Page 11 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“For sure,” I replied.

Her hand came out of her purse with a collection of crumpled bills and a bit of change, which she held out to me. Seeing the sad collection of money, I desperately wanted to refuse it. However, Sal was still a human being with dignity and pride, so I politely held my cupped hands out to her, and she deposited the wad of money in them. Without bothering to sort or count it, I slid it under the counter for later attention.

“How many can you spare?” Sal asked.

I washed my hands in the sink since handling money and then food isn’t the wisest choice.

“I asked how many you needed,” I said, turning to her as I dried my hands on a towel.

Sal eyed me for a moment, but knew she’d be fighting a losing battle.

“Well,” she said finally, “we got a full house lately. People aren’t doing good. Not lately. You know how things are.”

I nodded. “How many?”

“We got me, Susie-Q, Ronnie Boy, Gary—”

“Sal,” I stopped her, “you don’t have to justify the need. I just need a number.”

She chewed at the corner of her lip for a moment, transferring some of the lipstick to her canine. After a long moment, she finally came up with a number.

“Sixteen,” she said. “If the money will cover it.”

“Your money is always good here, Sal,” I said. “You want a few extras in case?”

Sal eyed me once again, then, with rosy cheeks, looked down at the floor and nodded.

“I don’t expect we’ll have many today,” I said, ignoring her embarrassment. “The customers get fewer and fewer as more people move out of town.”

“Not much keeping them here,” Sal said, glad to have something to talk about besides the needs of the camp. “Every building in town will be abandoned before you know it. Sage Grove really will be a ghost town one day.”

We exchanged a knowing grin, and I turned to help Ginny with the order for the camp. Once I’d filled enough eight-ounce deli containers of soup and slapped lids tightly on them, I stacked them on the counter next to the stove and turned back to Sal. Propping my elbows on the counter, I leaned in to talk to Sal. Taking my cue, she leaned in to hear me better.

“Caleb told me yesterday that Doc Stephens’ old office building was checked by the county officers last night. They won’t be by there again for at least a week. Probably a month, if we’re honest.”

Sal glanced over my shoulder at Ginny, then looked me in the eyes.

“I still don’t trust Caleb. There’s something about him…”

“I trust him. And you trust me. Dr. Stephens’ office.”

We locked eyes, staring at each other for several moments, before Sal gave an imperceptible nod of her head. I smiled and pushed back from the counter before Ginny could notice our exchange.

“Speaking of everyone out at the camp,” Ginny began, giving me a start, “let me tell you about Gary, Sal.”

A glance over my shoulder and I found she was removing sandwiches from the griddle. I dashed over to begin wrapping the hot sandwiches in parchment paper. Ginny finished stacking the sandwiches next to the griddle for me to wrap, then turned to waggle her spatula at Sal.

“If he doesn’t stop coming in here every day to stare at Silas like a creep, I’m going to—”

“Oh, Ginny.” Sal chuckled.

“I mean it,” Ginny said, though without even looking at her, I could hear the amusement in her voice. “It’s weird. He comes in here and says nothing. Just stares. He used to at least say…something…but now he doesn’t. I ran him off before he could do it today.”

“Ginny,” Sal said, “you know he barely talked before. Since Marcella came up missing, he’s been completely mute. You should be nice to him. God knows the man suffers.”

“I don’t care. He—”

“He’s a homeless man with no friends, save us campers, and no family I know of.” Sal stopped her. “He’s doing the best he can.”