Playing With Fire

by J. J. Cook

  He moved closer to her. Stella was very aware of her parents watching.

  “That’s okay. I hope you stay—for more than one reason.” A flirty smile played on his lips.

  “Oh? Something besides you not wanting to take my place as fire chief?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

  “I’m still a Carson, John. Nothing is going to change that whether I’m here or in Chicago.”

  “I know.” He gently touched the side of her face. “I’ll check on Walt. See you later. Enjoy the tour guide dinner. They had me do that a few years back. Never again.”

  “What are you doing this year?”

  “Recipe judge—hot and spicy category.”

  “I thought all the categories were hot and spicy.”

  “Some more than others, Stella.” He touched a finger to the brim of his hat in a short salute. “Goodnight. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

  • • •

  The tour guide dinner boasted most of Sweet Pepper’s list of important people. The whole town council turned out with Mayor Wando and his wife, Jill. Of course, Bob Floyd and Nay Albert were there.

  The two least seen council members—Danielle Peterson and Willy Jenkins—were there too. Danielle was a retired schoolteacher who always wore bright red to complement her dark skin and red glasses.

  Willy owned Beau’s Bar and Grill. Stella had never seen him without suspenders over a Beau’s T-shirt. He looked more like a bouncer, with powerful arms and a wide chest, than a local business owner.

  Danielle spent five minutes gushing over how much she liked Stella and what a great job she’d done for the town. She wasn’t from Sweet Pepper and enjoyed community services, always angling for the town to get more.

  Willy knew Barbara from high school. He paused to give her a big bear hug as he worked the room, giving out free beer cards with every handshake.

  “Barb, your daughter is amazing,” Willy said. “I hope she stays. Odds at the bar right now are on her staying, but it changes every day.”

  Sean laughed at that. “What kind of odds are those?”

  “Five to one she stays,” Willy replied. “I can get you in on that, if you like. Anything for Barb’s husband.”

  “I’d better not.” Sean glanced at his wife’s frown. “My wife probably wouldn’t like it.”

  “Both of you have a free beer on me anyway.” Willy handed each of them a card.

  “I think it might be rude to bet on your own daughter,” Stella said when he was gone.

  “I didn’t bet anything,” Sean reminded her. “I think that woman over there is trying to get your attention.”

  It was Molly Whitehouse. She was there with all of the tour guides’ vests. They gathered in one of Myra’s bedrooms and put on vests, like bridesmaids getting dressed before a wedding.

  Stella’s vest fit her fine. Everyone waited until they were all ready to go back out into the crowd. Myra had reminded them that this was kind of a dress rehearsal for the real thing when they would be directing visitors around town during the festival.

  The idea was that they would all go out at the party and start randomly telling people about the history of Sweet Pepper, how the peppers were grown and bottled, as well as geographical information for navigating around town.

  More than half of the eighteen tour guides were young women—most looked like they were still in high school. They giggled and said crazy things as they took each other’s pictures with their cell phones and complimented each other’s hair.

  No wonder John said he wouldn’t do this again. Stella was fairly sure she would be on that list too by the time this was over.

  “Okay now.” Myra got their attention. “I have this whistle that belonged to my dear dead husband, the late mayor, who began this festival. I’m going to blow it, and you’ll all circulate around the room and begin telling one part of your story. When I blow it again, you’ll switch to another group of people and begin telling a different aspect of what you know. Ready?”

  As I’ll ever be, Stella thought.

  “Go!” Myra blew the whistle.

  Several people were so startled that they dropped or spilled the drinks they were holding. Stella went to the first group she saw without a red-vested speaker and began talking about growing peppers, as she’d learned from Mackie Fossett.

  The whistle blew and she moved on to the next group, which included her grandfather, his wife, Vivian, and Zane. She started talking about bottling the peppers.

  “Doing great,” Zane said with a laugh when Myra blew the whistle again. “Hey, you wanna hit Beau’s tonight when this is over?”

  “No,” she said breathlessly. “My parents are still here. Maybe tomorrow.”

  The next group included Mayor Wando and his wife, with Nay and Bob.

  Tough crowd.

  The mayor did what he could, but Bob and Nay were not exactly on Team Stella. As she left them when the whistle blew, she heard Bob complain that doing this was demeaning for the fire chief.

  Stella ignored him and went on to the next group, until Myra finally called a halt to the tour guides’ speed session. She was relieved to find her parents and go into the buffet supper that was waiting for them.

  “Did that change your mind about staying?” Barbara laughed. “You should try being the festival queen. There were so many embarrassing moments that I still cringe when I think of them.”

  They found a table in Myra’s lovely landscaped backyard. Live music was playing from a string quartet situated in the gazebo. Fairy lights adorned all the bushes around the perimeter. The smell of pine and fried chicken filled the night.

  Ben and Vivian joined them, filling the table for five. It was easy to see the strain between Vivian and Barbara as conversation went back and forth between them.

  Eventually, when they were done eating, Sean asked Barbara if she wanted to join the dancers already on the flat green lawn. Barbara got to her feet at once.

  Ben watched them for a moment as Vivian excused herself to go gossip with Jill Wando at the next table.

  He turned to Stella. “Terrible news about Ricky Hutchins. I’m sure no one can believe it.”

  She agreed. “I don’t believe he killed Deputy Chum. He admitted to his part in Eric’s death. I think what happened with Shu Carriker should be considered an accident, or even self-defense.”

  “I don’t know. The courts go hard on people who keep secrets.”

  “You heard that Ricky accused you of putting Shu up to killing Eric.”

  He nodded. “Of course. When in doubt, blame a Carson.”

  “Aren’t you worried they might all rise up with pitchforks and torches one day and drag you out of the mansion?”

  “You have quite an imagination, Stella.” He laughed hard at her scenario. “As I told you, I had no reason to want to see Eric Gamlyn dead. I didn’t hire Shu to kill him. Maybe Shu was still angry that Eric wouldn’t let him join the fire brigade. I don’t know. As for Mace Chum, maybe he had his own vendetta. It was a long time ago.”

  “What about the money—the thirty million dollars? I wonder if the TBI will try to track that down.” Stella studied his impassive face.

  “You know, money like that is hard to keep up with. It could’ve gone almost anywhere. And after all this time, I’m sure it’s been well spent.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to talk with a few friends. I suppose I’ll see you at the airport with your parents tomorrow. Goodnight, Stella.”

  She watched him for a few minutes as he talked with Barney Falk. If he had anything to do with Eric’s death, she felt sure no one would ever know. The old man was too crafty and cunning. The fact that he’d compared her to himself wasn’t necessarily a compliment.

  Stella’s cell phone vibrated. It was John. “No sign of Walt anywhere, so far. I’m sure he’s out in the
woods or something. How’s that dinner coming?”

  “You could’ve warned me about the routine they put you through.”

  “And ruin the surprise? Talk to you later.”

  Brief and to the point. John wasn’t worried about Walt. Everything was fine.

  Probably.

  The dinner ran late, but Stella had her parents home by nine.

  Doug was asleep in front of the TV. It appeared that Eric had left him alone while she’d been gone. Stella woke him and switched off the TV. Only as Doug stood up did they both realize that he was naked under the blanket that had covered him.

  Doug gulped, turned red all over, and snatched up the blanket he’d hastily dropped on the sofa. “I swear I didn’t mean this to happen, Stella. I was wearing clothes when I went to sleep. I don’t know how it’s possible . . .”

  His clothes were nowhere to be found around the sofa. He wore the blanket upstairs, where he finally found them—neatly folded on the bed.

  “Real mature,” Stella said aloud downstairs to her ghostly housemate.

  Eric’s laughter followed her out on the deck as she sat down in a rocking chair.

  “So you’re staying?” Eric had promised himself that he wouldn’t mention it when he saw her. It was a promise he couldn’t keep.

  “You too?”

  “This isn’t idle curiosity. I have something at stake here. If you know, tell me.”

  “I don’t know. Not yet anyway.”

  “You’re not leaving with your parents.”

  “No. I was never leaving with them. You shouldn’t listen to so much gossip. They’re leaving in the morning. I wouldn’t fly back anyway. I’d take the Harley.”

  “You’ll never get all the new stuff you’ve bought since you got here in the saddlebags.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure they had UPS when you were alive.”

  Hero wandered out of the den to lie at her feet. He looked up at her hopefully to see if she might be about to go for a walk in the dark woods. When she didn’t move, he lay his head down on the deck and went back to sleep.

  The night grew even quieter after Stella’s parents had said goodnight and closed the bedroom door. Eric and Stella had spent many nights like this on the deck, talking about life, death, and the world around them.

  The little owl that lived in the tree by the deck, hooted mournfully as the moon rose over the mountains.

  “He sounds lonely tonight,” Stella said to Eric. “Do owls live with their families?”

  “I think so. The young ones have probably already left the nest,” he whispered.

  “What about his mate? She must have stuck around after they raised their family.”

  “Maybe she’s enjoying ladies’ night out somewhere,” he joked. “Or it doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes you’re alone.”

  “You’ll be alone again if I leave.”

  “I know.”

  “What will you do?”

  “What I did before. At least death has left me in my home. I look at the mountains. I listen to the rain. I dream about the past. When there’s electricity, I watch TV.”

  “I could stay. You wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Only if you decide it’s what’s best for you,” he cautioned. “I’m dead, Stella. One way or another, I’ll always be alone.”

  She sighed and decided to go to sleep. It was a long drive to the airport in the morning. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and plugged it in for the night. A green light flashed letting her know she had a message.

  There were no words in the message—just a picture of a bloody boot.

  “What is it?” Eric looked over her shoulder.

  “Walt’s in trouble.”

  Chapter 29

  “How can you tell?” Eric wondered.

  “This is his email and I’ve looked at his ratty old boots plenty of times,” she explained. “I’ll have to drive down the mountain and call John.”

  “Can you tell where he is from his email?”

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. I’m not sure I recognize the place from the picture either.” She zoomed in on it. “Maybe a barn of some sort? Do you recognize anything?”

  Eric came closer until his head was beside hers. His nearness created a frisson of energy. It tickled her ear and made her shiver.

  Stella smiled and rubbed her ear. “You’re like a zap of static electricity, you know that?”

  He turned his head and kissed her cheek. “How did that feel?”

  “Disturbing.” She turned and looked directly into his bright blue eyes. “What do you think? Barn wall?” Her voice was a little breathless.

  “Could be. Or an old cabin. Definitely hand-hewn lumber. See the irregular sizes and depths.” He touched the phone screen and it went blank. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Electronics don’t like you, but they recover.” She put down her phone. “I have to go.”

  “I know. I wish I could go with you, though I suppose I wouldn’t be much help.”

  Stella had already changed into the shorts and T-shirt she planned to sleep in before her parents went to bed. “I hate to wake them, but I can’t go out like this. Who knows what Walt has gotten himself into?”

  “Allow me.”

  She watched Eric melt right through the bedroom door and hoped her parents wouldn’t wake up and see him going through her clothes drawer. Not that they’d shown any ability to see him—but this would be a particularly bad time.

  A moment later, he was back with jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and boots.

  “Underwear?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sorry.” He grinned. “I couldn’t find any. They must be mixed up in the clothes bag from the laundry that you never empty until it’s time to wash again.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “I could borrow some from your mother.”

  “That’s okay.” Stella managed to get into the tightly packed kitchen pantry and change her clothes. She left her parents a note on the table.

  “Be careful.” Eric waited by the kitchen door for her as she put on her boots.

  “Always.”

  He raised one brow. “Don’t get cocky. If Walt is hurt, it might involve Chum’s killer.”

  “I said I’ll be careful.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. No one expects the fire chief to get involved in what should be police activities.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  Eric was very close to her. She smiled and kissed his cheek. For once, as she touched him, he was solid, almost alive. He must have anticipated her move. “What did that feel like?”

  “Sweet. Warm. Human.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  He watched her get into the Cherokee and drive back down the mountain. Hero whimpered and Eric let him outside for a while. The puppy never left the fifty-foot perimeter outside that was under his control. The lonely old screech owl in back hooted again.

  “I know how you feel, old son.”

  • • •

  The cell phone was working again by the time Stella had reached the main road. She called John and met him at the firehouse. They looked at the email from Walt together, as she and Eric had.

  “Maybe he took one of those random pictures you don’t mean to take and accidentally sent it,” John said.

  “Or he’s trying to get help.”

  “You think he’s in trouble?”

  “I think so. I’ve thought so all day. You have too, haven’t you? This picture was sent early this morning. Because of the crazy mountain interference, I just got it. I tried calling him again while I was waiting for you. Still no answer.”

  “This isn’t much to go on.” He didn’t deny that he was also worried about Walt. “He didn’t say anything to you about w
hat he was looking for to prove Ricky’s innocence?”

  “No. I’ve gone over and over it in my head. He didn’t say anything specific.”

  John sighed heavily as he leaned on the top of his police car, staring at the image on the phone. “This could be anywhere, Stella. I don’t know how this can help us find him.”

  “Couldn’t you get someone to track his cell phone since we think he might be in trouble?”

  “Sure. It might take a while, but the county could do that.”

  “That’s someplace to start anyway.” Stella stared out at the night around them, barely able to make out the shapes of the mountains. “What could he have been thinking, John? You’ve been friends with him for a long time. I told him the police had picked Ricky up because of the report from the forest service. Where do you think he’d go from there?”

  “I think I’d look for another black pickup. Maybe a local truck with ‘SR’ on the plate.”

  “You think he knew someone like that?”

  “I don’t know,” John admitted. “It’s just a hunch.”

  “He was down at the county DMV looking up Impalas from the 1970s,” Stella said. “It wasn’t on the list, but that’s how he remembered that Shu Carriker had an Impala.”

  “Okay. Let’s take a look at his cabin. Maybe he got more records than he told you. Get in. I’ll drive. We’ll get there faster.”

  Stella was about to defend her mountain driving record when a call came through for John. There were two wrecks, no injuries, near Myra’s home.

  “Probably someone with too much to drink leaving the tour guide dinner,” John remarked after taking the call. “I have to do this first, Stella. At least they don’t need the fire brigade.”

  “I’ll go over to Walt’s and see what I can find. Meet you there.”

  “That’s it, right? Don’t leave without me if you find something. You’re only the fire chief.”

  “I know. Although I’m beginning to think Chief Rogers should deputize me.” She climbed into the Cherokee. “I’ll see you later.”

  Just to prove to herself that she could make good time on the curvy roads, Stella checked the clock before her trip to Walt’s.