by J. J. Cook
She walked past the Sweet Pepper Bed and Breakfast as Flo Ingle, the owner, was putting letters in her mailbox, which matched the colorful Victorian gingerbread house. Her blond hair was teased up high on her head, as always, and she wore her usual pink dress.
“Good morning,” she sang out when she saw Stella. Her blueberry-colored eyes were full of questions. “I know you’ve heard about Ricky Senior by now.”
Stella nodded. “I was there.”
“Don’t tell me you think he’s guilty. Because there’s no way anyone will ever convince me that he killed anyone—much less Eric Gamlyn. Those two were like brothers. What in the world is Chief Rogers thinking? He’s not. That’s the problem.”
“I haven’t known Ricky as long as you,” Stella said. “He doesn’t seem like a killer to me, but sometimes people make mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” Flo’s pink face turned red. She put her hands on her ample hips. “Mistakes are when you put too much pepper in with the brownie batter—not killing someone and hiding their body for nearly half a century. I can’t believe you’d think he was capable of something like that.”
Stella liked Flo. She was one of her first friends in town and had been one of her mother’s friends growing up.
Even if Ricky was guilty of the charges against him, Flo wouldn’t believe it. Maybe if Stella had known him longer, or he hadn’t already lied to her about the silo fire, she might be more inclined to agree with her.
“I like Ricky. I don’t want him to be guilty of anything,” Stella said. “I hope none of it turns out to be true. I’m sorry, but I have to go. Molly is waiting for me.”
Flo’s face immediately cleared of her annoyance and she smiled. “I’m sorry to take it out on you. I’ve been stewing all morning and you’re the first person who knows what’s going on that I’ve seen. You go on to Molly’s. I’ve heard you’re a tour guide this year for the festival. That’s too bad. You were a brilliant recipe judge last year. You would’ve loved my new recipe this year. Of course, I don’t know how you could’ve given it better than a blue ribbon like you did my recipe last year.”
Flo hugged her and hurried back to her guests in the old house. Stella continued on her way to Molly’s shop.
The little bell tinkled when she pushed open the door. She was surprised to see so many people waiting to see the little seamstress. Stella wasn’t there more than a few minutes when she learned that the town’s hatmaker, Matilda Storch, was under the weather after having gall bladder surgery. Molly was working on festival hats with Matilda’s assistant as she also worked on dresses and costumes.
Stella waited her turn to have her red vest fitted, glad she didn’t have to wear one of the huge hats as she did last year. She knew hats were important to the people involved in the festival, but it was hard to do anything while you wore one. She’d thought last year that her neck was going to need a brace as she got in and out of the Cherokee with Matilda’s lavish creation.
Valery Reynosa, owner of the Daily Grind Coffee Shop, waited patiently with her, already wearing a red dress with tons of ruffles. Her hat was also red, with ruffles cascading from it. This year’s theme was South America.
“I know,” Valery said as Stella eyed her dress. “It’s over-the-top, but what can I say? It brings in the tourists. I hope they don’t want me to dance. I’m not good at dancing.”
Stella reassured her. “It looks really good on you. You’ve got the coloring for it. Bright red isn’t great on me. And I don’t dance either.”
Valery smiled. “It’s all to keep the festival going, right? That’s the important thing.”
Molly’s mouth was full of pins as she did some work on a bright blue dress that was very similar to Valery’s. Stella didn’t know the lady wearing it, but she was giving Molly a hard time about the skirt being too short.
The birdlike dressmaker kept nodding and talking around the pins in her mouth as she acknowledged her customer’s complaints.
“I heard they arrested Ricky Senior this morning,” Valery said. “He seems like such a nice man. I guess I haven’t known him that long. It’s hard to imagine that I was talking to a murderer every day for the last two years.”
“That’s crazy talk,” Lucinda Waxman said from behind them.
She was one of the grandes dames of Sweet Pepper. Her granddaughter, Foster, had been the festival queen last year—as had Lucinda and her daughter, Charlene, before her.
“Ricky never hurt anyone in his life. Chief Rogers is showing off because that man is here from the TBI and he doesn’t want to be upstaged. I’ve already told the town council that Chief Rogers should be taken out of office for this.”
Again, it was the people who had known Ricky his whole life who couldn’t believe he’d killed anyone.
It was possible, Stella thought, that the truth was somewhere in between. She knew Eric was going to feel like these people, the way Walt did, about the matter. She hoped the truth, one way or another, would come out during the investigation.
Her cell phone buzzed and vibrated. Agent Whitman was ready to question Ricky Senior. It seemed the fitting was going to have to wait.
Chapter 26
Stella ran breathlessly into the police station in town hall twenty minutes later. The fitting she thought was going to have to wait, couldn’t wait, at least according to Molly.
Stella had been pushed to the front by the crowd at the dress shop before she could leave. Her red vest was filled with pins in unlikely places. She’d chafed as Molly had told her to keep still.
The rest of the women in the room, who were waiting for hats and dresses, gave her some unpleasant looks, but the fitting was over quickly. Stella was pushed back through the crowd and out the door.
“He’s in the conference room.” Sandy Selvy pointed in that direction. “Poor man must be dying of thirst. They wouldn’t even let me give him coffee and a doughnut when the rest of them had one. As if Ricky Senior could hurt a fly.”
Stella didn’t stop to debate the issue. She followed Sandy’s finger to the conference room. Chief Rogers was waiting, like a guard, outside the closed door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked her.
“I think I’m going in with Agent Whitman to question Ricky.”
“This doesn’t concern you, Ms. Griffin. The fire department doesn’t dictate justice in this town.”
“Chief, I’m going in there. Don’t make me get Whitman out here to override you. That would be even more embarrassing than just moving aside.”
They stared at each other like kids in school—seeing who could outlast the other. Stella didn’t know what made Chief Rogers back down before she did.
He suddenly moved aside. “Be my guest.” His voice reflected anything but that courtesy.
“Thanks.” She opened the door and walked inside, closing it carefully after her.
Agent Whitman was already questioning Ricky. He looked up at her and nodded at one of the chairs around the table. There was another agent with him, and a woman recording everything that was said.
Stella took a seat and listened.
“I know from talking with Chief Rogers that you’ve denied shooting Deputy Mace Chum, Mr. Hutchins,” Agent Whitman said in a pleasant tone. “I’d like you to tell me about that. Do you want your lawyer present?”
Stella agreed with Sandy—Ricky Senior looked terrible. The whole ordeal had taken its toll on him. His face looked gray and his mouth was set in a grim line. His usually laughing dark eyes were dull and scared.
“I don’t need a lawyer. I don’t know what else I can tell you, Agent. I didn’t shoot Mace Chum—or anyone else. I wasn’t on the road when Mace was killed. As I told Chief Rogers, I was in the café with other people who will vouch for me. I have an alibi for that day.”
It was the way he said that day that bothered Stella. She fel
t again that there was a kernal of truth here somewhere about what had happened, if not to Chum, then to Eric. Agent Whitman wasn’t asking the right questions.
“But you know who was responsible for Deputy Chum’s death,” Whitman persisted. “Was it an associate of yours? Did you pay someone to shoot the deputy?”
Suddenly Ricky’s face changed. He grinned as he gazed at Stella. “I swear I didn’t shoot the deputy. Or the sheriff, for that matter.”
Stella smiled, knowing he was talking about the old Eric Clapton song. She believed him when he said he didn’t shoot anyone. What part did he play in all of this?
Agent Whitman looked confused about the reference to the sheriff and searched through his notes before he continued. “Let’s go back to where this started. You were involved in the deaths of Shu Carriker and Eric Gamlyn. Mace Chum was your accomplice in those deaths. Can you explain what happened that night forty years ago?”
The ready grin faded from Ricky’s face. “I would rather have died that night than ever hurt Eric.”
“But something happened that night at the silo fire that no one but you, and Deputy Chum, knew about, didn’t it?” Stella butted in even though she knew Whitman would probably ask her to be quiet. “You and I have talked about this before.”
Ricky hung his head. “Yes.”
“And you lied to me when we talked, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Stella glanced at Whitman. He sat back in his chair and waved her on.
“So tell me again what happened the night Eric died.” Stella waited silently, hoping the answer wouldn’t be as bad as everyone feared. Come on, Ricky. Tell me the truth.
Ricky took a deep breath. “I lied because I’ve been lying for forty years, since it happened. I didn’t want to go to prison. I wanted to be with my wife and start a family. I suppose I’ve done all of that. It’s time to tell the truth.”
Agent Whitman sat forward in his seat again.
“You’re right about one part of the charges against me,” Ricky said. “I killed Shu Carriker. It was an accident. I only meant to get him out of the way. I didn’t mean for him to die. I wanted to haul him into the police station to face charges for killing my friend, Eric Gamlyn.”
Agent Whitman looked a little less than satisfied with that response. He seemed as though he might tell Ricky so, but Stella jumped in. She wanted to hear the whole story. She knew Eric would want to know the truth too.
“Start at the beginning,” she coaxed with a pleading look at Whitman to hear him out.
“We’ve come this far, Chief Griffin,” Agent Whitman said. “You’ve got the floor.”
Ricky focused on Stella. “Most of what I told you was true. I was in the silo and Eric came in for me. He gave me his face mask. I saw Shu Carriker come up behind him. I couldn’t imagine why he was there. We all thought he was gone for good.”
He paused and drew a breath. “Before I could say something, Shu pulled out a gun and shot Eric in the back of the head.”
Hearing Ricky describe the moment of Eric’s death was painful. She could imagine the look of surprise on his handsome face as the light went out of his brilliant blue eyes. All the plans and dreams he’d had were gone with him.
“He fell to the floor in the silo,” Ricky choked out as he sobbed. “I think he died right away. God, I hope he died right away. I can’t tell you what it was like, seeing him go down that way.”
Stella wiped tears from her eyes. That might be one reason Eric couldn’t remember anything about his death. She was so relieved that it wasn’t Ricky who shot Eric. She knew Eric would be too.
“Then what?” Her voice trembled, but she’d come too far to stop now.
“I was shocked. Horrified. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think was that Shu might shoot him again. Eric was on the floor, burning debris from the roof was falling all around us. Shu bent over him with his gun. I picked up a piece of wood that was on the floor and hit him hard with it. He collapsed next to Eric. I grabbed his gun.”
It was as if they all took a collective breath after the terse retelling of Eric’s and Shu’s deaths. The woman recording the conversation wrote something in a black notebook. Whitman shook his head but didn’t say anything.
“Was Shu dead?” Stella tried to decide what questions should be asked. She was glad Whitman was letting her take the lead—she didn’t know if Ricky would have admitted this otherwise—but she wasn’t an interrogator.
“I don’t know.” Ricky clasped his hands tightly together, his eyes unfocused, as though he were still seeing the terrible event so long ago. “Suddenly, Mace Chum was there in the silo too. He said to help him get Eric out before the roof collapsed. I didn’t know what else to do. We got Eric out of there.”
Stella saw him lick his lips and got up to pour him a glass of water from the sideboard. He thanked her and she sat back down. The man couldn’t go on speaking without something to drink. Whitman still didn’t comment.
Ricky drained the glass and then went on with his story. “I planned to go back for Shu as soon as Eric was safely outside. But as we walked out the back door, the roof collapsed. There was no going back into that inferno.”
“Which was why Shu’s remains were in the silo after the fire,” Stella muttered, mostly to herself.
“Yes,” Ricky responded.
“What happened then, Mr. Hutchins?” Agent Whitman seemed to be finished with Stella’s brand of questioning.
“Chum said to help him put Eric in the back of Carriker’s old Impala. I thought we should get the medics, but when I put my head against Eric’s chest, there was no heartbeat. He had no pulse.”
Ricky wiped away tears that continued to stream down his cheeks. “I thought Chum knew what he was doing. He was a deputy. He checked too, and shook his head. Eric was dead.”
They had to pause for a moment for Ricky to regain his composure enough to speak.
“Chum said we had to take Eric somewhere else or we’d be blamed for killing him, and for Shu’s death. He was a sheriff’s deputy. He knew the law. I was eighteen. I believed him because I was terrified.”
“I understand you were young and scared, Mr. Hutchins,” Agent Whitman said. “But it’s hard for me to believe you fell for that.”
“I didn’t know what to do. My best friend was dead—with a bullet in his head. I was responsible for Shu’s death. I knew that. I’m not saying what I did was smart or rational.”
Ricky took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling with the movement. “So I did what Chum told me. We drove to the firehouse, hollowed out a place in the wall, covered it with a piece of sheet metal, and left Eric there. God help me.”
“That’s not possible,” Whitman objected. “The smell would have given it away.”
“The fire brigade never went back there after Eric died,” Ricky explained. “They put the gear away and parked the trucks that night. We didn’t know how to go on without Eric. Two weeks later, before we could figure it out, the town closed down the fire brigade, and the county took over. They never used the firehouse. It was a long time before the building was rented out for something else.”
“Okay.” Agent Whitman took a few notes. “I think that’s enough ancient history. Let’s talk about Deputy Chum’s death. You and he had a secret you’d shared all these years. A secret that could’ve put you both in prison. Suddenly, he started going out and telling everyone. He was leaving town. You still planned to live here. That must have made you angry.”
“I didn’t know anything about Chum talking to Stella until after he was dead,” Ricky said. “Why would I kill him? The damage was already done.”
He had a good point, Stella thought, still reeling from the description of what Chum and Ricky had done. If Ricky was telling the truth, he hadn’t killed Eric but he’d concealed his death all these years.
>
She wished she’d realized, as Whitman and Walt Fenway had, that what Chum had told her was tantamount to a confession. She obviously didn’t think like a cop. Maybe that was a good thing.
The other agent whispered something to Whitman.
Agent Whitman nodded and then spoke to Ricky. “One more thing before we take a break, Mr. Hutchins. What part do you think Deputy Chum played in the silo fire incident?”
“I think he was there with Shu Carriker to kill Eric. That’s why he had the keys to Shu’s Impala and a plan already in place. I’ve had a long time to think about this. Chum didn’t just show up, like he told Stella.”
“Did you and the deputy ever talk about it afterward?” Whitman asked. “Did he ever confess to you why he wanted to kill Chief Gamlyn?”
“We never spoke of it, sir. He never confessed anything to me. He didn’t even come to tell me he was leaving the day he was killed. We all knew there was money involved when the county wanted our fire brigade closed down.” Ricky looked directly at Stella. “Ben Carson wanted that to happen. I’d say he got his wish in the only way he could, by killing Eric Gamlyn.”
Chapter 27
Stella leaned against the Cherokee in the sun outside the town hall. She was in no hurry to go back to the cabin and tell Eric what his good friend had admitted to doing.
He would be furious and brokenhearted. The cabin would shake and Eric would probably vanish, as he had when her grandfather had been there.
Ricky’s testimony would be compelling against Ben Carson, if there was ever a trial. Whether that would happen with a forty-year-old case was another story.
Without Mace Chum’s confession to setting up Eric’s death with Shu Carriker—and the plot behind it—they really had nothing.
It was possible Agent Whitman could follow up on it and try to take Ben down, but it seemed unlikely to her. Ricky’s testimony would strengthen what everyone had already believed to be true about Eric’s death. She knew her grandfather wouldn’t care.