Free Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep by Elaine Orr Page B

would. Tell Scoobie stuff. He’ll tell me.”
    This boyfriend business is complicated.
     
    THE HARVEST FOR ALL food pantry had been exceptionally busy since Hurricane Sandy. Even if a home wasn’t damaged, lots of people lost all their food because the power was out for two days.
    For once we didn’t have to scramble for goods. The Red Cross and half a dozen grocery stores gave us so much food that we stored it in First Presbyterian’s huge community room and the hallway outside the room where we distribute food, which is attached to the church’s community room area.
    The pantry is set up kind of like a dry cleaner’s shop, except instead of clothing hanging everywhere we have rows of shelves and some refrigerated cases. You want to work with people you like because at some point in an afternoon you’re going to bump into each other’s backsides.
    Usually our committee meetings are to figure out how to raise money, and since food had been pouring in for weeks we’d focused on passing out the stuff. Now we had to get back to the business of raising money.
    I glanced around the small conference room as our stalwarts gathered. It was a really cold night for a Tuesday in early December, so I hadn’t been sure how many would come.
    Dr. Welby (who abides no teasing about his name) looked tired. He’s retired but he had volunteered with the public health office in Atlantic City for two weeks, mostly giving tetanus shots and helping people get their prescription drugs in order after they lost them in the storm. Not terribly taxing, perhaps, but more than he was used to. And he surely talked to a lot of frightened and frustrated people. That would take its toll.
    Sylvia Parrett was sitting ramrod straight, but talking with more animation than usual to Monica and Aretha. The door in the outer hall banged and I heard Scoobie and Lance Wilson in what sounded like a bit of an argument. That was unusual. Scoobie drafted himself onto the committee last year, and I’ve just invited Megan, my favorite volunteer, to join us. She was not talking to anyone, and I knew she would be more comfortable after Scoobie came in.
    As everyone got seated I opened my folder. I’d compiled a list of fundraising ideas that we’d discussed at other meetings, and I began to pass them to the others. “As long as I don’t have to sit above a carnival dunk tank again I’m pretty much open to anything,” I said.
    “You might want to reserve your opinion,” Lance said, dryly.
    Everyone looked at Scoobie, who grinned. “I thought we could get some of the kids from the teen group involved in a fundraiser, then maybe ease them into helping us stock shelves or something.”
    “That could make some sense,” Monica said as she hugged her cardigan a little more tightly.
    “What are you thinking about, Scoobie?” Aretha asked. She’s our only black committee member, Reverend Jamison having drafted her when she came to the church to get flyers to put in laundromats. She lectured him about why we should publicize the pantry in places where poor people go. He listens.
    “We need something fun, that a lot of people can participate in, maybe with a food theme.”
    Lance Wilson rolled his eyes.
    “I take it you have something in mind,” I said to Scoobie.
    “Did you ever wonder how really tiny people can eat so many hot dogs?” he asked.
    “Not really,” I said.
    “You mean one of those eating contests where people stuff food?” Sylvia looked scandalized.
    “Pretty much,” Scoobie said. I bet we could get companies to sponsor participants. You know, they pay $100 to enter someone, and they bring lots of people to watch, and they pay to watch…”
    “Hmm.” When Dr. Welby talks, everyone else stops. “Do you think a contest such as that sets the right tone?”
    “Would that be a different tone than dunking people at the carnival, or staging fights with fake pirate swords?” Scoobie asked with an expression of feigned