Chapter 27
“I know that it’s eat this or maybe nothing,” Ginny was saying, “but I still feel bad scooping this up. Even for the folks at the camp.”
I was methodically packing a bag for Sal in advance of her arrival, barely listening to Ginny talk.
My mind was on the previous night’s events.
Even though I liked to be present in most aspects of my life, I couldn’t get myself to focus.
Thoughts kept swirling around my brain, invading every moment of every task I took on at the diner.
After my evening prowl into The Eternity Inn, I had gone home, made sure everything was locked up tight, and checked all the silver pieces in the corners of doors and windows.
Then I’d cleaned up, crawled under the covers, and fell into a fitful sleep.
When I woke up, my mind began racing with thoughts.
Breakfast went by in a flash I was so unfocused on my toast and coffee.
I was barely able to remember my morning shower, getting dressed, and getting in my car to go to work.
How I arrived at The Lunch Counter without running off the road was incredible.
The fact that I’d been quiet all morning, lost in thought, and Ginny hadn’t mentioned, it was a miracle.
“I mean, tuna noodle casserole, Si?” Ginny said.
Her cooking spoon squished and squelched in the dishes as she served up portions into plastic to-go containers.
“They’re already homeless. Must we continue to punish them with tuna noodle casserole?”
I snapped another lid on another full container of the concoction as I made a humming sound with my throat.
Ginny said nothing, but she stopped talking, which let me know she had gotten the hint.
I wasn’t in the mood, or capable, of carrying on a decent conversation.
I could feel the clock ticking until the moment she asked me what was wrong, but I was delaying it for as long as possible.
Of course, my answer would be that I slept poorly, had a crick in my neck, had a lot of work with my website, the usual excuses I made when I was in a mood. And she’d pretend to believe it.
Then I’d come in the next day, right as rain, and all would be forgotten and forgiven.
I found myself glancing at the front window every few minutes.
The ghost that had been following me was staring through the front window, unmoving.
Floating in the air outside, its eyes framed by the O in the diner’s name painted on the window, it refused to move.
It was going to spend all day watching me as I worked.
Until I left to go home for the day, I knew it would be there, watching me.
“Okay,” Ginny finally said, “you’ve been ho-humming all morning long. Ignoring me. What’s up, Si?”
“I didn’t—”
“Sleep well,” Ginny finished for me, drawing my attention from the window.
When I turned to look at her, her arms were folded over her chest, the cooking spoon still gripped in one hand. The sauce from the casserole decorated the spoon, but fortunately, it was clean enough that nothing was dripping off of it.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
Ginny’s brow rose, crinkling her forehead.
“Are you okay?” she asked, going back to scooping up portions of the casserole. “Is the smell coming off this making you sick, too?”
Somehow, I managed to a chuckle.
“It’s just tuna,” I said. “It doesn’t smell bad. We’re in the Midwest. Stop acting so fancy.”
Ginny gave a genuine laugh. I shot a look at the window to find the ghost was still staring at me.
I don’t know why I would have expected anything different.
Once a ghost decides you’re a target, they tend to stick around them as much as they can.
Travelers are the worst. Especially when they want something from you.
“This isn’t about Victor Grimm, is it?” Ginny asked. “The article?”
I looked at her.
“In the Grove Gossip?” Ginny asked. “Them mentioning his upcoming appearance in Dubuque and the ticket sales and all that?”
I snorted. “I didn’t know the Grove Gossip was still putting out…flyers?”
“Papers.”
“Sure,” I said. “If you want to call the one sheet of postings about local happenings a paper. I didn’t know they mentioned him.”
She nodded. “He’s got that show coming up in Dubuque next month. Thought maybe you—”
I waved her off. “I don’t care about Victor Grimm. He’s a fraud anyway.”
“A fraud who rakes in the dough,” Ginny said. “Heard he might be getting a T.V. show or something.”
I ignored her.
“I guess I’m just not feeling great,” I said.
I faked a small cough into the crook of my elbow.
“Felt a little down when I went to sleep last night. Probably just an allergy or sinus thing. Worn down.”
“You better not be getting sick!” Ginny wailed as she portioned out the casserole. “I’ve got so many tests this week that I cannot miss!”
“I’m not sick.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m not running a fever,” I said, chuckling. “It’s just a sinus or allergy thing. You know? Autumn. Once all the trees have shed their leaves and winter settles in, I won’t have a single sniffle until Spring.”
“True,” Ginny said.
“That’s twenty,” I said, snapping the last lid on a to-go tub.
I put the last stack in the bag for Sal, folded the top, and pushed it to the side.
Ginny already had most of the casseroles we’d baked off portioned out and in containers, so I went up and down the table where she’d laid them out, snapping on the lids.
Everyone that came into The Lunch Counter could get a portion or two and heat them up at home.
Or eat them cold. Whatever tickled their fancy—we weren’t the food police.
“I wish we had more to offer today,” Ginny lamented.
“I know,” I said. “Fresh groceries in the morning. But you know we have to use everything up. Spoilage doesn’t look good here. We can’t waste anything. Tuna noodle casserole it was.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “It just feels cruel.”
I laughed and went around the counter to sit down on one of the stools, groaning as I lowered myself.
Ginny glanced at me over her shoulder, but said nothing.
Instead, she finished dishing out the rest of the casserole from the pans and put the lids on the last few to-go containers.
Whoever came in within the next hour would get a tub or two.
Anything still sitting out after an hour would be put in the fridge for another time.
Or Ginny could take the leftovers to the dorm and pass them out to her friends so it wouldn’t go to waste.
If she didn’t think it would offend them too much.
Though she had plenty of thoughts about the casserole, I had a feeling her poor college dormmates who had been living on instant noodles for weeks or months would probably be glad to have the food.
I was opening my mouth to give her my suggestion when a cold gust of air rolled through the diner.
I spun on the stool, the vinyl crackling under me and the turn mechanism creaking as I did.
The front door was wide open and Sal was rushing inside, pushing the door shut against the wind that was trying to force its way inside.
Once the door was closed and she turned to face me, I couldn’t help but grin at her wind-rustled hair and the scarf that had flapped up to cover most of her face.
Shaking with cold, she reached up and peeled the scarf from her face.
Her skirt had ridden up, but fortunately not so far to be indecent, and her coat look insufficient for the coming weather, but other than that and her hair, she looked unbothered.
She beamed upon seeing me and rushed over to the counter.
With Ginny still distracted behind the counter, Sal leaned down to whisper to me.
“Doc Stephens’ old place has been a boon,” she murmured. “We stay plenty warm there at night. Thank you, Si. And give our thanks to Caleb.”
I nodded as she quickly straightened up. Ginny turned around as Sal straightened and gave her a smile.
“Usual order, I’m afraid,” she said to my partner before glancing at me. “I don’t have a lot to offer today.”
“Keep it,” I waved her off as I leaned an elbow on the counter. “With winter coming I’m sure everyone could use some socks or whatever you can manage.”
Sal got rosy cheeked but said nothing. She gave me a polite nod of thanks and turned her attention back to Ginny.
“Si got you all bagged up already,” Ginny said. “This is on him. It’s tuna noodle casserole. I told him it was cruel to do to the folks in town who come in for their lunch, but he’s evil. You know how he is.”
Sal patted my back jovially and laughed at Ginny’s comments.
“Everyone in the camp will be glad to have it,” she said. “You won’t hear one complaint from us.”
“We have another delivery tomorrow,” I said. “Tomorrow’s menu will be much better.”
“No complaints.” Sal repeated herself.
Ginny retrieved the bag from the prep table and set it on the counter before reaching for the tie of her apron.
“Gotta hit the toilet,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
“Aim true,” I quipped.
Ginny rolled her eyes and disappeared into the back. Sal drew the bag from the counter, cradling it in her arm so that the heft wouldn’t cause it to break. She looked to the door to the back where Ginny disappeared, waited a second, then turned her attention to me.
“Have you had a chance to…you know?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“I’m asking around.” I gave a vague response. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything or think of anything else.”
Sal gave me an apologetic, sad smile.
“I know you have a lot going on, Si,” she said. “It was a big ask. I know you’ll get to it when you get to it.”
Nodding, I said, “Maybe if I talked to Gary it would help? Have you seen him around? He hasn’t popped in today.”