by J. J. Cook
A fallen chum . . .
“John.” Stella latched onto his presence, hoping he had something important to tell her. She didn’t care what it was. He was wearing his uniform and his grim face that usually meant he wasn’t happy about something.
Doug sized up the other police officer and got to his feet. He was taller than John but John was stockier, with broader shoulders. “I’m Officer Douglas Connelly from Chicago.”
“Nice to meet you.” John glanced at him, then turned to Stella. “I have some bad news.”
“Not too bad, I hope.” Stella felt guilty that she’d wished it when he’d come up to the table.
“Bad enough. Mace Chum is dead. They found him off of the main road a few minutes ago. It looks like he lost control of his truck and camper. Chief Rogers wants the fire department on-site in case there’s a problem getting the truck up.”
“Oh no . . .”
Praise for
That Old Flame of Mine
“This book was so difficult for me to put down, and even more difficult for me to have it end. I could have continued reading this series forever! Oh, to live in that same small town tucked away by the great Smoky Mountains, and to have neighbors such as these, would ensure that I would be a happy camper forever.”
—Cozy Mystery Book Reviews
“A fascinating, successful mystery. It’s hard to go wrong with an intriguing mystery involving a ghost, a strong female character in a role normally reserved for men, and a spark of romance. J. J. Cook is kindling a sizzling good mystery series, beginning with That Old Flame of Mine.”
—Lesa’s Book Critiques
Berkley Prime Crime titles by J. J. Cook
THAT OLD FLAME OF MINE
PLAYING WITH FIRE
Specials
HERO’S JOURNEY
Playing
with Fire
J. J. Cook
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
PLAYING WITH FIRE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors
Copyright © 2013 by Jim and Joyce Lavene.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN:978-1-101-63752-4
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2014
Cover art by Mary Ann Lasher.
Cover design by George Long.
Logo by Shutterstock.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Version_1
Contents
A fallen chum . . .
Praise for That Old Flame of Mine
Also by J. J. Cook
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
The Sweet Pepper Difference
Recipes
Chapter 1
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.
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.
