Chapter 15
“It’s not fair, Silas!” Sal was shaking a paper in my face as I climbed out of my car. “Look at this!”
Four of the homeless folks, including Gary, were with her, waiting to talk to me.
Ginny was over by the front door of the diner, trying to get it unlocked, shooting me an apologetic look.
Obviously, she’d been attacked by the crowd first, seen me coming, and turned their attention to me.
Upon being distracted by my arrival, she’d slipped away.
That’s a true friend for you.
“What’s not fair?” I grunted, doing my best to wiggle out of the car with five people pressing in against me. “What’s got you all riled up so early in the morning?”
“This!” Sal barked, shaking the paper in her hand. “I am fit to be tied, Silas! Fit to be tied! They can’t do this to us! To the town! How come they are—”
I grabbed the paper out of Sal’s hand, silencing her with a crooked frown.
My message had been made clear—I had to know what she was talking about to respond.
Waving a paper in my face wasn’t going to help any.
Glancing over my shoulder, I’d found that Ginny had managed to slip into the diner, avoiding any further outbursts from the group of folks.
“What is this?” I asked, speaking mostly to myself, as I examined the paper Sal had been holding.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Gary eyeing the front door of the shop. If he went inside and started staring at Ginny, I’d have another screaming Banshee. I looked up from the paper I hadn’t even started to read yet, and locked eyes with Gary.
“It’s burgers and fries today, Gary,” I said. “Saturday, remember?”
Gary, slightly startled, jerked, but then nodded, and stepped away from the diner’s front door. Rejoining our little mix of folks in his own way, Gary stood behind his friends, staring down at his feet as I put my attention back on the paper. After a quick glance, I looked up at Sal and huffed.
“It’s the same thing the county police have been posting for months,” I said. “Why are you so out of sorts?”
“Look at it, Si!” One of the other folks demanded, jabbing their finger at the paper. “They’re trying to run us out of here!”
The person who had spoken up, I believed, was the one they called “Suzie-Q” down at the camp.
I wasn’t certain if the middle-aged woman in flannels, secondhand bib overalls, boots, and a puffer jacket looked much like the name.
However, her brown curls kind of made the whole thing make sense.
Sometimes a single physical attribute can explain an entire, seemingly, mismatched nickname.
“It’s the same notice that they’ve been putting on all the abandoned buildings,” I said, calmly. “If they find people squatting, they’ll arrest them, board up the buildings better, blah blah blah. It’s just an attempt to scare you all into staying down by the river.”
“Well,” Sal spoke up, “it’s working! I can’t be getting arrested, Si! All I have left is my freedom.”
I did my best to give her a sympathetic look.
“Look,” I said, “you all know county is not going to spend time, money, and officers, coming around here often enough to catch you all squatting at night. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Stay outside in the day unless it’s unavoidable, and take shelter at night.”
“How long will that work?” A voice to my side asked. “How long before they start tearing down buildings to keep us from being able to live?”
The question wasn’t a bad one. For my entire life, I’d known that any government, local or otherwise, existed to make people’s lives harder—especially those they deemed lesser than.
The homeless population of Sage Grove was literally hurting no one using abandoned buildings at night to stay out of the elements and stay safe.
Stapling notices to the buildings that they’d be arrested, the buildings would be sealed better—or even destroyed—was nothing more than cruelty.
Fortunately, our local government didn’t really have the time or resources to carry through with their threats.
They might be able to find an officer or two to swing by in the middle of the night and check things out, maybe nail a few windows and doors shut, but that was it.
The unhoused population had to deal with the indignity of the notices, but they weren’t going to lose their squatting places anytime soon.
“You can’t tell us this isn’t a real threat, Silas!” Ronny-Boy spoke up. He was shifting nervously next to me, pulling at the ripped cuffs of his long-sleeve shirt. “We all saw what they did with The Eternity!”
I rolled my eyes. The Eternity Inn had been a point of contention in the community for months.
“The county didn’t seal it up,” I said to Ronny-Boy. “The Milners did that before Harlan died. You know how they are. The thought of anyone using one of their properties without paying was too much for them.”
The group around me couldn’t help but chuckle.
The Milners had their fingers in tons of businesses and ventures.
They were capitalists through and through.
The Eternity Inn had been purchased by the family in the 30s and been in the family ever since.
However, in the last few decades, with the loss of population and commerce in Sage Grove, the Inn had closed.
Shortly before Harlan’s death, the family had the place sealed up—and it would probably stay that way now that Harlan was dead.
Rumors swirled that Rhonda was selling off many of the businesses and properties owned by the Milner Corporation.
“If the corporation can’t sell it, they’ll end up bulldozing it and giving the land back to the city,” I explained. “It’s a business decision. Nothing to do with y’all.”
“Are you sure?” Sal spoke up for the group. “Winter will be here before long. What’ll happen if they seal up every place in town? Or worse, tear ‘em all down? We’ll have nowhere to stay warm.”
I stood before the small group of representatives from the camp and looked them all in the eyes, one by one.
“I will make sure you have somewhere to sleep at night in winter.” I made my vow. “Even if you’re sleeping in The Lunch Counter at night, we’ll figure something out. All right? Do you all feel better now?”
I was met with four smiles and one crooked attempt from Gary.
Finally, I was able to usher the group away from the diner, allowing me to go about my day as normal.
Sal muttered a quick apology as she led everyone back to camp, also letting me know she’d be back later to pick up lunch for everyone.
Gary lingered behind the pack, glancing over his shoulder at me numerous times as they all walked away.
Frowning, I couldn’t help but feel that Gary wanted to speak to me, but didn’t know how.
In fact, I wasn’t sure Gary was even capable of speaking anymore.
I hadn’t heard a word come from his mouth in months.
When he finally stopped looking back at me and continued on with the rest of the group, I pushed him from my mind.
If the man wanted to speak with me—or communicate in some way—he knew where to find me.
Giving the notice from the county that I held in my hand another look, I stuffed it in the trashcan by the front door of The Lunch Counter.
Upon entering the diner, I caught the scent of onions being prepped for the day.
Fortunately, Ginny was working on the onions in the back of the diner, so my eyes didn’t immediately start watering.
I slipped out of my coat and went to wash my hands before joining Ginny at the back of the diner.
“It’s every day with them, Si,” Ginny said as soon as I stepped into the prep area. “Sal is getting them riled up day after day. Before you know it, they’ll be running wild through town, setting stuff on fire out of panic.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, but Ginny’s characterization of Sal and the other homeless folks in town didn’t sit right with me.
“They’re people,” I said. “Not wild animals.”
“People are wild animals,” Ginny said. “This has nothing to do with the fact that they’re homeless.
It’s the fact that humans can be manipulated so easily into panic and disorder.
Sal isn’t helping them at all, jumping to crazy panics every time the county posts a stupid notice on a dilapidated building. ”
“Fair,” I said.
“She knows as well as we do the county is going to keep posting those form letters every now and then to keep them on their toes,” Ginny continued as she chopped an onion.
“But they’re never going to follow through with the threats.
Why would they waste money on the tools, supplies, and manpower, dealing with buildings that have been sitting vacant for years in Sage Grove? ”
I laughed. Ginny explained the situation much better than I had. She should have talked to Sal and her group for me.
“You know that,” I said. “I know that. Sal and the rest of the camp group can’t help but worry. When you have no home, no real income, have food insecurity…it’s hard not to panic every time the county does something cruel like that.”
“I guess,” Ginny said. “I relent, okay?”
We both chuckled as we worked.
“However, you have to admit, you do so much for them and all they do is show up with problems and complaints,” Ginny said. “When are you going to say enough is enough and Victor Grimm this thing?”
She gestured vaguely at my head with her chef’s knife before she went back to chopping onions.
“Victor Grimm this thing?” I repeated.
“You know,” Ginny nodded, not looking up at me. “Sell out. Talk to spirits on T.V. for religious nuts looking for closure from grandma and whatnot? Help the police solve missing persons cases. Do TikToks. Have a merch store. That kind of thing.”
“I’m not certain everything you just said is even English,” I replied. “I don’t get involved with religious nuts, social media trends, or merchandise. And I don’t get involved in crimes.”
“Well,” Ginny said, “Victor does. Though I can’t say that I’ve heard of him actually helping to solve one. I’m not certain he’s very good at summoning spirits.”
He’s a charlatan, I thought to myself. An attractive man made up a persona, donned the regalia he thought would sell the vibe, and learned to con people. He can’t actually speak to spirits.
“Some of us have a moral code,” I said instead of letting all my thoughts leak out of my mouth.
“What kind of moral code keeps you from helping the police solve murders?” Ginny cackled. “Isn’t that the complete opposite of morality.”
“Okay,” I said. “Follow me here, all right?”
I set the bag of potatoes I had grabbed from the pantry by the prep sink and turned to Ginny. She set the knife down and turned to face me, her arms going across her chest.
“You die today,” I said. “Who are you mad at?”
“Let me get my list,” Ginny said with a snort.
“If you could peg your death on one of them, knowing there’s no real consequence for you, would you do it?”
“Why would a ghost do that?”
“Why wouldn’t a ghost do that?” I asked.
“They’re just the spirit-slash-personality of the person they were in life.
They’re the same as they always were, except floating around, invisible to most, without any substance.
They can be rude, vindictive, cruel—also nice and moral and stuff—but there are no more consequences for their actions like when they were human and could go to prison.
If they pin a murder on someone for giggles, it won’t affect them.
So…how can you trust a ghost to tell the truth? ”
Ginny thought about this, then her face brightened.
“What about Heaven and Hell?” she asked. “Wouldn’t the fear of eternal damnation or the promise of life in eternal bliss help them be moral?”
I flattened her with a frown.
“If Heaven and Hell exist, why are so many of these things still floating around?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but if Heaven or Hell exist, I’ve yet to see proof of it.
Sometimes, when I pass on a message for a ghost, they seem to go…
somewhere? They move on or whatever, but I have no idea what that means. Regardless, how can you trust a ghost?”
“Well, couldn’t you give the cops the information the ghost gave you and that’ll set them on the right path?” Ginny asked. “Give them something to chase down?”
“I suppose,” I said. “But, one, you have to get the cops to believe you can talk to ghosts. Two, you have to believe ghosts always tell the truth. Three, you have to understand that even ghosts can be wrong when they’re not necessarily being deceitful.
And lastly, you could easily give cops bad information that takes them off the right track and stalls or ruins their investigation.
Ethically and morally, I do not get involved with crimes. Period.”
“Fine!” Ginny threw her hands up comically with a huge grin. “Don’t help the cops! I get it! Don’t summon spirits on national T.V. or have branded merchandise. Don’t wear shirts that show your pecs or tight pants that—”
“Stop it.” I warned her.
Ginny cackled.
“Do what feels best to you, Si,” Ginny said. “That way, when you become a ghost, you can know you were ethically and morally superior and float around waiting for the promise of a heaven that never existed.”
She turned back to the prep table, grabbed her knife, and started chopping onions once more, proud of herself.
“Hey,” I said, “I have to live—and unlive—with myself for eternity. It’s not just Heaven that can be a reward.”
She gave me a quick wink and went back to the onions.
I bent down to grab the sack of potatoes and heaved it up into the prep sink.
As I began to rip the bag open to wash the potatoes, my eyes drifted up to look out at the main part of diner.
The ghost that had been following me was at the front window, as always, staring me down.
One thing I hadn’t told Ginny about working with police—the main reason it’s a bad idea—is that you easily become a suspect.
For the purpose of self-preservation, it’s always best if the cops think you’re a fraud.