanut b.u.t.ter pie would be good. People love peanut b.u.t.ter pie, especially when it's drizzled with chocolate. Or peanut b.u.t.ter cookies. That might be a nice addition to the lunchtime menu. Or there's-”
”There's twelve cases of peanut b.u.t.ter on our inventory list and not one jar of the stuff in the restaurant,” I said, and before she could offer up some lame excuse designed to throw me off the scent, I was sure to add, ”And St. Colman's just got twelve cases of peanut b.u.t.ter from the Food Pantry Robin Hood.”
”Twelve cases! How generous of someone. But you can't possibly think that I have anything to do with-”
”What's the big deal?” I jumped to my feet and turned to face her, my fists on my hips. ”It's a wonderful thing that you're doing. And it's incredibly kind, too. And, believe me, I don't care if you're spending the profits of the Terminal on filling the shelves at the food pantry. I've been there. I've seen it. I-”
”You took today's donation? That was awfully nice of you.”
Probably not, since I'd had an ulterior motive for going to St. Colman's all along.
”I really don't care if you're the Food Pantry Robin Hood,” I told her, sure to keep my voice down. After all, Sophie obviously wanted the truth of the matter kept secret, otherwise she wouldn't make sure the food showed up out of nowhere. ”I do care that Jack Lancer was working on a story about you.”
”About me?” Her hand flew to her heart. ”Oh no. No, no, no. That's wrong! He couldn't have been.”
”But he was. I've heard it from one of his coworkers, and I heard it from one of his ex-wives, and I heard it from Jennifer at the food pantry. He was snooping around. He was asking questions about the Food Pantry Robin Hood. And if you wanted to make sure the truth didn't get out . . .”
Sophie was breathless. ”You think I killed the Lance of Justice?”
”I think you were at the Terminal earlier that Monday evening, before I arrived in town. I think you parked out front. I think you let yourself in at the front door. Then I think-”