Hero's Journey

by Joyce Lavene

  There was a stream of reasons for his refusal: it wasn’t important enough, it was too expensive, what happened forty years ago didn’t matter anymore. Her favorite was: he wasn’t police chief back then.

  He’d said he was working with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, looking into Eric’s death. Clearly, someone had made a mistake when they thought they’d buried the old fire chief.

  And that was that. Nothing she’d said or done had swayed the chief. She’d even gone to a judge for a court order but nothing had come of it. The skeletal remains they’d found in the firehouse, after it had been gutted by a fire, had been sent to a crime lab at the state capital. There were no results back yet.

  Maybe her father was right. She knew she could be stubborn sometimes when she got caught up in something. It wasn’t like she could save Eric’s life with the information. It was terrible that he’d been murdered instead of dying in the line of duty.

  She wanted to help, but she seemed to be spinning her wheels. What could she really do for him anyway?

  Justice.

  Last year that’s what she’d told herself she wanted for him. She still did.

  On the other hand, she had a life back in Chicago that she’d put on hold almost to the point of it disappearing. Was she willing to give up her life to solve the mystery of Eric’s death?

  Mackie finally threw his tools down in disgust. “She’s not moving anywhere today.” He wiped his greasy hands on his denim overalls and looked up at the sun. “I’ll have to bring the big tractor out tomorrow to get it. Sorry about the walk back.”

  They started walking through the neatly drawn rows of peppers and red dirt alternating through the field. Little swirls of dust flew up around their feet.

  “Stella? Are you still there?” Her father’s voice barked out of the cell phone.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. You’re probably right.” Her hand tightened on the phone with the admission. She didn’t like being wrong. “I’ll come home.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll look at my calendar and set a date as soon as I get back to the cabin.”

  “We both know there won’t be a convenient time. Set a date right now. I’ll tell Chief Henry.”

  “I have to go back to the cabin first.” She didn’t really need to look at a calendar—she needed to tell Eric her decision. She hated to think how he’d take it.

  I don’t want to leave him this way either.

  “You’re right. Go back to the cabin and pack a bag. Hop on the Harley and leave now. No time like the present.”

  She groaned. “I don’t know how Mom has lived with you all these years. You’re relentless.”

  “Ah, sure and she loves me, darlin’.” He switched to his never-far-away Irish brogue, which she remembered so well from her childhood.

  If there were anyone she should have been able to tell about her ghostly housemate and his predicament, it should have been her father. His hearty Irish family was always telling ghost stories and relating terrifying family encounters with pookas and the little people back in Ireland.

  She wanted to tell him. It just wouldn’t come out. It was one thing for Great Aunt Nan to recall how her great aunt, also named Nan, met up on a dark road with a creature of the night a hundred years ago. It was another for it to be happening today.

  In Sweet Pepper, Stella had found that people still lived with their ghosts—no apologies. They accepted that Eric haunted the cabin and that a ghost from an 1820 carriage accident was still looking for her head on a local bridge.

  There was also old Tom Swift who sometimes grabbed unwary visitors along some mountain passes, and a witch who’d been killed in her house who appeared on the anniversary of her death.

  It was disconcerting at first to live with people that related stories of the supernatural the way friends back home talked about baseball. Stella had gotten used to it eventually. It would be strange now to go back to Chicago and not hear people talking about such things.

  “I can’t just leave, Dad,” she said finally. “I’ll have to set things up.”

  “You’ll at least call tonight with a firm date on when you’re leaving Sweet Pepper,” her father persisted. “I’m only asking so your mother knows.”

  “Yes. Tonight. I’ll either call or email tonight. I have to go now. My ride is waiting. Talk to you later. Give Mom my love.”

  The helicopter was down in the field as Stella and Mackie finally walked up. Zane was already out and talking to Mackie about the hot, dry summer they’d been experiencing. There had been countless small brush fires, and one large fire in the national park. Stella’s firefighters had participated in all of those fires. Everyone was praying for rain.

  Zane was about the same height as Stella, about five-foot-six. He had a shaved head and stocky build. He’d played football through high school and college. His dark eyes always seemed to be laughing. He was a good-natured, easygoing man—uncomplicated—which was what she needed after her last two relationships.

  Stella freely admitted that she wasn’t uncomplicated like Zane. Her lightly freckled face, stubborn chin, and brown eyes hid a wealth of deep commitment to her career and the people she served. She had been brought up to be responsible, and to know that sacrifice frequently came with her calling.

  “Ask me anything about growing peppers,” she said to Zane. “I know it all.”

  Mackie took off his baseball cap with the name of a local feed and seed store on it. He wiped his sweaty face and head with an old red rag that had been tied around his neck.

  “Ain’t no way. Nobody knows it all—exceptin’ maybe the mountain. She knows everything about life, and peppers. But she changes every season.”

  “Okay. Then I at least know enough to get by during the Sweet Pepper Festival,” she said, even though she’d just said she’d be back in Chicago before the event.

  Stella knew she’d have to contact Myra Strickland too. Myra ran the festival. She’d have to find another tour guide to take her place. It was one thing on a long to-do list, if she decided to leave.

  She’d have to make that decision first. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  Zane put his arm around Stella. “I have to get moving. There was a report of smoke over on the north end of the park. I hope it’s only a misguided camper who didn’t see the burning-ban signs.”

  “Me too.” She turned to Mackie and shook his rugged, old hand. He’d been farming peppers all of his life, taking it up from his father when he was only twelve. “Thanks for your help. I really feel like I learned something today. Maybe not everything, but enough.”

  “Well, you give me a call if you have any questions.” Mackie smiled, his deeply tanned face splitting into thousands of wrinkles. “And don’t be a stranger, hear?”

  Stella promised she would let him know how it went. It might be an empty promise if she left before October when the festival took place.

  She reminded herself that she hadn’t come to Sweet Pepper for the festival. She’d done the job the town hired her to do. They had a new fire brigade.

  Maybe it was time to go home.

  Stella and Zane got into the helicopter. She was in no hurry to get back to the cabin and share her news with Eric. She told Zane it was fine if he went and took a look at the area where smoke had been sighted. Keeping the area safe had to take precedence over everything else.

  Zane chattered away about how much fun he’d had the night before when they’d gone to the VFW Night Under the Stars Charity Dance. They’d had dinner and danced until after midnight when their hosts had called an end to the festivities.

  That was late for the people of Sweet Pepper, who tended to go to bed by nine p.m. Not much usually stayed open in town after six.

  Not that Stella was a party person or got to stay out late much in Chicago either. Her job was demanding. Most of the time she was
either too tired to party or she was working. Some of her friends seemed to manage both—like her ex-boyfriend Doug.

  He was a cop, but could party with the best of them. That probably should’ve been a clue to her that they weren’t compatible. They’d made their relationship work for a long time—until she’d caught him in bed with a friend of hers from high school.

  Stella had punched him and litigation ensued, union reps negotiating. Doug had wanted her kicked out of the fire department. The snake!

  Chief Henry had been stern but fair. He’d told her to get out of town for a while and it would all blow over. It had been good advice. She’d also been injured in a fire a week before that and couldn’t work anyway.

  It had been the perfect storm to bring her to Sweet Pepper, where she was supposed to sit around, sipping iced tea and watching volunteers train to fight fires.

  Ha! That hadn’t happened.

  Instead, she’d fought fires and investigated arsons. She’d gotten caught up in everything going on in the small town. Now she wasn’t sure how to get out of it—or if she wanted to.

  “I don’t see anything.” Zane took the helicopter down close to the trees on the mountain ridge. “Might have been some fog. You know how it goes when it gets dry. Everybody sees smoke.”

  Stella hadn’t known how it was until this summer of very little rain. Seeing a forest fire up close made her understand why people were nervous. A fire in the mountains could mean the destruction of Sweet Pepper, and all the other little towns around the area.

  It had been frightening seeing the red and yellow flames eating up the hundred-year-old trees. She’d been terrified that they wouldn’t be able to contain it.

  Zane swung back around and landed the helicopter near the new Sweet Pepper firehouse.

  He kissed her before he left. “I have to get back to the ranger station and make sure everything is all right. I’ll see you tonight at Scooter’s for supper, right?”

  One last date, maybe? “Six p.m. Meet you there.”

  She got out of the helicopter and ran over to the building to get out of the way. Zane waved again as the chopper lifted into the air. Stella decided to see who was on communication duty that day before she went back to the cabin.

  Any excuse not to have to face Eric with her news.

  “Excuse me, Chief Griffin.” Sheriff’s Deputy Mace Chum stepped out of the shadows created by the overhang of the roof. He wasn’t dressed in his usual brown uniform. He looked different—it wasn’t only his clothes. There was something about his face and the nervous movements of his hands.

  “Deputy Chum.” She nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m not a deputy anymore. I retired today. But I might be able to do something for you. I’ve heard people say you’ve been investigating the death of the old fire chief, Eric Gamlyn. I might have some information for you. Could we step inside?”