by J. J. Cook
“That’s not why I did it, and I don’t believe that. I didn’t want you and Ricky fighting over it and dividing the volunteers into Team Ricky and Team Petey. I think either one of you would be completely capable of being chief.”
“Really?” Petey smiled shyly. “That means a lot to me!”
“Good. I’ll see you later. Make sure Jack is out of here by six, and lock up when he’s gone.”
“Sure. Chief? Do you think Mr. Carson will let me run the fire brigade when you’re gone? A lot of people have been saying he only lets you do it because you’re his granddaughter.”
Stella frowned. “I think he’ll be happy to see the backside of me as I’m leaving. He’ll be happy with anyone who can keep it going. Don’t forget—the town needs this fire brigade.”
“What about Marty?” she said quickly. “He might think his stepson would make a good fire chief.”
“I don’t know,” Stella admitted. “I might be wrong, but I don’t think my grandfather particularly cares what Marty does. Just keep doing what you do, Petey. Don’t worry about the gossip.”
Petey kind of shrugged and said good-bye. It was easy to tell that she wasn’t convinced. Stella knew there was no way to guarantee what would happen when she went back home. She wasn’t even going to try. She liked Petey and thought she did a great job as a volunteer. She would give the town her recommendation for fire chief and go home with a clear conscience.
Stella drove back up the mountain to the cabin, curious to see if Eric had taken Adam Presley’s case folder. She could imagine the old manila folder floating up the side of the mountain. Now that she’d opened her mind enough to allow that there really could be the ghost of an old fire chief living in the cabin, she found it easy to imagine all kinds of things.
Yet she couldn’t deny that she thought he was real. She didn’t know if it was something in the water that made her believe she was communicating with a dead man or what. So far at least, nothing had happened to convince her otherwise.
There was a silver BMW waiting outside the cabin when she arrived. Stella didn’t recognize the car. She knew the woman who stepped gracefully from it. Vivian Carson.
“Vivian.” Stella came around the side of the bright red Cherokee. “What can I do for you?”
“You northerners don’t have an ounce of manners, do you?” Though the tone was pleasant, the stiff smile didn’t make it to her eyes. She reached into the car and brought out an enormous basket of assorted types of pepper products all with the “Sweet Pepper” label on them. “I realized I’d been negligent in bringing a welcoming gift to you. I wanted to remedy that situation.”
Stella took the basket from her, hoping it wasn’t going to explode. No doubt that wouldn’t be subtle enough for her. “Thank you. I appreciate you coming all the way up here to deliver this.”
“I know you don’t know any better, so I’ll help you out—this is where you invite me in for coffee or tea and we have a friendly conversation.”
Stella looked at Vivian’s expectant face, momentarily trying to decide if she should ask her in or simply say good-bye. She knew Vivian had a powerful impact on the community. There was no point in stirring up trouble now.
“Of course. You’re right, where are my manners? Won’t you come in for some coffee? I don’t have any tea.” Stella tacked a careful smile on her face.
“Yes. I believe I will. I feel that you and I have gotten off to a bad start. Part of that is Ben’s fault for not wanting to tell you the truth to begin with. I mean, what could that have been like, waking up at the estate after your accident and learning who you really are?”
Stella kept the smile on her face and led the way to the cabin door. It was open, as usual. She pushed it back the rest of the way and put the heavy basket on the kitchen counter.
“I know you think this is a tiny little place compared to Chicago, and you’re right, of course.” Vivian followed her in and looked around. “But, honey, we still lock our doors. We don’t want something bad to happen.”
Stella didn’t respond to that. “Coffee?”
Vivian took a seat in the living room. “Yes, please.”
Stella made a pot of coffee. It seemed to take forever. She poured them each a cup and put out creamer and sugar on the table.
“You don’t have cream?” Vivian asked.
“Sorry,” Stella said with a smile that was growing harder to maintain.
“That’s perfectly fine.” Vivian took the mug Stella had given her. She added a little creamer to it. “I didn’t expect you to have much in the way of comfort here. You’re only staying for a short time after all.”
Stella sat down opposite her guest. She was wondering what Eric thought about Vivian Carson. “I can only imagine that you’re here to talk about Marty.” No point in beating around that bush any longer than she had to.
“You’re very blunt for a woman.” Vivian tasted the coffee and made a face. “I appreciate that. Let’s get right to the point. Marty must be named fire chief if the fire brigade is going to continue.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not fit to be chief.”
“Because you won’t train him.”
“Because he hasn’t been training long enough. He only started recently.”
Vivian laughed, a low tinkling chuckle that sounded to Stella like she’d rehearsed it many times. “Why don’t you tell me what your real issue is with him?”
Stella took a swallow of coffee and forced it down her throat. She hoped she looked calmer than she felt. “I really don’t have any problem with him, Vivian. I do have high standards. Marty doesn’t meet them yet. He might someday. Of course, by that time, Petey and Ricky will still have surpassed him in knowledge and experience. I think he’s doing a good job right now, but he’s been with the fire brigade for only a few days.”
“I hope you’re not holding your grandfather’s decision to surprise you with a family against Marty.”
“Not at all. I don’t understand all the secrecy. It certainly isn’t Marty’s fault.”
“Then you risk ruining all the work you’ve put into this group. Once you leave, it will never last. The town council won’t support Ricky Hutchins or Patricia Stanze. Who do you think they will turn to when they need someone to take your place? Ben will recommend Marty, and he’ll be fire chief. That’s the way it’s going to be.”
“I can’t deny it could happen that way. He still won’t be my choice for chief. I’m sorry he wasn’t here to get started when everyone else was. I can’t change that.”
Vivian put her mug down on the table. “Well, it seems you have your mind set against my son. I guess there’s nothing more to say. At least not to you.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Stella asked, “why do you want him to be chief so badly? Why not go intimidate someone else into giving him a job? Why doesn’t my grandfather hire him to run the pepper plant?”
Vivian got to her feet and smiled. “I had so hoped you and I would be friends.”
Stella smiled back at her. “I heard you wanted Marty and me to get married so you’d know the Carson money was secure.”
“I can’t imagine where you heard such a thing. I would never want my son involved with someone like you, bless your heart. I have high hopes for him. Don’t worry about the money, Stella. Marty and I have that all taken care of. You enjoy those peppers now. I’ll see you later.”
Chapter 28
Stella closed the door behind her and waited for the BMW to leave the driveway before she addressed Eric. “Well? What do you think? Does she want me to marry her son or not?”
“I think it’s hard to say. I don’t trust her.”
“What a surprise.” Stella sat on the sofa after putting the two cups into the sink. “Is there anyone living or dead in Sweet Pepper who likes or trusts the Carson family?”
“If so, I don’t know them. But I’ve been out of circulation for a while.”
“Did you take Adam Presley’s file from the firehou
se?”
“No. Did you lose it?”
“I’m not sure. I put it in the desk drawer in the office. It wasn’t there when I got back.”
“Have you considered that Marty might be spying on you for the old man?”
“You know, this infighting is hard to get around. You guys need a scorecard that says who the good guys and bad guys are.”
“What did Walt have to say about everything?”
“Not all that much. He told me that the two of you knew something was wrong but didn’t work hard enough to get around the terrible Carson family. Was there something more than what I’ve read in the files so far? Did you leave something out?”
“We might have. It was a long time ago, and I’m a little hazy on that time.”
Stella thought he might mean he was hazy about the time when he died. She didn’t ask him if he thought, like Walt, that her grandfather was responsible for his death.
“Chief Rogers released Victor today after the DA refused to prosecute him for murder. He’ll still stand trial for the arson. He’s out on bond now,” Eric informed her.
“How do you know that?”
“Chief Rogers came by earlier to see you. He waited around for a while, then got the call from the DA. He was in my proximity.”
She smiled. “You’re better than a guard dog, you know? You keep people away and spy on them. Besides, Walt said you were one of the best people he ever knew.”
“Yeah, I liked him too. I’m glad he’s still out there. Does he still make that hard cider?”
“Yeah. John and I had some in the backyard, once we got past Walt’s shotgun.”
Eric laughed. “You’re lucky he’s older or you wouldn’t be telling me about it right now.”
Stella glanced at her watch. “I’m supposed to go to town for lessons on how to judge foods made from chocolate and peppers. Do you have a recipe I can pinch?”
“I do.” A handwritten recipe floated off the cabinet toward her. “Candied peppers. I entered this one year in the contest. I didn’t win. That seems like it was a thousand years ago. I don’t think anyone will remember. The secret ingredient is the cardamom in the sugar syrup.”
“Hot peppers with candy syrup?” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay. I’ll use it. Thanks.”
“Like I said, watch your back. You have the Carson target on it along with any hard feelings from the questions you’ve been asking about Tory’s and Adam’s deaths.”
“Thanks for worrying about me. Have you thought any more about showing yourself? As enlightening as our conversations are, they’d be better if I could see you.”
“I’m still thinking that over. I’ll talk to you later.”
Stella drove back into town mulling over her encounter with Vivian and wondering if it was possible that Greg Lambert had killed Adam Presley. She also thought about Tagger. It had been a long time, as Eric had said. She couldn’t imagine what kind of evidence it would take to get Chief Rogers to reopen the case.
Greg was seeing Tory on the side before Adam had died. Tagger thought he was going to be with Tory when he got back from Vietnam. Both were good suspects. She wondered if Tory had considered the possibility that Tagger had set Adam on fire or if she’d dismissed him, like everyone else.
John talked about Marty being the Teflon man, but she thought Tagger could hold that title too. No matter what he did, people let it slide because he was an old hero. Had that blinded Eric too?
All of the judges were meeting at Myra Strickland’s home. Stella wasn’t looking forward to seeing the matriarch of the Sweet Pepper Festival. The burned hulk of Tory’s house was still a public eyesore. She really didn’t think it would be removed from Main Street during the week before the festival.
There were already dozens of people she recognized at the three-story Victorian where the Strickland family had lived for generations. Bill and Lucinda Waxman were there, along with Tommy Potter, Mayor Wando and his wife, Jill, and Hugh Morton, the town attorney.
Elvita and Theodora met Stella at the door, urging her to come in. Stella showed them her recipe for candied peppers, and they were both very pleased. “Just make up a quick batch and we’ll be set. This is so much fun!”
The two women introduced her to everyone.
“You know,” said Pat Smith of the Sweet Pepper Gazette, “judging the chocolate and pepper part of the festival recipe contest is probably the most prestigious judging position at the festival.”
Pat’s husband took Stella’s picture. “That’s true. I think it might’ve been the first recipe contest in the festival. What’s better than chocolate and peppers?”
The husband and wife editorial pair went on to describe all the various winning ways residents had paired chocolate and peppers in the past. Stella listened as she watched her grandfather and Vivian come in, followed by Greg Lambert and a woman who acted like his wife.
Chief Rogers arrived next. Judging from his unhappy scowl, he’d rather have been anyplace else in the world. Flo, from the Sweet Pepper Bed and Breakfast, joined the group too. It seemed to take a lot of people to judge the recipe contests.
When everyone had small china plates full of snacks and cups of coffee or tea in hand, Myra Strickland climbed up on a chair and clapped her hands to get their attention.
“It’s nice you all want to mingle, but let’s not forget that this is serious business. We have more than two hundred recipes that have to be judged. Those of you who have done this before know we have strict protocols to follow. We must adhere to our policies if we are going to maintain the good reputation of our festival.”
Everyone found a way to juggle their drinks and snacks so they could applaud. Myra’s white poodle, dressed in bright red like his owner, jumped and barked around the chair where she stood.
“Now we’re going to divide up into small groups—those who have judged before will mentor those who haven’t. I have a list of things that need to be said and done during the judging, especially if one of the contestants is present. We don’t want to be sued, do we?”
Stella was put in a group with Lucinda Waxman, Tommy Potter, and Vivian. Bad choice. The conversation among them was limited—how to handle contestants who didn’t win and key words to use when describing the foods they were judging.
“You should never say ‘I don’t like this.’ Instead, say ‘This is a good effort,’” Lucinda explained. “And never make a scrunchy face, as my granddaughter does when she eats broccoli. People could take that the wrong way.”
“Always fill out your evaluation forms.” Vivian held one up. “This is your best way to stay out of trouble. Write down all of your thoughts on the product you’re judging. Don’t leave anything out, and be sure to sign it. Your contestants will never see your evaluation forms. They are strictly confidential.”
“I know now why I’ve never done this before,” Tommy grumbled.
“Your dear wife, Ethel Lou, participated many times in judging and created the most amazing recipes,” Lucinda reminded him.
“I know. But I’m not Ethel Lou. I might not be cut out to judge cold pepper dishes. Maybe I could trade with Chief Griffin. I like sweets better.” He winked at Stella, who would’ve been glad to switch categories with him.
“We don’t do things that way, Tommy,” Vivian said. “Once a judge accepts his or her category for a festival, it is written in stone.”
Lucinda solemnly nodded. “It’s the way it has been done and shall always be done.”
Tommy finished his lemonade. “Whatever. I wish you had something stronger than coffee. Excuse me while I get something real to drink.”
Lucinda and Vivian exchanged disturbed glances. Myra seemed to pick up on their difficulties and came to see if everything was all right. Lucinda explained Tommy’s problem. Myra immediately headed off in the same direction as the hardware store owner.
“I wouldn’t want to be him.” Lucinda shuddered. “What category are you judging this year, Vivian?”
�
�I got stuffed peppers this year.” Vivian smiled. “You?”
“Cake, nonchocolate.” Lucinda didn’t seem pleased with her category either. She looked at Stella. “You did get the best category, Chief Griffin. Although judging the hottest peppers might have been more your forte. I mean, since you are the fire chief and all.”
“It’s been many years since we’ve had a fire chief judging recipes in the festival,” Myra recalled as she returned. “Eric Gamlyn was always such a good sport, no matter what we asked him to do. And so handsome. The ladies didn’t care if they won or not. He had such a charming way of telling them that they had lost.”
“I’m sure Chief Griffin will have a similar charm, at least with the menfolk,” Vivian said. “The men of Sweet Pepper are already crazy running after her.”
Both ladies simpered and stared at Stella like she was a bug under a microscope. Seeing that the small groups were starting to break up, Stella excused herself and went to find a sincerely friendly face.
Flo was sitting at a coffee table with a few other people, none of whom Stella knew. She stood behind them as they looked at an old high school yearbook and talked about the people in the photos.
“Oh, Stella, come and see.” Flo drew her into the group and introduced her to everyone. “Here’s your mother. Wasn’t she beautiful? You look exactly like her, except that her hair was dark. Barbara had hair like her mama. I’ll bet she’s still knocking them dead.”
Stella looked at the black-and-white picture, surprised to find that she did look a lot like her mother when her mother was younger. She’d always thought she looked more like her Irish father. Of course, she hadn’t known there was another family to look like until recently.
She pulled out her cell phone, which had a recent picture of her mother and father, and passed it around. “I think she’s doing all right.”
“Is this your daddy?” Flo asked. “He’s a handsome devil. No wonder Barbara stayed up there. If I’d known the men were so good-looking, I’d have gone with her.”
