by J. J. Cook
“You should go home and get some rest,” he advised. “You never know what’s gonna come up next.”
“That sounds great, but I have to go and try on my dress and hat for the festival. I’m going to be French, you know.”
He smiled. “Like a French-maid kind of thing?”
“I think it might be more like a French woman from a Monet painting. I’m worried about the hat.”
“You even look good in a fireman’s helmet, Stella. I can’t imagine that anything they’d find for you to wear could make you look bad.”
He kissed her lightly again, and she wondered what had ramped up their budding relationship. They’d managed to go almost a whole day without him looking at her in disgust because her grandfather was Ben Carson. Of course, some of that time was spent fighting a fire. She wasn’t sure that counted.
Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to ask him about it. They walked hand in hand back to the café where they’d both left their vehicles. It was nice. She hoped it would continue.
They said good-bye—no kiss in front of the crowded café. Stella felt the speculative gazes on them anyway as she left him there and headed out to Molly Whitehouse’s dressmaking shop.
It was easier this time, without Elvita and Theodora there, especially since she had to try on the rough version of the dress. It was nicer than she’d expected. The long gown—a walking gown, Molly had called it—was a polite shade of periwinkle that complimented Stella’s hair and eyes. It was a little too low cut in the bodice. Molly said she could fix that.
“Let me know about the hat,” she said. “I could still add a matching color to the dress if you need it. I’m making a shawl to go with it in case it’s chilly that day. Last year, we had snow. You never know what to expect.”
Stella yawned and thanked her for her hard work. She went to visit the hatmaker right away, hoping she’d stay awake while she tried on the new creation.
Up and down Main Street, town officials had begun diverting traffic to make way for the festival. Tents and booths were popping up in every color imaginable. Carpenters were building stages and platforms. Even the big pepper-shaped water tower was being freshly painted.
She’d been in Sweet Pepper long enough to know that the town did a good tourist business from the overflow of visitors to Sevierville and Pigeon Forge. The town also labeled itself as the gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains. This festival was the big event for them. She hadn’t noticed until that moment, but all the shops were decorated. There were welcome banners everywhere. Mayor Wando waved as he zipped by in his Sweet Pepper golf cart.
The committee had sent an email and text telling her that she’d receive her supersecret list of contestants and recipes before the end of the day. Her recipe for candied peppers would be among them. There was another reminder that she needed to make samples for the judge.
She hoped she was up to the task. They seemed to have high expectations. It was strange being such a public figure here. She’d be glad to go back to being an anonymous firefighter when she got home.
Home!
She sat down at one of the tables in front of the Daily Grind Coffee Shop and called her mother before she forgot again. While she waited for her mother to pick up, Stella watched the clouds, which were starting to look threatening as they came down from the mountains. She hoped there would be good weather for the festival. It lasted three days. Surely one of those days would be clear.
“Mom?”
“Stella! Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I know. Sorry. I’ve either been busy or out of cell phone range.”
“How are you and your grandfather getting along?”
“Okay.” She told her about shutting down the pepper plant. “We reached a compromise.”
“That’s amazing. The years must have mellowed him. I remember that fire chief, the one you were talking about, threatening Dad about the same thing. Dad shut him down instead. He wouldn’t stand for criticism back then.”
“Eric Gamlyn?” Stella smiled, and a woman passing by smiled back and waved. “He’s the ghost haunting the cabin where I’m staying.”
Barbara laughed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the folklore. Has your grandfather convinced you to stay? Don’t bother putting a pretty face on it. I know he wants to steal you away.”
“That’s not going to happen, Mom. The fire brigade is doing okay. A few more volunteers have joined. I’ve named two assistant chiefs to take my place. The Sweet Pepper Festival judging committee is dressing me up like some kind of French lady to judge the chocolate and pepper recipe contest. I think I’ll be ready to come home very soon.”
“Good. It sounds like you have your hands full. Do Myra Strickland and her husband still run the festival?”
“Myra does,” Stella replied. “Apparently Mayor Strickland died a few years ago.”
“I’m sure a lot has changed since I left.” Barbara sighed for the memories of the life she’d left behind. “I miss you, honey. Chief Henry called to ask how you were doing and when you were coming back to work. Doug called too, more than once.”
“Doug?” Stella couldn’t believe it. “No, Mom. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even want to think about him.”
“You might be interested to know that he broke up with Chloe. I think it was a stupid mistake. He said he still loves you.”
“He had a funny way of showing it.”
“Wait until you come back. You and Doug were happy together. You’ve known each other your whole lives. You may want to give him another chance.”
“So in other words, you don’t want me to come home.”
“What are you saying? Of course I want you to come back. I don’t want you to live down there. Sweet Pepper seems like the friendliest little town in the world, but maybe you’ve noticed, it has a dark underbelly.”
Stella shook her head at the idea that Sweet Pepper could have a dark anything compared to Chicago. “Well, let’s leave Doug out of the equation, and I should be back home in a couple of weeks.”
“What about the Harley?” Stella heard her father yell in the background.
“I’ve got it all put into boxes,” she told her mother, who relayed the joke back to her father. “I’m sending it back to you.”
Her father had a few choice words to say that he shouted back at her. Stella promised him she wasn’t coming home without it and she thought it would be back on the road in the next few days.
“I have to go and look at my judge’s hat,” she told her mother. “I’ll talk to you guys later. Love to both of you.”
Deciding she could wait a few more minutes to visit the hatmaker, Stella ordered a double-shot espresso from Valery, then sat at a sidewalk table drinking it. The Sweet Pepper High School Cougar Marching Band was rehearsing out on the street. They would be performing, along with the award-winning Cougar cheer team, while the festival was going on.
Charlie Johnson from the computer and security service store saw her sitting there and came across the street to speak to her. “Hey there, pretty lady. Just wondering if you were ready to get your laptop back. I think I’ve fixed those glitches for you.”
With everything going on, Stella had totally forgotten about it. She walked back across the street with him to pick it up.
“Hey, I heard about that big fire outside of town last night. Anyone hurt out there? Was old Walt Fenway all right?”
“It was more property damage than anything else.” She signed the slip for him to be paid by the town and took the laptop back. She smiled, though. If Eric kept using it, she might need more help with it in the future.
“Well, that’s a good thing.” Charlie smiled in return and nodded. “You know, this town is gonna miss you when you’re gone. I hear you’re one of the judges in the Sweet Pepper Festival. I bet you’re looking forward to that, huh? Lots of good food.”
“Yes. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. Have you ever been a judge?”
“Who me?” He laughed. “I’m a newbie like you. This is my first festival. Looks like a lot of work. They could rebuild the whole town for what they’re putting into this.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Stella didn’t want to stay and gossip. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for an appointment. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Right. Don’t eat too much food and get sick now. See you later.”
Stella put the laptop into the Cherokee and walked to Matilda Storch’s hat shop. A bell jingled as she pushed the door open.
“Oh, Chief Griffin. I’m so glad to see you. Come and take a look. I know you’re going to love it.”
The hat, one of many waiting to be picked up, was exactly the right size for Stella’s head. It was large and the same shade of periwinkle as her dress. It was also festooned with ribbons, flowers, and a bird or two. When Stella tried it on, she felt like her head was going to fall over.
Matilda frowned when she saw the look on Stella’s face. “What’s wrong? The color is perfect and it’s just right for you.”
“Could you take off some of the stuff?” Stella made a circle around the hat with her hand. “It’s a little . . . overpowering.”
“Of course—if that’s what you want.” Matilda drew herself up stiffly, not liking the criticism. “It’s one of my best. But if you hate it—”
“I don’t hate it.” Stella didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she knew she wouldn’t wear the hat if it weighed more than her fire helmet. “I have an old . . . neck injury. I’m afraid this weight, even though it’s very nice, might make it worse.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” Matilda ran to get a pair of scissors and some pins. “We can make it lighter. It will go better with your dress anyway.”
Stella sat there for a few minutes as the scissors clicked away on top of her head. She sat very still, mindful of them and their gleaming sharpness, until Matilda was finished.
“How’s that look?” Matilda asked.
“Much better,” Stella said. “It’s more comfortable now. Thanks.”
Matilda bit her lip as she removed the hat from Stella’s head. “Maybe a little extra ribbon? No flowers or birds.”
“Sure. That would be fine.”
“Good. Come back tomorrow and we should be ready. And not a moment too soon.”
Stella thanked her again and was greeted by Lucinda Waxman and her granddaughter, Foster, who was the Sweet Pepper Festival Queen this year.
“You know I was the Sweet Pepper Festival Queen when I was seventeen.” Lucinda beamed at her pretty granddaughter. “I guess it runs in the family.”
“Who is the Sweet Pepper King?” Stella asked.
Lucinda was clearly shocked that Stella would even ask such a thing. “Foster will be escorted by Bertie Wando, the mayor’s son. We don’t call him ‘king.’”
Foster smiled and shook her head. “Then we’d have to have a contest for them too, Chief Griffin. What kind of talent would Bertie have besides catching a football and looking good in his tuxedo at the Sweet Pepper Festival dance?”
All three ladies laughed at the very idea. Stella laughed a little to show that she understood. She excused herself then and left the shop.
Exhausted and ready to take a long nap to make up for the night before, Stella drove the Cherokee back to the cabin. She felt like crying when she saw that she had a visitor. Walt Fenway was sitting on the tailgate of his old pickup. He waved as she parked her vehicle.
“This day is never going to be over,” she muttered to herself before she got out of the truck. She put a smile on her face as she greeted him. “Walt! What brings you up here?”
“Don’t pretend like you’re glad to see me after all that mess last night. I have something to say to you that should’ve been said a long time ago. I think it’s what the arsonist was worried I might tell you.”
“Okay. Why didn’t you tell Chief Rogers?”
“He isn’t interested if it’s not Victor. He made that real clear at the office.” He looked at the cabin behind him. “It’s been a lot of years since I was inside. You got any coffee?”
“I do,” she said. “Excuse me if I don’t join you. I need about a gallon of Coke. I don’t think I can make it much longer without it. If I start snoring while you’re telling me what I need to know, nudge me.”
He laughed. “I wish you were permanent here, Stella. You would give old Ben Carson a run for his money. I’d like to see it.”
The door to the cabin was open as usual. Stella did her best to make it look like she’d opened it, but it was kind of obvious she hadn’t. Even more odd was the coffeepot already brewing on the counter. She didn’t know how to explain that. Maybe she could say she had a timer that was set for whenever she pulled up.
Walt looked around the cabin as she sorted through her options while taking down coffee mugs from the antlers. “You know, you don’t have to pretend with me, Stella. I know this place is haunted. Before the town took it over, I used to come up here all the time. I felt closer to Eric. It’s still his place, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” She was relieved not to have to come up with an explanation. “I didn’t know what was going on at first. Things moved around all the time. Lights came on, and the alarm didn’t seem to work. Then one night he talked to me.”
Walt stared at her. “Talked to you? You can hear him?”
Stella cleared her throat. Maybe she had crossed some line of believability. Maybe now he thought she’d lost it. “The house makes sounds. Sometimes I think I hear voices.”
“Coward,” Eric said. “You don’t have to worry. He can handle it.”
“Oh.” Walt started walking around the living room. “Is he here now? Can you talk to him now?”
She wasn’t sure what to say. She finished making the coffee and handed Walt a cup. “I don’t know. Eric says you can handle it. Can you?”
Walt started laughing so hard he had to put down the cup. “Are you kidding me? What I wouldn’t give to talk to my old friend. Eric? You son of a gun! After all these years, you’re still here.”
Eric was laughing too. “Tell him it’s good to see him again too and that I appreciated his visits after I died.”
Stella told Walt what Eric had said. She was uneasy about this whole medium-type role she’d suddenly been pushed into. She sipped her Coke and waited.
“I can’t tell you how much it means to know he’s okay,” Walt said. “So this is what happens to you when you die, huh? What about me? My place is burned out. What will happen to me when I die?”
“Tell him he’d better get busy rebuilding,” Eric said. “Then he has to be ready to get rid of squatters who want to take up his space.”
Walt laughed again when Stella relayed the message. “So that’s why no one has been able to live here. Except for you, Chief. Why are you different?”
“He said it’s because I can hear him and I’m rebuilding his fire brigade,” she explained. “We had a few problems to begin with, but it’s better than snakes in the wiring.”
“I’ll bet you’ve had some problems.” Walt sobered when he looked at her. “First of all, you’re a fine-looking woman. Eric always liked the ladies.”
“He’s just jealous,” Eric said.
“Second of all, you’re a Carson and he never cared for the old man.”
“I haven’t had that problem with him,” Stella said. “I have with a few others.”
Walt sipped his coffee and shook his head. “Wish we had something a little stronger. This will have to do for now. Eric, I’m glad you’re here. You’re the only other soul who might realize the truth about Adam Presley’s death. I think Tory had half an idea. The problem was none of us could put it all together. Until now. I think I get it now.”
“Go ahead, Walt,” Eric said.
Stella didn’t relay the message. Walt got up and faced the fireplace. “It wasn’t Adam that died that night.”
Chapter 32
“Eric and I examined the body,” Walt explained. “The dead man was wearing Adam’s clothes and shoes. He was the same approximate height and weight as Adam. The man’s face and midsection were mostly gone. You know the kind of destruction I’m talking about.”
“Yes. I do. What was it that made you suspicious? Obviously it wasn’t something that struck everyone else like it did you.”
He ran his hand around his neck. “We were uneasy with the circumstances. I mean, a man doesn’t spill lighter fluid all over himself and not get up and change clothes. He especially doesn’t sit there and light up after he does it, then lose the lighter.”
“You signed off on the investigation,” she reminded him. “You and Eric both said it was an accidental death.”
“You don’t understand the circumstances surrounding the death,” Eric said. “I couldn’t even remember until right now.”
“It was the circumstances.” Walt echoed what Eric had said to Stella. “It was two days before the festival. The old man didn’t want us dragging it around while the visitors were here. He said it was too expensive for the town to keep investigating. Eric and I argued until we were blue in the face. The mayor threatened to fire both of us. In the end, it was what Ben Carson wanted.”
Stella thought it over and shook her head. “I guess I understand why he wanted you to stop, Walt. It’s not much to go on. An expensive investigation, especially at that time, based solely on Adam Presley’s reaction to spilling lighter fluid on himself, isn’t very conclusive. What if he was smoking first? He was half-asleep and spilled the lighter fluid. He might not have even been aware of it happening.”
“Let him finish,” Eric said. “There’s more. It takes him forever to get it all out.”
“There’s more,” Walt echoed again. “Eric noticed that Adam was wearing his expensive watch that he was so proud of. One of the car manufacturers gave it to him for top sales or some such. We’d all seen it a million times. He was also wearing his wedding band—”