Read Bookplate Special for Free Online Page B

Taking in the incredulous faces before her, she continued. “Of course, lots of freegans give you some lofty explanation about alternative lifestyles, bucking convention, and minimizing waste in a materialistic world. I think they’re just a bunch of cheapskates looking for free food.”
    “Pammy salvaged food out of Dumpsters?” Tricia asked, feeling the blood drain from her face. Pammy had cooked for her—had provided the food she’d used to prepare those meals. Had she found it by—?
    The thought was too terrible to contemplate.
    “How do you know all this?” Baker asked Angelica.
    “Pammy told me—last week when we talked, and today, in between customers.”
    “How long was she here today?” Tricia asked.
    “About two hours. A regular little chatterbox, that one.”
    Baker eyed Tricia. “Ms. Fredericks told you she was a freegan—but in two weeks she didn’t tell your sister?”
    “Apparently not.”
    He looked back to Angelica. “And you didn’t tell her, either?”
    Angelica laughed. “Of course not. Well, just look at her. She’s already a lovely shade of chartreuse.”
    A lump rose in Tricia’s throat. “How long have you known?”
    “For a week or so. I knew someone was going through my garbage the day we opened. I caught Pammy at it one day last week.”
    “You should have told me.”
    “Why? You’d have been freaked out—like you are now. Believe it or not, I don’t live to just irritate you, baby sister.”
    It was Tricia’s turn to frown. So now Angelica decided to spare her feelings. Hadn’t she informed her that Pammy had cooked for her?
    Right now, Tricia couldn’t remember.
    A wave of guilt passed through her. Here she was worrying about eating food past its prime—food that obviously hadn’t sickened her—and Pammy had been killed. Where were her priorities?
    “Did the deceased tell you where she planned to stay tonight?” Baker asked Angelica.
    Angelica shook her head. “And I didn’t have her fill out a job application, either. I needed someone right away—she walked in the door. I figured we could catch up on the paperwork after the lunch crowd had gone.”
    Baker turned to Tricia. “Did Ms. Fredericks tell you where she planned on staying?”
    “No. But she said she’d ‘hooked up’ with some local people.”
    “Probably more freegans,” Angelica said.
    “Do you know any local freegans?” Baker asked the women.
    Angelica shook her head once again.
    “I didn’t even know they existed until just a few minutes ago,” Tricia said.
    “Can you think of anybody we can ask?” Baker asked.
    “You might try talking to the other food vendors in the area. There’s the Brookside Inn, the Bookshelf Diner, the Stoneham Patisserie, and the convenience store up near the highway. That’s about it. But it wouldn’t surprise me if the local freegans went to Milford, or even Nashua or Portsmouth. They’re much bigger than Stoneham. They’d scavenge—or, as I’m sure they’d say, ‘salvage’—much more food from grocery and convenience stores than restaurants and bakeries.”
    “Do freegans try to hustle food from charities like the Food Shelf?” Baker asked.
    Angelica shook her head. “I shouldn’t think so. But it’s something you could ask Libby Hirt about.”
    “Who?”
    “Libby Hirt.” She spelled the last name. “She runs the Stoneham Food Shelf.”
    “The one your friend crashed this morning?” he asked Tricia.
    She nodded.
    Baker made a note. “Did the deceased have a car?”
    Tricia nodded. “She’d been parking it in the municipal lot.”
    “Make and model?” he asked.
    “I have no idea. I don’t think I ever saw her drive it the whole time she was here. In fact, when she left the dedication, she walked back into Stoneham.”
    “She probably couldn’t afford the gas for it,” Angelica added.
    At least not until she’d cashed Tricia’s forged check. You should say something , a little voice within her nagged.
    “Can we narrow it