by J. J. Cook
“You have a bad feeling about it, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting stonewalled every time I ask about it. It should be old news, right? From what I’ve read so far in Tory’s notes, it sounds like someone may have killed Adam. Now Tory’s been murdered and it looks like a fire was set to cover it up. Coincidence?”
“Sounds like an interesting theory.”
“I guess.” She grabbed her gloves and looked around the empty kitchen. “Look, I don’t know if I believe you’re real or not. Just a warning. My laptop is now set up to monitor the cabin from the security system. I might be able to see you.”
“So either you’re standing here talking to yourself in another voice, or I’m real?”
“Maybe.” There was humor in his tone that made her smile. “Let’s pretend you’re real a moment longer. Why did you stop investigating the Presley fire if you thought it might have been set intentionally?”
“Two words: Ben Carson. He didn’t want it investigated any further. He said it was bad for the town’s image. Adam died a few days before the festival. Murder doesn’t bring tourists to the Pepper Festival every year. As you may have noticed, people do what Ben Carson tells them to do.”
She was surprised by that. Why wouldn’t her grandfather have wanted to know the truth? She was also a little disappointed that Eric had given up because of it. It was probably all that talk about him that made him sound larger than life. She’d expected more from him.
In reality, he’d only been a man who probably would have lost his job and the fire brigade he’d built up, if he’d stood his ground. She certainly understood that he wouldn’t have wanted to destroy the group he’d worked so hard on. Stella wanted her little group to do well.
She knew politics were sometimes involved in these things. There had been some unsavory happenings at home too that had led to a chief resigning last year.
Stella could tell from Eric’s voice that he had no love for her grandfather. How would he feel about her if he knew the truth? “Do you know who I am?”
“Stella Griffin? Temporary fire chief? Is this a test?”
She stared into the empty air around her. “Can you see things other people can’t see?”
“What kind of things? I can’t see further than about fifty feet around the cabin, if that’s what you mean. It seems to be my proximity.”
“No, I mean ghosts are supposed to know things and see things that living people can’t. Do you see things like that?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. If I do, I’m not aware of it. Until you came, there were only bits and pieces from the TV or the idiots who tried to live here. I don’t think I know anything you don’t know—except about Sweet Pepper’s past.”
“Did you know Barbara Carson?”
“Ben’s daughter? A little—in passing. She left town right before I died.”
“I’m her daughter. She’s Barbara Carson Griffin now.”
There was only deep silence after her statement.
“Eric? Do you want to start dragging chains or turning the lights on and off again to get rid of me now?”
“Sorry,” came the reply. “I should’ve known. It’s been a long time. You look a lot like Abigail Carson. Not so much like I remember Barbara, but she was much younger the last time I saw her. I bet everyone tells you that.”
“Now that I know about it, they do.” She explained what had happened. “I walked in blind. I had no idea. My grandfather was out of town when I first got here. Everyone kept it a secret. I’m not sure why. Any ideas?”
“Not really. I’m sure it was something Ben wanted to tell you himself, when he felt the time was right.”
“Well, I guess the time was right after his stepson pulled me out of the ditch at the end of the road. It was kind of strange.”
“That was a long time for Barbara to hold on to that secret,” he said. “I’ll bet the old man is happy to see you. I’m surprised you didn’t have everything moved to his estate. Or is that still coming up?”
Stella zipped the equipment she’d gathered for her next trek through Tory’s house into her backpack. “I told you it was strange. I mean eerie strange—like the twilight zone. I woke up after the wreck to find this man I didn’t really know telling me he was my grandfather. I wouldn’t have stayed the night except I kept passing out from this stupid head injury.”
“I see. Not impressed by the old man’s money?”
“Would I be a firefighter if money impressed me?”
“No. I suppose not. I guess it still doesn’t pay all that much even forty years later.”
Stella liked his voice. She wished she could see him. He hadn’t even done the shadow-in-the-chair trick since he’d first appeared to her on the deck.
“How am I going to decide if you’re real, Eric? Or if I’m being pranked? Or if I’ve lost my mind? I’m standing here talking to thin air.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess you’ll have to go with your gut on this too.”
She smiled. “Okay. You don’t have any of your tried-and-true recipes from Sweet Pepper Festivals long past, do you?” She told him about Elvita and Theodora’s request.
“I’ll see what I can recall,” he promised. “It’s been a while.”
“Thanks. I’m better with a fire hose than a stove. I’ll be back later. Wish me luck finding something important at Tory’s house.”
“Be safe. That’s more important than luck. Whoever killed Tory won’t hesitate to kill again to hide their secret.”
Chapter 17
Stella drove thoughtfully down the road from the cabin. She saw John’s patrol car at the firehouse alongside a cute little Italian sports car. John was standing in the parking lot talking to Tagger and Marty. He waved her down, and she pulled in to find out what was going on.
“Chief,” Tagger greeted her. “I think you know Marty.”
“I do.” She shook hands with her ersatz relative. “Is there a problem?”
“Marty wants you to consider him as a volunteer.” John’s tone expressed his wish that she wouldn’t.
“I can speak for myself.” Marty smiled at Stella. “It’s true. I really want to do this. I would’ve been here sooner, but we were in Lucerne. It was worth it, though. We’ll probably sell a lot of peppers there from now on.”
Stella studied him. He was handsomely polished and probably looked good driving down the road in his sports car. He had an appealing way of talking. He was probably used to getting his way too.
She knew John wasn’t going to like it, but she had no reason not to give Marty a shot. If he was sincere and willing to work, they could use another volunteer. If not, no harm done.
Did her grandfather have anything to do with Marty showing up here? Maybe some of the things she’d heard about Ben Carson were affecting her. She didn’t know Marty well enough to decide if he was his own man or not.
Stella liked that he hadn’t brought up the fact that he’d pulled her from the ditch. Not that she would have been embarrassed by it. His not taking credit for the act made her feel like he wasn’t trying to trade on that single act.
“Okay. I don’t see why not. Tomorrow morning. Come ready to work.”
“You won’t be sorry, Chief Griffin.”
Tagger, John, and Stella watched Marty get into his sports car, which probably cost more than all of their salaries combined, and drive away. She’d been right. He looked good with his hair flying in the breeze.
“I can’t believe you’re going to let that little Carson weasel be a volunteer,” John fumed. “It’s a mistake. It’s always a mistake to get involved with them.”
She bristled at his tone. “I guess that includes me too then, huh? I don’t think badly of people because of the family they come from. He’s not a Carson, really. His mother is married to one, right? He might not actually be a bad person like the rest of us who have that blood.”
John was clearly angry that Stella was twisting his words.
He got in the police car and slammed the door closed. “I’ll meet you at Tory’s house. I hope you don’t regret this decision about Marty. Someone else’s life could be on the line if he doesn’t do his job.”
Stella watched him peel out of the parking lot again. She seemed to be having a bad influence on him. Maybe it was her Carson blood.
“I think you did the right thing, Chief,” Tagger said with a big grin that showed his missing teeth. “Everybody deserves a chance. You did right.”
“Thanks. I’m heading over to Tory’s house to continue the investigation into the fire. Chief Rogers thinks it’s possible whoever killed her started the fire. I guess that means it’s up to us to figure out who that was.”
“Good luck, Chief. I’ve got the watch tonight with Kent. If you need any help, give me a call,” Tagger said.
Stella thanked him, hoping his offer of help meant he would stay sober. John hadn’t questioned the decision to keep Tagger on the crew. Everyone in Sweet Pepper treated him with great respect. Like Don had said, Tagger was a hero and that meant something here.
She knew it wasn’t going to be fun working with John after that blowup. She had to make what she felt were the right decisions. Once she was gone, it would be up to the new chief to decide who to take on. Marty might not even make it past tomorrow. That would be on him.
* * *
A white-haired woman in a pink jogging suit was walking a white poodle when Stella pulled up in front of the burned house. The little dog looked remarkably like her in a doggy pink jumpsuit. As Stella got out of the pickup with her backpack, the woman came around to see her.
“Good afternoon, Chief Griffin. We are having some lovely fall weather, aren’t we? This is my favorite time of year. I don’t know if you remember me—I’m Myra Strickland. My husband used to be the mayor of Sweet Pepper. He died, unfortunately. The legacy of the Sweet Pepper Festival still falls on me each year. You might say I’m the chairman of the board.”
“I’m glad I’ll be here for that this year, Mrs. Strickland. I’m looking forward to it. Is there something I can do for you?”
Myra let out a deep sigh. “Believe me, it pains me that Tory is gone, along with her lovely family home, bless her soul. I don’t want you to think less of me, but we really need to have all that mess cleared up before the festival.”
“Pardon me?” Stella wasn’t quite sure what the other woman meant.
“It’s an eyesore now.” Myra gazed at the burned house. “You understand that hundreds of thousands of people come here for our little festival each year. Main Street is a favorite attraction. We must have the house cleaned away before then. Believe me, Tory would be standing here saying the same thing about me if I were dead and this was my house.”
Though Stella was surprised, she understood what Myra was trying to say. “I can’t make that decision, Mrs. Strickland. I’ll try to complete the investigation into what caused the fire as quickly as possible. After that, the town can make arrangements for the property.”
Myra’s bright red lips stretched into a wide smile. “I knew you’d see it my way, Chief. It’s been wonderful talking with you.” The little white poodle started barking. “Hush now, Sir Walter. We’re going home to have our din-din right now.”
John pulled up behind the Cherokee as Stella was watching the other woman walk away. “Problems?” he asked as he approached.
“Not as long as the investigation wraps up before the festival.”
“Yeah. I could see that coming.”
Stella started walking toward the house. John kept up with her. “I hate saying I’m sorry again,” he said. “This whole Carson thing is like fingernails scraping on my own personal chalkboard.”
“I could tell. You don’t have to keep apologizing. I get it. You don’t like them and you don’t trust them. That’s okay. I’m not sure I do either.”
“Then why let that useless idiot on the team? The old man probably made him show up so he could spy on you. Or Vivian wants him to marry you and keep the money in the family.”
“I think you might be a little paranoid when it comes to that family.” She rounded the corner of the once beautiful house to head back down to the basement. “If he’s useless, I’ll send him home.”
“You don’t get it, Stella. They are never going to let you leave now that you’re here. He’ll find some way to own you. That’s the way he works. It’s eating me up thinking about you being with them.”
Stella stopped at the basement stairs. “I’m a big girl, John. I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t say anything else about it after they entered the basement. She could still feel the tension between them. She wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted from her. She was here until her contract was up. She wasn’t leaving because people were afraid of her grandfather. She wasn’t staying because of it either.
“What are we looking for?” John asked as they shuffled to the back of the soot-covered basement.
“I’m not sure. I’d like to find that kerosene can. I don’t think an arsonist filled these lamps and took it with him. It’s probably here someplace.”
“What difference does it make?”
“We could get a fingerprint from it if the arsonist wasn’t careful enough to wear gloves.”
“Is that even possible? Look at this place.”
“In some cases, a print can bake into a metal surface. There’s also a cold-water rinsing technique that can be used to retrieve prints. It’s a long shot, I agree. It might be all we have.”
“So you think there could be a print on whatever is left of the kerosene can?”
“If we can find it. If it didn’t melt into slag or the arsonist didn’t take it with him. A few big ‘ifs’.”
John walked through the debris, shining his flashlight around the dark basement. “If you were going to start a fire right here and still had the kerosene can, what would you do with it?”
She shrugged. “You can never quite get the last of the kerosene out of the can. I think I’d put it somewhere it could help the fire burn without being obvious. Maybe up from the point of origin, under the stairs.”
John took out his crowbar. “Let’s get crackin’. We don’t want to disappoint Mrs. Strickland.”
The walls in the house were old—plaster over wood slats. John and Stella began working up through the burned wall area below the stairs.
“Why is everyone reluctant to talk about the fire that killed Tory’s first husband?” Stella’s voice was muffled through the mask she wore to keep from breathing in the soot and plaster dust.
“What makes you say that?”
“I think it’s obvious. People start running the other way when the topic comes up. I heard the old fire chief wasn’t allowed to pursue the possibility that it wasn’t an accident.”
“I’ve never heard that. It happened before my time. Does it have anything to do with this fire?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. Tory had been investigating the first fire before she died.”
“Really? All that time? What did she think happened?”
“She thought Adam Presley was murdered. Where is Tory’s second husband—Victor’s father?”
“Greg Lambert? He’s the plant manager at the pepper factory. You might have met him, if Tory wasn’t anywhere around at the time. They hated each other.”
“Probably not always. Maybe he got rid of her first husband so he could have her.” Stella’s crowbar snagged on a piece of wood below the middle stair.
“Maybe. I don’t think he killed Tory. They were apart a long time. Why would he want to kill her now?”
“Slow simmer? Maybe something changed in his life. Maybe he regretted killing her first husband?”
“My money would be on Victor for the fire.” John added his efforts to hers as they tried to dislodge something caught under the middle stair. The wood around it had been charred but not burned, thanks to the efforts of the fire brigade. “Although I don’t think
he could have killed Adam Presley.”
“You mean since Victor wasn’t born yet? He does seem to have the most to gain on this fire,” she agreed. “He also has an alibi. Anyone else who might want Tory dead?”
“Probably a few people. She was rich and powerful. Folks like that make enemies. She was very insistent about having her own way. I can’t really think of anyone who would go this far. I guess you never know.”
With one joint tug, the wood split, sending Stella and John back on the filthy floor. Something else came down with the wood.
“Looks like we found the kerosene can.” John rubbed his shoulder, which had hit the concrete. “The fire didn’t get it.”
Stella looked up into the area where the can had been. “Somebody had to be here for a while to get this into place. Maybe while Tory was out.”
John carefully lifted the kerosene can with his gloved hand. It was covered in heavy soot from the fire. “Are you sure we’re going to find something on this can under all the soot?”
“It’s been done before. Do I need to find an independent lab that can do the tests, or does your department have someplace we can send it?”
“I can send it to the state police lab. The kind of testing you mentioned sounds expensive. I know Don will question the process.”
“I’ll be glad to take care of Don if you want me to give him the can for testing.”
“No. I’ll try to sound like I know what I’m talking about. I am the police–fire department liaison, after all. I’ll do it. Just asking for clarification.”
They carefully bagged and tagged the can. Stella took pictures of the area where they’d found it. It was already getting dark as they walked out of the basement, covered in soot again.
“So, do you have any plans for tonight?” John asked as they started toward their vehicles.
“I think a hot shower and a change of clothes are in order.” She looked at her cell phone.
“What about after that?”