by Joyce Lavene
Stella sat back on the Harley seat, balancing the bike with her legs as she talked. “Not much better. Vivian is missing a ring but she thinks one of the maids took it. Ben offered to post a reward for Hero.”
“Great. Did you tell him to make it twenty-five thousand to get everyone’s attention?”
“No. I told him we’d take care of it.”
“You are beyond a doubt the worst heiress I’ve ever known.” He laughed. “What good is money if you don’t spend it in the right places?”
That made Stella angry. The Irish blood in her seemed to have that effect too. “I thought you hated the Carsons because they had money?”
“No. I hate them because of what they do with the money.”
Stella turned off her phone, put it in her pocket, and started the Harley. She was in no mood for one of his Carson lectures.
She was back up at the cabin in no time. The porch light was on and the front door opened as she approached.
“Well? Any luck?” Eric asked as soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen.
“No. And John can’t find Patrick.” She sank down on the brown leather chair. “I guess you were right about him.”
“Believe me, it gives me no pleasure in this case. He could leave with Hero. We’d never see him again.”
“I’ve thought of that. I don’t know what else to do. I guess we’ll keep looking. I’m tired, and tomorrow is going to be a long day sifting through what’s left of the Loflin house. I’m going to bed.”
Eric sniffed. “You smell like wine. Were you drinking before you came back?”
“Yes. Ben plied me with gallons of wine and tried to convince me to take over his vast pepper empire.” She yawned. “Good night, Eric.”
• • •
Stella was up early the next morning. She was in a better mood too. Good thing because Eric had been on the Internet all night looking up articles about dogs being kidnapped and how they were found.
He told her all about it as she spread peanut butter on toast and popped open a Coke.
“Some dogs have come back to their owners ten years after they were kidnapped,” he said. “Hero could still come back on his own.”
“I guess we have to assume whoever has him isn’t giving him the opportunity.” She ate her breakfast standing by the counter in the kitchen.
“Whoever?” Eric looked up at her. “You mean Patrick Dorner. I think we’ve got enough evidence to convict him. Call Walt. Ask him what he thinks.”
Stella brushed crumbs from her hands and finished her Coke. “I don’t have time for that today. The sooner I get into the debris, the sooner I’ll be done and the Loflins can have their lives back. I can’t do anything about Hero today. We’ll have to hope the police catch the person responsible and bring him home. That’s the best I can do.”
She gathered together latex gloves, flashlight batteries, and face masks for the group who wanted to go with her to the house. She knew there were some supplies at the firehouse but she wasn’t sure if they were enough. She wanted all the volunteers to be prepared.
“I guess I’ll stay here.” Eric shoved his fist into the side of the cabin. “I never felt like a prisoner until you came. Now all I can think about is being able to help out. I thought my days of doing that, or even thinking about it, were over.”
Stella had put one hand on the counter to balance herself. Eric’s wall punch—even though his fist went through the timbers—was enough to make her feel as though there was a minor earthquake.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you involved.”
“At least before you found what was left of me I could go down to the firehouse. This way, it’s me, the TV, and the Internet. It’s not much of an afterlife. I want to help look for Hero. I want to catch Patrick Dorner. I want to ride to an emergency call again in the engine.”
She hated his anguish. She went to where he was sitting at the table by the laptop and tried to hug him. It wasn’t her thing but everyone else seemed to like it.
She knew he could be as solid as he chose to be. He’d been solid enough a few times to pick her up. Now when she tried to put her arms around him, there was nothing there. It was like hugging smoke that had a static-electricity zing to it.
“Never mind. I don’t want your pity. Go to your investigation. I’ll be fine.”
He turned away from her. She sighed and said good-bye.
Stella went outside and put on her helmet. She’d have to pick up the Cherokee at the firehouse. A few volunteers could ride with her. Others would have to take their own vehicles. She didn’t want to take the engine out. It was expensive enough to keep it going when they needed it for emergency calls.
She knew she’d never feel the same again about how the fire department was run, even though it wouldn’t be her place to worry about it anymore. As a firefighter, she never thought about expenses or reports that Chief Henry had to write. She’d be a different person after this.
Stella thought about what life was going to be like when she finally left Sweet Pepper—and Eric—behind. That was going to be different too, and not necessarily in a good way.
Before she could get on the Harley, she saw a vehicle coming up Firehouse Road toward the cabin. It was Patrick Dorner’s old pickup.
Chapter Eight
She wasn’t sure what to do. She wasn’t armed and couldn’t call John for help. Patrick didn’t seem to be personally dangerous, but he had caused a lot of trouble.
There was also the issue of how she would make him give up Hero if he didn’t want to. She looked back at the cabin where Eric was standing on the front porch.
As though he had read her mind, he said, “Get him to come into the cabin. I can take care of him while you run down to the firehouse and call for help.”
Stella wasn’t sure if that would work but it was the only plan she had. She smiled at Patrick when he parked his pickup and got out.
“I’m really sorry I haven’t returned your calls, Chief Griffin.” He was covered in soot. His clothes looked as though he’d been wearing them for days. “It’s this darn cell phone service around here. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. And I’ve been superbusy. There’s good money to be made cleaning chimneys here in Sweet Pepper.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Would you like to come in for coffee?”
“No. I wish I could. I have to clean five chimneys today. How is yours doing?”
“It’s fine. Just fine.”
He scratched his head. “Why were you calling me if everything is okay?”
“I wanted to give you another referral,” she ad-libbed. “I have the name and phone number in the cabin.”
“That’s really nice of you, ma’am. I appreciate everyone helping me out this way.” He started to follow her into the cabin. “I hope your dog didn’t suffer any bad effects from his little adventure with me.”
Stella stopped before she reached the stairs.
Eric growled a little. Patrick was barely out of his reach.
“Adventure?” She stared at him. “You took my dog.”
Patrick looked confused. “It was an accident. I got back to town before I realized that he’d crawled into the back of my pickup. I pulled the tarp closed on him. The first job I stopped at, he started barking. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known he was back there.”
It was Stella’s turn to be confused. “What are you saying? Do you have Hero or not?”
“No, ma’am. I gave him to one of your firefighters. He said he’d see him safely back to the firehouse for me. Is the dog still missing?”
Stella glanced at Eric, who shrugged, confused now too.
“Who did you give Hero to?” she asked.
“I think his name is Dean. Not sure about his last name. He was helping some people with their taxes or something when I was there working.�
�
“When was that?” she demanded.
“That was the day I left here. Yesterday? The day before? I’ve been so busy, I’m not sure.”
Stella knew they’d been wrong about Patrick. It finally all made sense.
Dean had access to the same people’s homes that Patrick did. He knew what they had that was worth money. He hadn’t shown up for the Loflins’ fire. Hero knew him.
“Sorry,” Stella said, jumping on the Harley. “I have to go. I’ll send you that referral later.”
Patrick frowned. “Are we okay now? I don’t want you to think I took your dog on purpose.”
“It’s okay,” she yelled over the sound of the motorcycle engine. “I think I get it now.”
Stella called John from the firehouse. She gave him the address Dean had listed as his home in his contact information. They met there but the house was empty.
John looked at a leash that was tethered to a post on the porch. “This might be where he’s been keeping Hero. There’s dog poop everywhere.”
“What now? I’m not in the mood to wait around for him to get home.”
“I don’t know. Don put an APB out on the vehicle the state has listed for Dean. He’s going to turn up somewhere, Stella. About all we can do is wait.”
She wasn’t happy with that idea. It seemed she had no choice.
A call came through for both of them on the fire department radio.
“Kent saw Hero on his way up to the pepper plant,” Tagger advised them. “Sorry, Chief. I know I’m not supposed to use the radio for anything except an emergency fire call, but I figured you’d want to know.”
“What street was that?” she asked.
“Kent says Fourth Street. Right next to where the old Masonic lodge used to be.”
Stella looked at John. She had no idea where that was.
“Leave the Harley here.” He got in his patrol car. “We can get there faster like this anyway.”
John and Stella sped through the sleepy streets of Sweet Pepper. Stella could see the large pepper-packaging plant on the hill overlooking the town as they went toward their destination.
“There’s the 2004 Chrysler I have listed for Dean.” John pointed toward the green car parked in front of a neat, two-story brick house. There were no other cars in the driveway. “I’m calling for backup in case this turns ugly.”
“Make sure you tell them Hero could be with him.”
John did exactly that. He parked the patrol car across the street from the house. “Maybe you should stay in the car.” He pulled his service weapon out of its holster.
“Fat chance that’s going to happen.”
Before Stella could step out of the car, the engine and pumper/ladder truck raced up Fourth Street toward them. Ricky pulled the engine on the curb in front of the house. Royce, who was Kent’s backup driving the pumper, pulled in right behind the Chrysler. Dean wasn’t going anywhere until the pumper moved.
Almost the entire Sweet Pepper fire brigade hopped off the trucks and gathered at the brick house. They weren’t wearing their protective gear, but they carried axes and other makeshift weapons.
“He’s not getting out of there with Hero,” JC said.
“What are all of you doing out here?” John asked.
“We heard there could be a fire at this house,” Ricky responded. “We’re here to fight it.”
“Or to fight that terrible, dog-stealing person inside,” Banyin said, crowbar in hand.
Another patrol car joined them. The sirens brought Dean out of the house. He stood in the doorway and stared at them. “What’s going on? Is there a fire?”
“Where’s our dog?” Royce demanded. “You better get him out here right now.”
The noise also awakened Hero who’d been sleeping in the Chrysler. Sylvia began barking and jumped on the hood of the car. It was all Stella could do to keep the group from breaking the windows and taking the dog out.
“Oh.” Dean grinned sheepishly. “That’s right. I found Hero wandering out on the street and picked him up.”
“And what are you doing at this house?” John asked him. “Are the owners of the property at home?”
The unfriendly faces around him had to make Dean nervous. “Times are tough. We all know that, right? I was only trying to make a living.”
Kimmie jumped on the porch beside him. “You kidnapped Hero. Officers, arrest this man.”
John joined them quickly. He took Dean to open the car door and released Hero. No one from the fire brigade noticed as the thief was led away in handcuffs. They were too busy receiving wet dog kisses and hugging Hero.
Two hours later, Stella rode the Harley back up to the cabin on the mountain. Eric greeted her at the door, demanding to know what had happened.
When he saw Hero loping up Firehouse Road toward him, he gave a huge shout that was heard by hikers and hunters on the mountain for miles around. Everyone speculated about what the noise they’d heard was. They told stories about how it had swayed the trees around them for months after.
And another Sweet Pepper legend was born.
Keep reading for a special excerpt from J. J. Cook’s next Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade Mystery . . .
PLAYING WITH FIRE
Coming in paperback January 2014 from Berkley Prime Crime!
Sweet Pepper Fire Chief Stella Griffin stood in the middle of a field of red, yellow, and green hot pepper plants that looked as though it went on forever. The August sun beat down on her head and made her question why she’d worn long jeans, instead of shorts, on this outing.
Sweet Pepper, Tennessee, was known for growing the hottest, sweetest peppers in the world—the small mountain town’s main source of revenue. She was supposed to be a tour guide during the Sweet Pepper Festival—if she stayed that long. The festival wasn’t until October. That seemed a lifetime away.
Muttered swear words came from Mackie Fossett, the farmer whose field she stood in, as he tried to get his tractor started. It had broken down after Stella’s lesson in growing Tennessee Teardrop peppers. She had no idea where they were or how long it might take to get back to where they’d started.
Her father was swearing too, all the way from Chicago. This was the second call from him this morning. His Irish temper was getting the better of him. Stella held the cell phone slightly away from her ear.
How his call had managed to find a cell tower while she was outside of town was a mystery to her. But if anyone could do it—
“I don’t see what good you’re doing there now, Stella,” Sean Griffin said—again. “You’ve been down there since last November looking for this dead fire chief’s killer. You don’t sound like you’re any closer to finding out who it is. And frankly, you’re going to lose your job up here if you’re not back soon. I talked to Chief Henry yesterday. Your three-month leave was up a long time ago.”
“I know, Dad.” Her voice was as flat as the sound of the bees droning across the peppers in the hot, dry air. “I can’t leave yet.”
“Are you planning on staying there?” His tone was incredulous. “Your family—your friends—your life is here. Is a man involved? Is that the issue?”
“Yes, Dad. A dead man.”
“Be serious, Stella. Are you involved with someone, you know, romantically?”
It was ironic that her ride home picked that moment to circle overhead in his helicopter. She’d been seeing the pilot, Zane Mullis, recently. They’d had some good times together. Nothing serious. He worked with the forestry service in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which backed up against Sweet Pepper.
She waved to Zane. He waved back. He couldn’t land in the pepper field. Probably wanted to let her know that he was there. He’d land in the flat open area beside Mackie’s barn where he’d dropped her off.
But it wasn’t Zane who’d kept her there
so long after her original contract with the town of Sweet Pepper had expired. She’d signed on to help get the town’s new fire brigade going after they’d lost county protection last year. She’d done that, and more, since last fall. She should have been home by Thanksgiving.
How could she explain to her father that the ghost of the dead fire chief needed her help?
Eric Gamlyn was supposed to have died a hero in a fire forty years ago. Instead, he’d been shot in the head and shoved into a wall in the old fire station.
“Believe me,” she answered her father, “I’m not involved with anyone here, not like you mean. I want to do what’s right for the old chief. I can relate to this as a firefighter, Dad. You should be able to relate too.”
His tone softened. “You know I love you, right? And you know your mother loves you too. This is driving us both crazy. When your mother is crazy, so am I. Come home, Stella. We need to see your smiling face.”
“What did Chief Henry say?”
“That he couldn’t keep holding your job open. What else?”
Stella knew that Chief Fred Henry was always more than fair with his people. She also knew he needed a full station house. She was a battalion captain with ten years of experience. The very thing that made her valuable to Sweet Pepper also made her valuable to Chief Henry. She didn’t want to take advantage of that knowledge, but she needed more time.
She had to admit that it had been a long ten months of reading through old documents and questioning everyone she could think of about Eric’s death at the grain silo back in the 1970s. She didn’t feel any closer to an answer about how his body got in the firehouse, or who’d shot him.
Maybe she was wasting her time. Yes, Eric was depressed about losing his status as a local hero to become a murder victim. He was also dead. He might just have to get over it. It was a long time ago. No one had any ideas about what had happened to him—or was willing to help find those answers.
Sweet Pepper’s chief of police, Don Rogers, had been no help at all. She’d all but begged him to exhume the coffin that Eric was supposed to be buried in, but he’d continued to refuse.