by J. J. Cook
“Does that jibe with what you see, Ms. Griffin?” Chief Rogers asked.
“Yes, though it seems unusual that there would be so many kerosene lamps so close together on the table.”
“Maybe Mrs. Lambert was filling them,” Graff said.
“If so, where is the can she was using to fill them?” Stella asked. “She had to have something close by for the main source. We can see there were only small amounts of kerosene in each lantern. Nothing here shows evidence of a large amount.”
“Maybe she filled the lanterns, then took the can out to the storage shed in the backyard,” Allen said. “Well, Tory didn’t do it, obviously. Maybe her handyman did. I cut the grass here when I was in high school. She kept the gas can out there. Maybe the kerosene is out there too.”
“Who is her handyman?” Petey demanded, her tiny pink notebook ready for his name. “Do we know him?”
“I think I saw old Tagger out here, doing some odd jobs and such,” Allen said.
Ricky shrugged. “Maybe that’s why he was so surprised Ms. Lambert had a puppy in her house. Guess he knew her better than most of us.”
Chapter 9
“Are you saying you think Tagger was involved in this?” Chief Rogers demanded.
“I’m not saying anything,” Ricky replied, looking at Stella for help.
“We’re investigating a possible arson,” she reminded the police chief, taking up for her recruit like a mother hen. “We need all the facts.”
She sent Petey and Ricky to look for a kerosene can in the storage building.
“I think my job is done here,” Graff said. “I can conclude from the evidence that this was an accidental fire caused by bad wiring and a poor choice of places to leave combustibles.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Stella said. “I’d like to look around a little more. I don’t want to be rushed to that judgment.”
Graff stared at Chief Rogers as though the officer might be able to convince Stella to change her mind. Rogers held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and shook his head.
“I understand your need to teach your new volunteers,” Graff finally said. “But I’m a busy man. I need you to sign this form before I go.” He handed her the clipboard.
Stella read through the form. “I can’t sign this. It says I’m satisfied with your conclusions. I don’t know that yet.”
“Some skepticism is healthy, Chief Griffin,” Graff said. “I think we both know I’m right and you’re only trying to make points with your new bosses. Trying to get a raise in the near future from this unfortunate incident?”
Stella pushed his clipboard back into his hands hard enough that he made a small grunting sound. “First of all, my friend died in this fire. Second, I’m not going to be here long enough to bother trying to make points with my bosses. And third, why are you so eager to get this over with? Ever since we came in here, you’ve acted like you knew what to expect and where to expect it. No one is that good.”
“Chief!” Ricky and Petey returned at the same time, as though they’d been racing to see who could get there first.
“There’s no kerosene can in the shed,” Petey said.
Ricky frowned. “It should’ve been easy to find. Ms. Lambert even had her shed items color-coded and alphabetical.”
“Maybe she put all the kerosene in the lanterns on the table and threw away the can,” Chief Rogers suggested. “This doesn’t seem like a big deal to me.”
“Should be easy enough to find out.” Petey nudged Ricky out of the way. “We can look in the trash for the can. We can find Tagger and talk to him. Somebody can go to Potter’s Hardware and ask if Tory ever bought kerosene there. We all know she didn’t shop outside of town.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Stella approved Petey’s ideas. “Ricky, you see if you can round up Tagger. Petey, you go down to Potter’s.”
Petey’s pale pink face turned scarlet red. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Chief. I could only get two hours off. I could do it tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” Stella said. “You can leave if you need to. I’m glad you could be here this long.”
“Thanks.” Petey stepped toward Stella as if to hug her, then shook her head and left the basement.
“I don’t have time for all of that,” Graff said. “And I sure don’t have to stand around being ridiculed by some fire chief temp. Good day, Chief Griffin.”
Chief Rogers was laughing as the insurance investigator left. “It’s a good thing you won’t be around much longer, Ms. Griffin. You don’t make friends too easy, do you? You might wake up some morning with a lynch mob at your door.”
Stella turned and faced him. “The town didn’t hire me for my sparkling personality. They hired me for my experience as a firefighter. Don’t you find anything suspicious about the way Graff was acting?”
He shook his head. “The man wants to finish the job. I can empathize.”
“The insurance investigators I’ve known would almost rather cut off an arm than admit their company was going to have to pay up. I didn’t notice Graff looking that hard, did you?”
“I don’t know all that many insurance people, I guess. You tell me what you think is going on here.”
“I think someone may have paid him off to hide the truth.”
Chief Rogers chuckled. “This ain’t the big city, ma’am. Tell her, John. I believe she has the wrong impression of Sweet Pepper.”
Stella couldn’t help but feel the tension between the two men. Chief Rogers treated John like a lapdog, there to do his bidding. The only time he’d invited him to speak was to belittle her.
“I think Chief Griffin is right,” John finally said. “Mr. Graff was in an awful big hurry to get in and out of here. There might be something else to this.”
Chief Rogers glared at him and seemed ready to cut him down in front of them. He finally put his hands into his pockets and said, “Fine. Prove me wrong then. Next you’ll be telling me Tory was murdered. You stay on this, John. It’s your funeral with the town when it goes bad. Don’t forget—she’s leaving.”
He nodded at Stella and left the basement.
Ricky let out a long sigh of relief. “Wow. That was intense.”
“I don’t think anyone, man or woman, has ever talked to Chief Rogers that way.” Banyin looked at Stella with great respect. “Do we have to wait for Petey to go to the hardware store tomorrow? Couldn’t we go now?”
“Ricky is going to find Tagger right now,” Stella said. “Maybe you could go with him. Petey can go to the hardware store tomorrow. Otherwise we’re going to continue to sift through what we can find down here. I didn’t bring all these plastic containers for nothing.”
Banyin and the other volunteers stayed with her, while Ricky left, reluctantly. Once he’d heard they were actually looking for evidence, he tried to get Allen to go in his place. No one wanted to leave the scene—at least not while Stella was looking for clues to what had happened.
* * *
Several hours later, the small group crawled out of the dark basement. They were either hunched over or trying to straighten their spines after having spent so much time looking through everything in the cramped basement. They were covered in black soot, but Stella had plenty of evidence in her containers.
“All I want is a long hot shower.” Banyin limped across the wet grass.
“I want a cold beer,” Allen announced, and Kent agreed with him.
It was nearly dark. The streetlights had come on around Main Street. The smell of grilling steaks wafted around them. Curious neighbors watched the weary band of volunteers leave the black husk of the grand old house.
“What about you, Chief?” Banyin asked.
“I think I need a hot shower and a beer,” Stella said. “You guys did a good job today. I think our insurance investigator might have a few surprises coming his way.”
They all laughed and traded jokes as they took off the plastic safety glasses Graff had left there and
got ready to leave.
A small lady with a kerchief on her head that matched her red-and-white-checkered apron met them at the curb where their vehicles were parked. “I know you all must be starving. We’ve been watching you work all afternoon. Why don’t you come over for supper? Bill and I have more food than we can eat, and it’s already on the grill. You don’t want it to go to waste, do you?”
Kent looked at Allen. “I don’t want it to go to waste, do you?”
Allen laughed. “No way.”
Banyin hung back. “We appreciate your offer, Mrs. Waxman. But we are such a mess. We couldn’t come inside like this and eat.”
Lucinda Waxman laughed. “Who said anything about inside, darlin’? I’ve got patio furniture that hoses off just fine. Come on now. The food’s getting cold, and the tea is getting warm.”
“Okay,” Banyin said with a smile. “Chief?”
Stella was already on her bike, snapping on her helmet. She wanted to go back and see how things were going at the cabin. “Thanks, but I just want to go home. The rest of you go. No point in good food not getting eaten.”
Banyin, Kent, and Allen didn’t wait for another invitation before they walked across the street to the Waxmans’ house.
John stayed behind with her. “I’m sorry about all that stuff with the chief.”
“I’m used to it by now.” She smiled at him. “You were kind of quiet all afternoon. I’m sorry he treated you that way.”
“Yeah, well, I’m used to that by now too. It’s just his way. He’s a good man, Stella. I’m sorry you probably won’t be here to find that out.”
“I guess that’s one of the bad things about the job.”
He ran his hand along the handlebar of the bike, close to where her hand rested but not quite touching. “You could come out with us sometimes, you know—me and the other volunteers. Just because you aren’t permanent doesn’t mean you have to be a stranger.”
Stella felt his gaze resting on her face. She enjoyed the feeling. He smiled, and she leaned a little closer to him.
But she was covered in soot, and they were out in the middle of the street with everyone watching. It was awkward.
“I have a new security camera to monitor,” she finally said. “I know it sounds crazy, but I have to know what’s going on up at the cabin.”
John touched a spot of soot on her cheek. “You’d rather be with the ghost than us, huh?”
“I’m about to debunk that old legend,” she told him. “I think it may be time to let the old chief rest in peace. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He waved back, then crossed the street to join the other volunteers.
Her stomach grumbled as she headed back toward her cabin. The food had smelled really good. She was starving—they all were—they’d worked right through dinner.
Her volunteers were dedicated—she had to give them that. There might not be many of them, but they were the best. She was surprised to realize how proud she was of them.
The cool night air felt good after the heat of the day. Back home in Chicago, she’d be wearing a light jacket or sweater. Even though they were in the mountains, September had still been sunny and warm.
There were signs up everywhere for the Sweet Pepper Festival in October. She’d be here long enough for that. Everyone had talked about it so much that she was starting to feel the excitement. She wasn’t sure about the recipe contest judging, but there was a first time for everything.
The firehouse was only a few miles outside the main part of town. The road leading to it was empty most of the time. Stella glanced at the light that was on in the computer room at the station, wondering who was on duty tonight. She needed to import the volunteer schedule to her phone so she could keep up with it.
She had started into the turn that would take her up to the cabin when she ran into something. Or something ran into her—she wasn’t sure which. It was another vehicle, no lights. It slammed into the Harley, causing it to fly off the road and into a deep ditch.
Stella tried to control the bike. In the seconds it took for the slide into the ditch, she realized the front tire had blown out. She was careening down into the darkness. Heavy brush scratched her face, and cold water splashed up at her.
She managed to stay on the bike until it hit a large stump in the bottom of the ditch. She wasn’t sure what happened after that as she let go of the handle grips and everything went black.
Chapter 10
She was dreaming about a large man whose long blond hair was tied back with a leather thong. He was making coffee in the cabin’s kitchen. He smiled at her, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and offered her a cup of the strong-smelling brew.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t really like coffee, do you? It’s better for you than that artificial cola stuff you drink.”
Stella wasn’t sure who he was, but she suspected he was Eric Gamlyn. She didn’t know why she was dreaming about him. Her head hurt. She put her hand up to it and felt moisture there. When she pulled her fingers away and looked at them, she saw blood.
“You’re okay,” Eric said in her dream. “You’ll have a heck of a headache, but you’ll live to ride again. Do yourself a favor—get a pickup.”
She opened her eyes, not sure if she was still dreaming. She was alone in a dark room, the only light coming from a small lamp on the bedside table. She put her hand up to her throbbing head and found a large bandage there. She was wearing an old-fashioned nightgown that went to her feet.
What is going on? Where am I?
Stella got up and looked around the room. She’d never been here before.
The wreck. I wrecked my bike. Dad is going to kill me.
She might have expected to be in a hospital, but if that’s where she was, it was the swankiest hospital in the world.
Everything was burgundy and gold. The huge bed looked like it had been made for a king. The carpet was thick underfoot, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room seemed huge. She realized it might be that her perception was off.
She walked over to a large window that overlooked millions of lights below it. Wherever she was, she had to be high up in the mountains to get this kind of view. That had to be Pigeon Forge and Sevierville down there. She could still make out the dark peaks of the Smokies on the horizon.
The double door to the room opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform came briskly into the room. “You should not be up yet. No one in your condition should be wandering around.”
“Where am I?” Stella asked. “Who are you?”
“I am Mrs. Waverly. Mr. Benton Carson brought me here to take care of you after your terrible accident.” The pretty cocoa-faced nurse scooted her back into bed, then immediately put a thermometer in her mouth and checked her pulse.
“And who’s Benton Carson?” Stella asked around the thermometer. The name sounded familiar, but her brain felt like scrambled eggs. Not to mention that she’d met a lot of people in the past few weeks.
“Why, honey, Benton Carson owns most of the land around here, including most of Sweet Pepper. His great-grandfather started the pepper factory. As you can imagine, he is pretty wealthy. You know what I mean?”
The thermometer beeped, and Mrs. Waverly checked it. “Well, you don’t have a fever. You probably have a mild concussion. The doctor put a few stitches in your forehead to close that big cut. I’m surprised you don’t have any broken bones. You are one lucky girl.”
Stella wasn’t feeling very lucky. She remembered the accident and wondered what kind of condition her Harley was in. Had anyone even towed it out of the ditch?
“Thanks for everything. I need a ride back to the place where I’m staying.” She started to get up again, looking around for her clothes. It was too dark to see much.
“Mr. Carson isn’t going to take too kindly to you refusing his hospitality, especially since he paid me and the doctor to take care of you. Just lay back there and be glad his stepson found you.”
�
��Stepson?” Stella really wasn’t happy with the situation, and was getting less so with every piece of information that came out of Mrs. Waverly’s mouth. “Where are my clothes and my cell phone?”
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to leave yet.” A man’s deep voice came out of the shadows. He came closer and peered down at her. “You were banged up badly on the road. Who in the world told you it was safe to ride a motorcycle?”
Benton Carson—Stella guessed by his slightly annoyed, authoritative tone—was tall and thin, his shoulders stooped a little, his gray hair thinning.
She hadn’t met him before, but she recognized the name. He was the owner of the pepper-packing company that had put Sweet Pepper on the culinary map. The city council had been apologetic when she’d first got there because he was out of town and she couldn’t meet him. Everyone else she’d met talked about him like he was a dark overlord.
There was something oddly familiar about him. Something about the eyes. It made her uneasy.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to decide if I should leave or not or if it’s safe for me to ride a bike. You must be my host. Thanks for the stitches and the hospitality. I think I should go home now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He dismissed Mrs. Waverly with a motion of his hand. “It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep and I’ll have someone take you home in the morning.”
Stella got to her feet. The old pink flannel nightgown only made it down to her shins. “That’s okay. I don’t think someone will mind coming to get me now.”
He laughed. “You mean John Trump or wild Ricky Hutchins? Yes. I know all about you and your little fire brigade. I’m sorry I was unavoidably detained on business all this time. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention to be gone so long. I’ve waited a long time to finally meet you, Stella.”
“Thanks. I really need to go.”
He sat down in a chair near the bed and leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other as he looked at her. “You’re a little firebrand, aren’t you? I’m surprised you didn’t do more than slug that cheating boyfriend of yours back in Chicago.”