by J. J. Cook
There were dozens of cats. They peered down at them from the roof and slunk by on the ground, rubbing against Stella’s leg. One sat on the broken window ledge and put out a delicate white paw. Stella scratched its head, and the cat started purring.
“I don’t think anyone’s here.” Stella glanced around. She wasn’t sure if anyone even lived there anymore.
“I’ll check.” Eric tried to walk through the wall. He bounced off it as though he were solid. “I guess I’m not going to check. I’ve never had that happen before.”
Stella knocked again. “Performance issues, huh? I guess it even happens to ghosts.”
“Performance issues?” Eric was puzzled by the phrase.
“Never mind. I guess she’s not home. We’ll try again next time.”
She turned away to go back to the Cherokee. The faintest scraping sound caught her attention as the purple door slid open.
The old woman didn’t look as ancient as Stella had expected. She had to be in her eighties, at least, but her long, thick black hair made her face appear more youthful. Or she wasn’t the same Madam Emery that Eric recollected from his childhood.
She smiled at Stella and then glanced to her right where Eric stood. “Well, well. I’ve been expecting you.”
Chapter 19
Stella walked into the tiny house. Inside was a hodgepodge of trinkets, books, and cats. The furniture was worn to the point of exhaustion. Plants were at every available window. There was an odd aroma of tobacco and herbs that teased her nose.
She’d expected the old woman to follow her. Instead, she stood at the doorway. “Shoo!” The woman waved her arms at Eric. “Go away. You’ll have to wait outside.”
Eric tried again to walk inside, this time through the open doorway. He bounced off it the same way. “Stella?”
Madam Emery slammed the door in his face. “Now that’s better. If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s some pesky poltergeist hanging around my house.” She smiled at Stella, her thin brown face becoming a mass of wrinkles. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure.” Stella glanced at the closed door again. “How did you do that? And how did you know he was there?”
“When you’ve been around ghosts as long as I have you can always see them.” Madam Emery led the way into her tiny kitchen. “Mind you, some are pathetic, not like that big, strapping one that came with you. Most are slighter wraiths of their former selves.”
Stella, awestruck, sat down at the small table. Madam Emery shooed away the three cats that were sitting on it. There were even more plants, books, and trinkets in there, including a large black bear head on a cake plate.
“What makes Eric different?”
Madam Emery put on a copper kettle and lit the gas pilot under it. “Usually it’s the ones who think so much of themselves in life. In his case, I’d say you make him different.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“He was probably fading away until you came into his life. You could see him and hear him. That’s enough to make a ghost real again. Jasmine or honeysuckle?”
“Jasmine.” This was going to be a much more interesting conversation than she’d imagined. “Is that good or bad? Shouldn’t he move on or something?”
Madam Emery cackled. “That’s the veriest nonsense. You hear that kind of stuff on the TV. Don’t make it true. Most people die and wander. It’s our nature.”
“So he’ll always be in the cabin?”
“No. Not if Mr. Bob Floyd has his way. If he destroys the cabin, Eric will fade. He’s not the wandering kind. He’s seen what he wanted to see. He wants to stay home . . . with you.”
Stella fingered Eric’s badge in her pocket.
“That token won’t help,” Madam Emery said before Stella could ask. “It gives him some purpose, and he can walk with you. But if his home, his center, is laid to waste, he’ll fade. No doubt about it.”
“Which is what you told Bob,” Stella said.
Madam Emery swung her waist-length, black hair off her shoulders, displaying the one white streak in it. She wore a long gown and a heavy shawl. Both were deep purple, the color of the door, and most of the inside of the house.
“He asked me. I told him. You shouldn’t have used your ghost to threaten him. It violates all good codes of conduct.”
Stella took her chipped cup full of fragrant jasmine tea from the old woman. It was too hot to sip, so she put it down on the table.
“I understand that now. I was trying to keep Bob in line.”
“Guess you didn’t need a ghost for that, did you?” The wrinkled face grinned at her. “You’ve got the devil backing you up.”
“You mean Ben Carson.” Was there anyone, besides people who wanted something from her grandfather, who didn’t think he was evil?
The psychic/tarot reader sat beside Stella with her cup of tea. “He’s not evil, or if he is, he’s a necessary evil. He loves you. He also covets you. He could live again through you, if you let him. That makes you precious to him.”
Stella didn’t want to talk about Ben. Madam Emery made her skin crawl when she spoke about him. She started to change the subject.
“More important, you have your own wraith following you. She’s perched on your shoulder like a guardian angel.” Madam Emery’s unnaturally bright blue eyes stared at Stella’s right shoulder. “She needs your help. You’re kin to this woman. She came to you when you were with him.”
Stella had no idea what she was talking about. As far as she knew, Eric was the only ghost in her life. She didn’t want another one, even if it was only this woman’s drama pretending that there was one.
“Abigail,” Madam Emery whispered.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Stella scoffed. “You obviously know who I am. We both know my grandmother, Abigail Carson, died in my grandfather’s house and my mother left home because of it. I know how these scams work. My ex-boyfriend was a cop.”
“Find your own way then.” Madam Emery dismissed her with a wave of her small hand. “She might get stronger and be able to tell you why she’s attached herself to you. You don’t need my help. Maybe your big protector out there can talk to her for you.”
“I didn’t come to talk about Abigail or my family.” Stella wanted to end that conversation. It wasn’t only because she felt like she was being taken in. There was a weird, tingling feeling, and almost a sigh from somewhere near her right shoulder. She knew nothing was there. It was just her imagination.
She was as susceptible as the next person. It gave her chills down her spine. She wanted to get out of there and into the fresh air again.
“I know. I know. It’s all about your problems with Eric.” Madam Emery nodded her head at Stella’s pocket where the badge was hidden. “You want to know how to get rid of him now that he’s attached to you.”
“No. I want to know how far this goes. How far apart can we be with him out of the cabin?”
“We aren’t talking about physical realities. You won’t ever be without him as long as you hold the token. Should you want to keep him in the cabin permanently, destroy the token. That will take care of it.”
Stella took a hasty sip of her tea, trying not to be rude. “Thanks for that information. How much do I owe you?”
“At some time, I’ll need a favor from you. You won’t refuse me, even though you’ll want to. Not everything can be bought with the King’s currency.”
That was about all the weird Stella could handle. She had no idea what the King’s currency was. She thanked her hostess, praised the tea that had tasted like dirt, and started walking toward the front door.
“One more thing.” Madam Emery was somehow immediately in front of Stella blocking the door. “Be careful not to get caught up in the spirit world. You have no training. You’ve already crossed the line in many places. You could find yourself unable to turn back.”
“Thanks. I’ll watch out for that.”
Stella looked again, and the woman w
as gone. It only took two quick steps to get to the door and out of the house. She took a deep breath of frosty air when she was outside.
“What happened? What did she say?” Eric demanded.
“Let’s get out of here,” Stella growled. “I’ll tell you as we go.”
She brought him up to speed after backing down the driveway. She didn’t want to take any chance that Madam Emery might rush out to say anything else.
“Does any of that make sense to you?” she asked him.
“If you’re asking me if I see a guardian angel who looks like Abigail Carson on your shoulder, the answer is no. Maybe a little dandruff. Why’d you let her get to you like that?”
“Why didn’t she get to you? She was able to keep a ghost out of her house. That seems kind of amazing to me. I should’ve asked her if I could borrow that charm to keep you out of the bedroom and bathroom.”
Eric ignored her remarks. “So it’s true. I’ll disappear if the cabin is destroyed.”
“If she knows what she’s talking about. These people are scammers, Eric. She was all dramatic and everything, but what did she say that we can quantify?”
“What about the part with the badge? She might be right about that. Maybe it doesn’t really matter if you have it or not.”
Stella took a deep breath and steadied her shaking hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. And I don’t know why she got to me. It was so odd being in that little house. You weren’t in there so you don’t know.”
“Rub it in,” he said.
“Let’s try something.” Stella drove into Sweet Pepper and parked the Cherokee on the street in front of the hardware store. “I’m going into Flo’s to ask her if she knows anyone else I can get pepper recipes from. You stay here.”
“Hang around on the sidewalk?”
“Yes. We’ll see what happens.”
Stella started walking after locking the Cherokee. Tommy Potter, who owned the hardware store, stopped and spoke with her about what had happened to Bob. Valery, from the Daily Grind, called out a greeting as she crossed the street.
When she got to the curb at the colorful bed-and-breakfast that Flo owned, Eric was right there at her side. “I thought you were staying by the Cherokee.”
He shrugged and spread his large hands before him. “I didn’t move. When you put your foot on the sidewalk, I was suddenly pulled here. It’s like being attached to a rubber band. So we’re joined no matter what as long as you have my badge.”
“It looks like it.” Stella was conscious that she was standing on the street corner talking to herself—at least that was what it would look like. She quickly went up the stairs and knocked on Flo’s front door.
Flo popped her head out, her teased-high blond hair not moving in the strong breeze that swept down Main Street. Her curious, blueberry-colored eyes opened wide. “My goodness! Stella. I’m so glad to see you!”
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I thought maybe I could get some pointers from you about finding recipe donors. I don’t have many recipes so far. I think almost everyone in town has already donated.”
“Come in.” Flo held the door wide. “I took some cupcakes out of the oven a minute ago. Matilda is here too. I’ll put on a pot of coffee. I have some fresh-squeezed lemonade too.”
“Thanks.” Stella went inside and looked around. Flo had created a wonderful, welcoming atmosphere for her guests. There were always fresh-baked snacks on the sideboard and wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen. Her rooms were cozy and as close to home as anyone could get.
“Chief Griffin,” Matilda Storch greeted her. She already had two empty cupcake wrappers on the table before her. In all fairness though, they were very small cupcakes.
“Matilda,” Flo chastised her. “Call her Stella. Everyone does. Except for Don Rogers—we don’t want to talk about him right now.”
Matilda and Flo both giggled.
Matilda was the town’s hatmaker. Because of the Sweet Pepper Festival, which required hats to be worn by certain participants and sponsors, she was busy all year. She was a large woman with white hair, her sturdy German stock evident in her strong frame, pink and white complexion, and bright blue eyes.
“You’ve been the talk of the town, Stella.” Matilda used her name easily. “Between that fire up by the lake and Bob Floyd taking a beating, I swear everyone has something to say about you.”
Stella took a cupcake from Flo as she sat at the table. Eric hovered beside her, eyeing the confection. “I hope everyone is saying good things about the fire brigade.”
Flo laughed. “Well, you weren’t able to save Barney Falk, but most people understand that. Any ideas yet on who murdered him?”
“Really, we have no proof that he was murdered.” Stella unwrapped her red velvet cupcake. “It was a terrible fire. He was in the thick of it.”
Matilda and Flo exchanged looks.
“Barney was a good man,” Matilda continued, “but he had his enemies.”
“Like your grandfather,” Flo said. “Barney and Ben were never exactly friends. And Barney had that run-in with you earlier. Maybe Ben didn’t like it.”
Matilda nodded knowingly as she unwrapped another vanilla cupcake. “Like what happened to Bob. I heard he’s coming home from the hospital tomorrow. Someone said he may never walk again. His knees were smashed or some such.”
“Not that it was your fault,” Flo assured Stella. “You were protecting Chief Gamlyn’s property. We all understand that.”
“Of course!” Matilda echoed her sentiments.
Stella knew she had to change the subject. “I was wondering about getting recipes. Any ideas on that? I have a few from people who haven’t donated yet. Do you think there’s anyone in town that hasn’t entered a recipe in the contest?”
“If there is, they must be someone living under a rock.” Flo laughed. “Most of us give something every year. Are you signed up as a judge this year, Stella? What do you think of my red velvet pepper cupcakes?”
There was no outright cheating or bribing of contest judges, but there was plenty of room for suggestions and taste-testing of new recipes. Since it all benefited the town, Stella didn’t feel like it mattered much. The rules on such things were stringent, but not enforced.
“The cupcake is great,” Stella praised as Flo put another one on her sunflower plate. “I’m not judging this year.”
“Well, not yet anyway.” Matilda laughed heartily at her joke.
“As far as recipes from people who haven’t been involved . . .” Flo tapped her chin. “I’d start with people who aren’t from here. You have that young couple with the Dalmatians volunteering at the fire brigade. You should ask them.”
“And what about old Tagger?” Matilda asked. “If he’s ever donated a recipe, I don’t know it.”
“You’re friends with Walt Fenway too,” Flo reminded her. “What about asking him?”
All of those were good suggestions. Stella thanked them for their help and got to her feet before Flo could press another cupcake on her.
“Too bad you can’t talk to Eric,” Flo said. “He always had wonderful recipes.”
Stella could hardly tell her that she had relied on Eric’s recipes since they’d asked her to donate one during the first pepper festival she’d attended.
Eric laughed. “They’d be surprised if they knew the truth, huh?”
“Well, I have to run. Thanks for the cupcakes and the suggestions.”
“Don’t forget to get your hat fitting well before the festival,” Matilda said. “As a member of the planning committee, you’ll need it. And don’t forget the dance and the picnic, not to mention the crowning of the Sweet Pepper queen and her court. You know the theme this year is ‘Our Golden Years.’”
Stella knew there was a theme every year. She tried to keep up with it but wasn’t sure what golden years they were talking about. Would everyone dress in gold?
“It’s all about the first people who settled here i
n Sweet Pepper,” Flo explained. “Since your family was one of the very first maybe you can get some help from Ben. He probably has some old things sitting around in his attic that Matilda and Molly can copy.”
Molly Whitehouse was the local seamstress, who’d created the costumes for the participants in the last festival.
“I’ll talk to him,” Stella promised, although she couldn’t imagine her grandfather being sentimental enough to keep old clothes and hats in an attic.
Even though both women tried to convince Stella to stay longer, she finally left the bed-and-breakfast. Eric was with her when a young man wearing a red hoodie walked up to her as she was crossing the street.
“Chief Griffin?” he asked. “I’m Barney Falk III. My friends call me Chip. Do you have a minute to talk?”
Chapter 20
Stella and Chip sat down in the coffee shop together. Chip had offered to buy her a coffee. Stella opted for a Vanilla Coke. He did the same.
The coffee shop was empty. Valery was in the back cleaning after the evening rush of commuters who drove from Sweet Pepper to one of the bigger towns to work each day.
“Thanks for meeting with me.” Chip was an attractive young man with golden brown hair and big blue eyes. Stella could see the family resemblance after meeting his father and having known his grandfather.
“Sure. How are you feeling?” Stella had noticed that his arm was in a sling under his brown leather jacket.
“I’m fine.” A little red came into his cheeks. “I’ve been hurt worse playing lacrosse. I appreciate the rescue, Chief Griffin. So do my friends. We had no idea how to get out of that mess.”
She stirred her Coke with her straw. “I’m glad we could be there. You guys shouldn’t have been down there at this time of year—even to pick up drugs.”
Chip looked even more embarrassed. “I swear we didn’t know what was in those packages. There were some other hikers on the trail. I think my friends and I must’ve picked up their packages by mistake.”
Eric sneered. “Yeah. Right. Good thing you’re not a cop.”
“It’s not my problem,” Stella said. “But I’d hate to see a young man with such a promising future go to jail.”
