Lucy definitely planned to do that but first she wanted to ask Dot about Tommy. She remembered him saying he worked as a bagger at the store.

“Before I head back to the deli I want to ask you about Tommy Stanton.”

Dot shook her head, setting the wattles under her chin aquiver. “That poor boy.”

“What was he like when he worked here?”

“He was a real good worker. Had a lot of get up and go. You didn’t have to tell him every little thing, like some of the other kids who work here, if you know what I mean.”

“I know,” said Lucy, thinking of the tactics her own kids used to avoid chores. Toby was a master of the slow-down while Elizabeth preferred a more aggressive, confrontational approach that featured shifting disagreeable tasks to her younger siblings as in “Why do I always have to do the dishes and Sara never does?”

“Did he ever talk about his family?” asked Lucy.

“No. He was real quiet. I used to try to get him to talk. I’d ask him about football and school but he’d just say things were okay. That was his favorite phrase. Everything was okay.”

“But they weren’t,” said Lucy. Nothing in Tommy’s life had been okay. Not his family, not football, nothing.”

“I know,” said Dot, looking grief-stricken. “I should’ve tried harder to get him to open up.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I tried, too, but he kept it all inside.”

Dot glanced at the clock that hung in the front of the store. “If you’re going to talk to Skip you better hustle. His shift is up in five minutes and, believe me, he doesn’t stick around.”

“Thanks,” she said, heading for the deli counter in the rear of the store.

Lucy knew Skip; he’d sliced up many pounds of cold cuts for her through the years. He was a big, cheerful man who always had a smile for his customers.

“What can I get you today?” he asked, adjusting his white cap and snapping his rubber gloves.

“I just want some information,” said Lucy, “about that homeless guy. Dot tells me you were putting food out for him.”

“Just stuff that was going to go into the Dumpster anyway. I figured I’d save him the trouble of diving for it.”

“Did you ever talk to him?”

Skip shook his head. “I hardly ever saw him and then it was only his back. He was like one of those feral cats. You can put food out for them and they’ll eat it but if you try to pet them, off they go. He was just like that.”