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There was only one way to find out.
Tricia emptied the wastebasket, reentered the Cookery, reset the alarm, and saw Fra
Gi
Gi
“Definitely. Where and when?”
“I brought a change of clothes so that Brian could pick us up here at seven.”
“That doesn’t give us any time to have di
“We’ll eat on the way.”
Tricia felt her cheeks redden.
Gi
“Okay. But I’ve got one question: What does one wear to go Dumpster diving?”
ELEVEN
By six thirty, business had slowed to a crawl, and Tricia decided she’d best change for her first, hopefully only, food-salvaging expedition. She slipped upstairs to her loft apartment and fed Miss Marple before retreating to her bedroom closet, where she dug out her grungiest jeans and an old sweatshirt, found a pair of sneakers she thought she’d tossed long ago, grabbed her fa
Gi
“Hey, Tricia,” Brian called, “glad to have you with us. Although I have to admit I never thought you’d have the guts to do this.”
“Neither did I,” she agreed as she buckled her seat belt. “I’m hoping some of your friends will talk to me about Pammy Fredericks.”
Brian checked his side mirror before he pulled away from the curb. “Don’t be surprised if they don’t.”
“Where are we heading?” Tricia asked.
“ Nashua. There’s better pickings in a bigger city.”
They lapsed into idle chitchat for the twenty-or-so-minute ride to the city closest to Stoneham. Tricia’s stomach began to knot with each passing minute. Did Brian and Gi
The lights of Nashua were straight ahead, and Tricia found herself swallowing over and over again as dread filled her. What about the germs-the stench? Whatever had possessed her to ask Gi
What kind of friends picked through trash and then ate it?
Good grief, she’d almost forgotten she’d been on the receiving end of two meals made with trash, although, much as she hated to admit it, the food had been good, a testament to Pammy’s culinary abilities.
Brian pulled the car into the parking lot of a convenience store.
“Is this where we’re going to start”-Tricia struggled to find an appropriate word-“picking?”
“Nope. I came here to get a sub. If I get a foot-long, we can share it. What do you like, Tricia, turkey or ham?”
“ Turkey, please. Although I’m really not very hungry.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Water.”
“I’ll have a Coke,” Gi
Tricia dug in her fa
Brian shook his head. “Nope. You’ve helped us a lot in the past year. This is on us.” He opened the driver’s-side door and hopped out of the car.
“This is a big night for us,” Gi
“Eat out?” Tricia repeated dully.
“Yeah, it’s a big deal for us to even get a sub these days.”
In minutes, Brian was back, holding a paper sack cradled in his left arm. He opened the car door and handed the bag to Gi
“I had the clerk cut it up into several pieces.” He eyed the rearview mirror, looking at Tricia in the backseat. “Maybe it’s the lighting, but Tricia looks a little green. I don’t think she’s too hungry, babe.”
Gi
“You don’t?”
“I do the dirty work,” Brian said, and pulled at the shoulder of his sweatshirt. “I wear layers. If I get grubby, I can just peel them off, and into the laundry they go.”
“We’ve got gloves and a big bottle of hand sanitizer,” Gi
Tricia let out a whoosh of air. “Thanks for the heads-up. I feel a lot better about this.”
Gi
Minutes later, Brian collected the papers, stuffed them into the sack, and deposited them in the trash receptacle outside the convenience store. Soon after, they were back on the road.
“We’re meeting up with our friends behind one of the smaller grocery stores. The bigger stores are open twenty-four hours, and they don’t like us poking through their garbage.”
They pulled down a side street and parked. “We walk from here,” Brian said.
They got out of the car and locked it. Brian stepped around to the back of the SUV, unlocked it, and took out two big backpacks, several canvas shopping bags, and three pairs of gloves, handing them around so that they each had something to protect their hands. He and Gi
He turned and headed back to the main thoroughfare, leading the way, leaving Gi
“’Bout time you guys got here,” said a familiar female voice from the shadows.
As they approached, Tricia realized with a start that the voice belonged to Eugenia Hirt-Libby Hirt’s daughter. No wonder the head of the local Food Shelf hadn’t wanted to talk about the freegans. Her own child was one!
Eugenia looked androgynous. She was dressed in black slacks, a black jacket, and black shoes, and a black-and-white bandana covered her blond hair, which was apparently pi
“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.