by J. J. Cook
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?”
Chapter 2
Stella was excited at what Chum might have to say. This felt like the break she’d needed in the case no one else wanted. Chum had served in the county his whole life. He’d hinted before about secrets he couldn’t tell her.
Their first meeting had been nothing short of weird. Chum had stopped her for speeding into town on her Harley. She’d taken off her helmet as he was getting ready to write her a ticket—he’d run away like he’d seen a ghost.
Stella realized later why that was.
The “ghost” had come to life for her when she’d learned that her mother had been born and raised in Sweet Pepper. Barbara Carson had never mentioned her origins, even when she’d known her daughter was on her way to work there. There had been a rift in the Carson family when Stella’s grandmother, Abigail, had died. Barbara had abruptly left home and had never contacted her father again.
Chum had thought Stella was the ghost of her dead grandmother. She’d understood why when she’d seen a portrait of Abigail. She could’ve been the other woman, except for the red hair she’d inherited from her father. She actually looked more like her grandmother than her mother.
Chum had explained later that Abigail Carson’s case was his first investigation after he’d joined the sheriff’s department. He’d only been eighteen at that time and had never forgotten it.
Stella could relate—she’d never forgotten the face of her first fire victim either. Fear and death became part of you as a police officer or a firefighter. They never went away.
She had Chum sit down and closed the door to her rebuilt office in the firehouse, wondering what he wanted to say.
He stared at the filing cabinet to her left but didn’t speak.
Stella took the initiative. “So you know something about Eric Gamlyn’s death?”
“A little.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose then squirmed in the ladder-back chair. “I know what I saw that night, is all. I was at the silo fire when the chief died. I saw him run in, and I saw Ricky Hutchins run out without him.”
“You were on duty that night?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded but still appeared uncomfortable with being there. He kept glancing back at the closed door.
“And the chief never came out of the silo so everyone thought he died there.”
Chum glanced around the office, his fingers nervously drumming on his leg. “But he came out, all right. I saw two men take a body out of the back of the silo before the roof collapsed. As far as I know—or anyone else knows—the chief was the only one still inside.”
“Who were they? Could you identify them?”
“They were firefighters. Or at least men dressed like firefighters. They were wearing the red Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade T-shirts, like they did back then. Neither one was wearing any protective gear. I wouldn’t even have noticed them with everything else going on, but I heard a radio playing and I looked back there.”
She sat forward, twirling a pencil, as her thoughts raced. “What did they do with the body?”
“They put him in the trunk of an old Chevy Impala. Then they left with him. Now we know they shot him in the head and put him in that wall out there.”
The skeletal remains they’d found out in the garage had been gone for months but that didn’t keep either of them from looking out the window in the door as though they could still see them.
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill Chief Gamlyn?” She hoped an answer would pop out of his mouth and solve the whole mystery so she could go home with a clear conscience.
“Yes, ma’am. He gave the county hell about taking over the fire service for Sweet Pepper. He wanted to keep the fire brigade local. He fought as hard as he could—until they stopped him.”
Stella had heard that story before. It was part of the Eric Gamlyn legend to many people in town. Over the forty years since he’d died, he’d become a folklore hero. His deeds were larger than life—a bit like Paul Bunyan. Eric had even been a lumberjack for several years. The myth grew like hot peppers in the summer sun.
“Why would anyone kill him for that? How could he have stopped the county from taking over? He was only one man.”
“People said that the chief had friends up in the state legislature that were looking into making it illegal for the county to take over the local fire departments. It would’ve been a good thing, I guess, since they had to back out later. It was exactly like Eric said, too expensive, and they couldn’t get equipment up here to fight fires fast enough.”
“So, if Eric had lived, he might’ve been able to stop the takeover? There had to be more than that.”
“How about thirty million dollars? That’s a
chunk of change, even today.” He leaned closer to her, across the desk.
“You’re right. Where did the thirty million dollars come from?”
“It came from the state, funneled through a federal program. The county was supposed to get the money for taking over the local volunteer fire departments, extra expenses and whatnot.”
“I see.”
“There were some big names involved locally, if you catch my drift. Most of that money never went to the county either. The county firefighters had to struggle on just as they were.”
“Where did the money go?” She glanced sharply into his worried eyes.
“I can’t say for sure.”
Stella digested that information. At least what he said made sense. If Eric had been about to blow someone’s big deal, she could understand why they’d want him dead.
“You’re talking about my grandfather, aren’t you?” She was used to the Carson family being blamed for everything that went wrong in the area.
Personally, she hadn’t witnessed anything of the kind from her erstwhile family but there always seemed to be doubts about Ben Carson being involved when bad things happened.
“I ain’t saying for sure one way or another.” Chum sat back with his arms crossed over his thin chest. The motion accented his red-and-yellow plaid, button-down shirt.
“But you think you know, right? Why not say?”
“I’m only saying this much right now because I’m leaving. I already sent my wife on ahead.” He played with the plain gold wedding band on his finger. “Most of the people who knew about Chief Gamlyn’s death are dead too. The rest—let’s say I don’t want to take any chances.”
“You never told anyone about those men taking Eric’s body out of the silo?”
He stood up slowly, his old knees creaking. “No, ma’am. And I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut now. But you still remind me of her, of Abigail. I wanted to set you straight before I left. I think she’d want me to.”
Stella wished she could think of something to say that would make him sit back down and finish all the sordid details of the story. There was probably some way to play on the fact that she still reminded him of a ghost.
She didn’t know what that was. As Eric frequently reminded her—she was a firefighter, not a police detective.
“This isn’t much for me to go on.” She looked at the pitifully small file she’d started for the investigation into Eric’s death.
“I know. And I’m sorry for that. It’s hard. I stayed alive and kept my job for the last forty years by keepin’ my mouth shut and not looking at what I shouldn’t see.” He stared at his hands. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but there’s the truth.”
“Well, thanks for telling me what you could.” Stella stood up and shook his hand. “I hope you’ll be happy with your new life. I won’t tell anyone what you said about Eric.”
“I appreciate that, ma’am. I wish I could be more help. I truly do. I hope you figure out what happened to the chief. He was a good man.”
Stella was sure she saw tears in his eyes and wondered who or what was chasing him away from Sweet Pepper. She felt sure he didn’t really want to go.
“Be careful, Chief Griffin.” His thin lips quivered. “There are those who might kill again to keep their secrets quiet.”
She watched him leave her office, not closing the door behind him, and sat back in her chair, frustrated. This had to mean something. Chum was scared. He wouldn’t have told her if he hadn’t been leaving. Clearly he believed someone would kill him if he told the truth.
But what did it mean? Would there be enough to follow up on?
That had been the problem since she’d first started looking into Eric’s death. It had happened so long ago, most of the people who might know something about it were dead, or said they couldn’t remember. Some had moved away without telling anyone where they were going—like Chum was about to do.
Maybe, like Chum, they were scared too. If they believed Eric was killed for someone to get their hands on thirty million dollars, she didn’t blame them. There was an answer to what had happened that night at the grain silo. She hadn’t dug deeply enough yet.
Are you making excuses for staying in Sweet Pepper instead of going back home?
She didn’t believe that. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go back to her old life—the idea of leaving before this was settled was what bothered her. She wanted to find the answers for Eric, and for the rest of the people in Sweet Pepper. They had a right to know.
She left her office when she heard the sound of an engine starting up in the garage.
She was never sure, without consulting her calendar, who was on duty in communications that day. They had to run eight-hour shifts, with one person on duty at all times, to relay emergency calls to firefighters, and to keep their designation as a fire department.
Ricky Hutchins Jr. was there. He was one of her chosen second-in-commands. He was funny, dedicated, and hardworking—not to mention good with trucks. He’d been on her doorstep the first morning she’d interviewed volunteers. After that, he had become indispensable.
“Is there a problem?” Stella stuck her head under the large hood of the fire engine/ladder truck.
She had to yell over the sound from it, and the loud music coming from inside the cab. “Why does the music have to be as loud as the engine?”
“If you think that’s loud, you should hear my dad’s music.” Ricky laughed. “Thank goodness he’s got earbuds now. Like father, like son.”
“And it has to be loud?”
“I guess so.”
“No problem with the engine?”
“No, ma’am. She sounds great!” He revved the big engine to demonstrate and then hopped into the cab and shut it down. “That new belt made a world of difference.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. It was expensive enough. I expect someone from the town council to come and inspect the old one to make sure it was bad.”
He laughed as he closed the hood. “Let ’em come. I’ve still got it out back. And if they could put it in any cheaper, I’ll be glad to step aside and let one of them take care of these babies. But I don’t think so, do you?”
Stella laughed with him as she thought about any member of the town council climbing under the hood to work on an engine. “It was an expensive month. They’ll get over it.”
“Yeah. Hey, speaking of expenses, Jack Carriker was here before. He said he left a bill on your desk for the repair work on the drywall. You should probably back-charge Royce for putting that ladder through the wall.”
“Thanks for the advice. You know it wasn’t his fault.”
“Yeah, right.” Ricky grinned. “How’s your bike doing?”
“Fine. Your friend did a good job putting it back together. I don’t think my dad will be able to tell the difference when I go home.”
He cleaned his hands on a greasy rag as he studied her face. “You know, everyone is wondering about that.”
“Wondering when I’m going home?”
“Wondering how much longer you’re going to be here, Chief.”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
Ricky was a few years younger than Stella. He smiled his little-boy, girl-chasing smile. She was sure it had melted many girls’ hearts.
His curly blond hair left one curl on his forehead, like Superman, and his deep blue eyes searched hers. “No. I wish you’d stay.”
“It’s gonna be hard to make chief that way.” She joked though she knew he was serious. “I’m not that much older than you. You’ve got a while before I think about retirement.”
“Yeah. I don’t care. You pull us together, you know? Sweet Pepper needs you. I think you need us too.”
“Thanks, Ricky.” She looked up at the freshly painted white ceiling in the garage. Everyone, including her,
was asking the same question.
“You could stay,” he suggested. “Sweet Pepper’s not Chicago, but it’s got a lot going for it.”
“I know. I like Sweet Pepper. It’s a great place. But it’s not home. I’ve got friends and family in Chicago. I’ve got a job too—if I go ahead and get back to it.”
“I hear you.” He tidied up his work area by the engine. “Why are you staying then, Chief? I know you’re not here because we found Eric’s old bones in the wall. That’s a mystery that probably won’t ever get solved.”
Stella knew she could tell Ricky about Eric’s ghost. He’d been one of the first people to tell her the cabin was haunted. She could explain that she didn’t want to leave Eric until she knew what had happened to him. Ricky would certainly understand that.
She didn’t say it.
It was silly, but her relationship with Eric was weird and sort of private. She knew if she told anyone in Sweet Pepper about him being there, he or she would ask after him every time they saw her. While she was willing to acknowledge, after a lot of doubt, that he was haunting the cabin, she didn’t want to discuss it with anyone else. The whole supernatural phenomena didn’t sit as well with her as it did with others in town.
“I know. I guess I feel bad about it. I’m living in the house he built and working with his fire brigade. Not to mention that I’m a Sweet Pepper fire chief too. We have a connection. I don’t want to end up dead in a wall someday.”
Ricky impulsively hugged her. “You don’t have to worry about that, Chief. I won’t let that happen to you. If you need to go, you need to go. You’ve worked on this for a long time. I don’t know how much more you can do.”
“Thanks.”
“One thing I was wondering about—Dad was wondering too. Chief Gamlyn is supposed to be buried up at the cemetery. If that was him in the wall, who’s buried there?”
“Good question.” She frowned. “I’ve been trying to get Don Rogers to exhume that coffin since last fall. He won’t do it without a court order. The thing is—he won’t go after one, and every time I’ve tried, I’ve struck out.”
