by J. J. Cook
Marty finished last each time they ran through the drill, though she had to agree that he put in a good effort. He might make a decent firefighter yet.
They moved outside after about an hour and began working with the hoses again. Stella realized she had only three really competent volunteers when it came to using the hoses. The team needed more than that. If Petey, Ricky, or John didn’t show up, it might be hard for the brigade to handle a large fire.
The older members were starting to get the hang of it. Royce and Bert were struggling, the hose jumping away from them as soon as there was any pressure in it. Stella encouraged and tried to challenge them as they watched Petey master the hoses.
Royce sat down heavily on the ground and took off his helmet. “I ain’t never gonna be able to control that thing. I don’t know how she does it.”
“You can do it,” his friend JC said. “It’s taken me a while, but I’ve almost got it now.”
His tough, older face defiant, Royce said, “What difference does it make anyway? The old man won’t let us keep doing this. She defied him.” He pointed at Stella. “He’s gonna come down on all of us like a sack of potatoes.”
“You’re wrong,” Stella said. “Ben Carson and I struck a deal this morning. I’ve given him some time to get that ductwork cleaned up, the right way this time. He’s agreed to replace the connection on the water tower right away. I agreed not to fine him.”
Royce stared at her after JC gave him a hand up. “Must be true what they’re saying in town. You must be kin to the Carsons. The old man would never put up with it otherwise.”
“That does bring up an interesting question,” Marty said. “If your next fire chief isn’t a member of the Carson family, what will happen to the fire brigade?”
Chapter 26
All the wet volunteers looked around at each other. Stella knew the question had raised doubts in them about what they were doing. They needed their confidence. She didn’t think they’d find it thinking about Marty being the fire chief when she left.
Her lips tightened. “I don’t think the town only hired me because I’m related to Ben Carson. It’s going to be more important that the person who leads you when I’m gone knows what they’re doing—a lot more important than who they know.”
“Who’s that gonna be, Chief?” Banyin asked.
“I’m announcing right now that Ricky Hutchins and Petey Stanze will be assistant chiefs from now on. They’ll be working together to take my place. They’re the best trained and have done more for the brigade than anyone else.”
There was a short round of applause and a lot of backslapping, then the volunteers went to change and put the equipment away.
Marty walked up to her. “I understand your reasoning on this, Stella. I hope you’re not sorry. I might be the only person who can keep the fire brigade going.”
John was standing behind him. He put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder as a warning. “You better watch your mouth, son. I’ve about had enough of you, Carson or not.”
Marty eased John’s hand off his shoulder. “Sorry, John. I didn’t mean to step on your toes. I know you have feelings for the chief. Everyone knows.”
John glared at Marty as he saluted him and left. “That boy is wearing a Teflon suit. Nothing sticks to him. I’ve had him on DUI already and he got off with equipment failure. Nobody around here can top the Carson money.”
John’s serious face made Stella change the subject. “Are we still on to talk to Walt Fenway?”
“I’ll be ready when you are.”
Stella was ready before John was done putting away his gear. She filled out reports she needed to send to the state and looked at the proposed budget for the fire brigade.
She heard John telling everyone good-bye and put things away. She was ready to leave when a tall, burly man with dirty clothes and messed-up brown hair stopped her.
“I’m Jack Carriker. Heard you needed some work done on your equipment.”
Stella was half expecting some kind of smirk on his face from the way he’d said it. He looked at her with a straightforward gaze.
“You mean the vandalism on the trucks,” she replied. “Yes. I’ll show you.”
Kent was still there. He came up and shook Jack’s hand. “Me and Jack go way back. I used to beat him up at school.”
Jack grinned. “You wish!”
Marty came up too. “Jack?”
The older man nodded to him. “Mr. Lawrence.”
“Are you volunteering?” Marty’s tone left no doubt he thought it was a crazy idea.
“No, sir. Looking after some trucks that need painting and any other odd jobs the chief here might have for me.”
Marty patted him on the back. “He does odd jobs at the estate too, don’t you, Jack?”
Stella didn’t like Marty’s patronizing attitude toward the other man. Clearly, Jack wasn’t wealthy or well educated, but that was no reason to look down at him.
“Let’s check out those trucks,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Marty. Good job today.”
After she showed him the damage on the trucks, Stella also talked to Jack about some other work that still needed to be done at the firehouse. Some of the floorboards were loose, and a few of the doors were warped and needed to be replaced. She had plenty of money in the budget for the work, and she suspected Jack needed the pay.
John came up as she was shaking hands with Jack. She told him to charge what he needed at Potter’s Hardware in town.
* * *
John and Stella got in the Cherokee. “You’re going to let him work here?” he asked.
“I don’t see why not. Kent knows him. He seems okay.”
John pointed her in the right direction for Big Bear Springs, where Walt Fenway lived. “He’s the son of the infamous Shu Carriker. Lives on the family’s old farm, or what’s left of it, with his mother. Shu was Ben Carson’s go-to man years ago. His son took over that position. He also does odd jobs around town. We’ve never had any problem with him—at least not one we could prove.”
“Being a go-to man must not pay as well here as it does where I’m from,” she said. “What kind of stuff did his father do for Ben?”
“Kicking people around. Beating them up. Threatening them. That kind of thing.”
“And you think Jack does that for my grandfather now?”
“Maybe,” John admitted. “Like I said. There’s nothing we can prove, but there have been allegations.”
The road leading out of town was empty. John was silent for a few minutes but then explained that there were two unincorporated towns outside of Sweet Pepper—Big Bear Springs and Frog Pond.
“Will the fire brigade need to take care of them too?” Stella asked as they drove through the tiny area that made up Frog Pond. It looked as though there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred residents.
“We’re not clear on that yet. They’re talking about starting their own volunteer fire departments. They might need help getting them going, but that probably won’t be for a while.”
She nodded. “Not until I’m gone.”
“That’s about it.”
“I think naming Petey and Ricky as assistant fire chiefs will work out, don’t you?”
“For now. There might have to be only one when you leave.” He glanced at her. “Why Ricky? He’s kind of a hotshot. He doesn’t seem like leadership material to me. He’s too young to command respect from the older men. For that matter, so is Petey.”
“In other words, you don’t like the idea at all.”
“I wish you’d stay on.”
His voice was deep and inviting. She pulled herself back from trusting him. She wasn’t sure where things might lead with him. As soon as he remembered who her family was, that would be that.
“I think the group will be in good shape by the time I leave. Maybe Petey or Ricky won’t make it as chief, but someone will step up.” She pointed to the “Big Bear Springs” sign that was hanging on
a pole at the side of the road. “Where to now?”
“Take a left here.”
Stella followed his instructions, and the Cherokee was immediately on a rough gravel road. The mountains rose up at the end of it as though there was nowhere to go but into them.
“Marty won’t give up that easy, if he really wants to be fire chief,” John mentioned.
She wished he would have stuck with giving directions or talking about the area. She liked him best that way. “He’s got a long way to go before he even figures out how to hold on to a hose. He’s not taking over my fire brigade unless he’s ready.”
“I think he wants you. The fire brigade is a means to an end.” He cleared his throat. “I know you laughed at this before, Stella. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“That’s not happening, John. He’s not my type.” She laughed. “I seem to like bad boy cops with lousy attitudes. Sound familiar?”
“Turn left again at this driveway.” He didn’t remark on her words.
Stella sighed and left it alone. She was probably better off.
It was hard to tell it was a driveway. There were plants growing through what was left of the gravel, and the rest was a muddy track. If it hadn’t been for the mailbox with some kind of animal skull on it, she wouldn’t have guessed that the path led to anything at all.
The track went up and down like a roller coaster, with dense trees growing close on either side. Some of them brushed the sides of the Cherokee. Not really used to mountain driving, Stella held the wheel tightly and eased the vehicle through the ruts until a small cabin appeared in a rough clearing.
“Here we are,” John said. “I think you might have left indentations in the steering wheel. Don’t worry. No one will notice.”
Stella turned off the Cherokee and hopped out. “Blue Heaven.” She read the inscription on the front door. “Are you sure this is where the ex-police chief lives?”
As if in answer, the front door opened suddenly and a man stepped out. He had a large shotgun pointed at them. “You all just turn around and head back out the way you came. I’m not taking no damn census, and if I won a contest, I don’t want to know.”
“Whoa! Walt, it’s me, John Trump, Bobby’s boy. This is the new fire chief, Stella Griffin. We’re here to talk to you about one of your old cases.”
Walt Fenway lowered his shotgun a little and squinted at his visitors. He was a short man, maybe five feet, with a heavy pelt of yellow-white hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a while. “John? Why didn’t you say so, boy? Come on and set down. I finished a batch of hard cider yesterday. You and your lady friend are welcome to help me open the first keg.”
The cabin wasn’t more than a one-room shack that appeared to be falling down around the old police chief. He put a tap in a wooden keg and let dark yellow apple cider run into three tin cups. “Let’s take it out back,” Walt said. “It’s a fair enough day. Might as well enjoy it before the cold sets in.”
Once she saw the breathtaking view from the back of the shack, Stella understood why Walt had decided to live here. Thousands of fir trees swept like a carpet down the side of the mountain, beyond which rose up darker ridges. A large waterfall cascaded from a rocky pinnacle, the frothy water plunging hundreds of feet to a river below.
“What a view.” She sat on one of several stumps obviously used for that purpose. In the middle, there was a large fire pit. It looked as though Walt did most of his cooking right here. Red coals still gleamed through the ash in the bottom of the pit.
“So what brings you out this way?” Walt asked after they were seated.
“Adam Presley’s death.” John sipped the hard cider carefully. “You remember that?”
“Oh yeah.” Walt stirred the ashes and added a log to the red coals. “The car salesman. Bad business there.”
“You worked with Chief Gamlyn on that case,” Stella said. “I understand he wasn’t happy with the outcome of the investigation either.”
“Eric Gamlyn.” Walt smiled and tossed another log on the fire. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time. Many nights that rascal and I sat out here talking and drinking. He was a good man.”
“What did the two of you think was wrong about the Presley case?” John tried to refocus the old chief’s attention.
“We knew it was all wrong—the whole setup. Nobody douses themselves with lighter fluid, then calmly lights a cigarette.”
“Could it have been suicide?” Stella asked.
“Nah. We didn’t believe it. Neither did Tory.” He glanced at her. “Have you talked to her about it?”
“You haven’t heard?” John asked. “Tory was murdered. We thought to begin with that it was arson because her house was set on fire. It looks now like someone tied her up and gave her too much insulin.”
Walt swore as he stood up. “Who did it?”
“Right now, it looks to be her son,” John explained.
“That little—” Walt threw the rest of his cider into the fire pit, causing the flames to shoot up high. “Sorry. That was a waste of mighty fine cider.”
“I didn’t know Tory well before she died,” Stella admitted. “She told me the day before she died that her first husband had been murdered and asked me to look into it.”
“Yeah, she was sure of it. Eric and I knew something was wrong too. We couldn’t prove it. Then Old Man Carson started leaning on us. We had to back off or lose our jobs.”
“Why do you think Ben Carson was interested in stopping the investigation?” Stella asked.
“I’ll tell you why,” Walt said. “Because he’s a low-down skunk who is more interested in his own gain than in what’s right. He knew something was wrong, just like we did. He didn’t want his precious festival messed up by it.”
Chapter 27
The wood crackled loudly in the silence as the three of them thought about what Walt had said. John certainly wasn’t the only person in Sweet Pepper who hated and feared Ben Carson. Stella believed it wasn’t unusual for people to feel that way about rich, powerful people.
“Why didn’t you go back later and continue the investigation?” she pushed forward. “The festival was over in a few days. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“I don’t know,” Walt admitted. “It all fell apart after that. Eric died, and the county took over the fire department. They didn’t want to make waves with the old man. He said the DA wouldn’t prosecute anyone for Adam’s death. I believed him. I guess I was getting old, and I was more interested in my pension.”
“Did you question the DA’s decision?” Stella asked. “Think about taking it to court?”
“Eric did. He wasn’t scared of the old man.” Walt laughed at the memory. “I always wondered if it had anything to do with his death.”
“I thought he died when a burning building collapsed on him.” Stella glanced at John, who shrugged and finished his cider.
“Yeah, I know. I was there. I can’t imagine how the old man could’ve caused Eric’s death, but I felt certain in my bones that he did.” Walt offered John more cider. John declined.
Feeling something in your bones wasn’t proof of anything. Stella put down her tin cup and stood up. “I’m looking through your file on Adam Presley’s death. Is there any hard evidence that could’ve been overlooked? What about Tagger Reamis as a suspect?”
“Tagger?” Walt shook his head. “He threatened Adam, but we couldn’t find anything else there. Seems to me he had an alibi. I can’t recall right now. It should be in the file.”
“You and Eric didn’t like him for it?”
“No. Of course, he was friends with Eric. I don’t know. We went over every inch of that case a dozen times. There wasn’t anything we could prove beyond some hunches. The old man wanted it left alone. Maybe you should ask Ben Carson about it. I take it he’s still alive. They say Satan lets them live a long healthy life once they sign away their souls.”
“Thanks for your time.” Ste
lla shook his hand. “If we find anything new, we’ll give you a call.”
John hung back a minute as Stella walked to the Cherokee. He exchanged a few words with Walt, they shook hands, and then he joined her.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
“I think Walt nailed the devil perfectly on this one.”
“Ben Carson is only one man, John. He can’t be responsible for every bad thing that ever happened in this town.”
“Maybe you should ask him. You seem to have his good side.”
They didn’t say much more to each other before they got back to the firehouse. John didn’t mention dinner again. Neither did she.
Jack was working in the firehouse with Hero at his feet. They both looked up when Stella walked through on her way to the office. She waved but didn’t speak, not in the mood for chitchat.
She sat behind the scarred old desk again and reached in the drawer to get the folder she’d left there. It was gone.
Walking back into the vehicle bay, she asked Jack, “Did you see anyone go in here while I was out?”
He stopped scrubbing. “No, ma’am. I haven’t really been looking. But I don’t think so.”
“Something wrong, Chief?” Petey stepped out of the kitchen area with a can of orange soda. It was her turn to monitor communications.
“I lost a folder.” Stella frowned, went back into the office, and closed the door. She was troubled by the loss. Why would anyone want to take that folder? She thought briefly that Eric might have taken it. He didn’t respond when she called his name. Obviously he had gone back to the cabin to see about that pepper recipe.
Without the folder, Stella felt like she was wasting her time at the firehouse. She talked to Petey for a few minutes about the next week’s duty roster. Petey thanked her profusely for naming her assistant chief. “I won’t let you down,” she promised.
“I’m sure you won’t,” Stella said. “You’ve worked consistently harder than anyone else since I got here. You’ll make a fine chief by yourself one day.”
Petey pushed a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. “I get why you had to name Ricky too. I don’t think the town would let me run the fire brigade by myself either. I’m just a waitress.”
