That Old Flame of Mine (12 page)

“I only have a few weeks left on my contract with the town,” she said, weakening.

“That sounds like a lifetime to me,” he replied. “Will you stay?”

Chapter 13

S
tella heard a car drive up, followed by a rap at the door. “Yes. I’ll stay. At least for now. Stay out of the bedroom and the bathroom. That’s my personal space. And don’t try to change my eating habits. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed.

She tossed the blanket to the side of the sofa and hoped her hair wasn’t sticking out all over or flat on one side from sleeping. The rap at the door came again, and she finally went to answer it.

“Hey, Chief.” It was John. He had an unhappy look on his handsome face. His police uniform hat was in his hand. “I hate to bother you, but I need to fill out an accident report on your wreck. I’m sorry if I sounded like I was judging you in the car this morning.”

Stella glanced at the kitchen clock. It was after two p.m. She’d been asleep for hours.

“I forgive you.” She stepped back from the door. “Come in and sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

“I would.” He smiled. “I’ll make it. You should be resting. That’s why I waited to come up here. I went back to the firehouse to apologize. Ricky said you weren’t feeling well and that I was an idiot. I needed some space to take that in.”

Stella sat back down on the sofa as John made coffee. The low fire still crackled and put out a little warmth. She decided it was nice to have two men waiting on her—even if one of them was dead.

“I suppose Ricky told you all about my dad and the Carsons.” John took coffee cups off the deer-antler rack on the cabinet. “It’s hard to get over the feeling that Ben Carson should’ve just taken a gun and shot my dad. It would’ve been kinder.”

Stella didn’t deny that she had talked with Ricky. “I’m sorry about what happened to your father. I’m sure I’d feel the same way. I really had no idea what I was walking into. I haven’t been able to hear it from my mother yet. No cell phone.”

He smiled. “That’s part of the pleasure of living on a mountain. You don’t have to talk to people if you don’t want to.”

Stella thought about her conversation with Eric as John handed her a cup of coffee. “I suppose that’s true. If I were going to stay here, I’d have a landline put in.”

John sat opposite her in the big chair by the fire. “The heat feels good. You’re as good at starting fires as you are putting them out. Can you tell me again what happened last night when you wrecked? I’m afraid my hearing wasn’t so good this morning.”

Stella went over it again. “That’s really all I remember about it. I guess I passed out when I hit my head. I woke up at my grandfather’s house.”

John wrote down what she said. “How did Marty find you? Tagger called us this morning when it was light. He saw your bike in the ditch. It’s dark down there where the road ends.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he saw the accident. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a chance to ask him about it. To tell you the truth, I wanted to get out of there. It was strange finding out I have family here—especially that way. I still don’t know what to think.”

“I can see where that would be unsettling. On the other hand, think of the possibilities. Your mother must not plan to come back. That probably makes you heir to pretty much everything you see around you every day. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about being rich.”

Stella sipped her coffee. “I really
haven’t
ever thought about it. I was raised to believe that service to other people was the only thing that mattered. My father’s family has lived their lives either as police officers or fire department personnel for generations. We’ve been lower middle class my whole life. I don’t see myself as the heir to anything. I guess my mom must not either since she left. My plan is still to go home in a few weeks.”

John put away his notebook. “I think they’ll change your mind. They’re a very persuasive family. Just think how they’ve already set your life up the way they wanted it. Without you even knowing anything about it, right?”

She wanted to ask him if he knew anything about what had made her mother leave Sweet Pepper and never look back—never even talk about it. His tone had become angry again, like it had been this morning when he’d dropped her off. It didn’t seem like a good time for that discussion.

She was feeling better. Her cell phone was probably charged. All she needed was a ride down the mountain and she could find out for herself.

“Will you wait a few minutes so I can ride back with you?”

“Sure. Oh. I almost forgot to tell you. They sent over the preliminary autopsy results on Tory.”

“Yes?”

“She was diabetic, you know. Had been all her life. It seems she injected too much insulin and it caused her to go into a coma. The coroner said there was some smoke in her lungs, not enough to kill her. Cause of death will be the insulin coma. Guess she made a mistake when she administered it.”

“After she’d been a diabetic her entire life?” Stella frowned. “Doesn’t that seem unlikely?”

“I don’t know. Coroner said it happens. People get in a hurry and are careless about the dosage. Anyway—I thought you’d like to know. He’s not finished yet, but that’s how it looks right now.”

“Have you spoken to Tagger about the kerosene at the house?”

“No. Not yet. Other things came up. Petey went to Potter’s, and Tommy told her Tagger regularly bought kerosene for Tory there, as well as other items. Maybe Tagger will still be at the firehouse when we get down there and we can both talk to him.”

“Thanks, John. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Have you decided to stay here now that you’ve got the all clear on the snakes?” He glanced around the empty room.

“Yeah. I think it’ll be fine now. No more electrical problems.”

He smiled. “No more ghosts? Everybody in town will be sorry to hear that. Our spooks give us character.”

“I don’t know about the ghost. I guess we’ll see.”

“Good.” He ran the brim of his hat between his fingers. “I’m sorry about this thing with the Carsons. I don’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks.” It seemed like an odd thing to say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There were no spooky feelings in the bedroom as Stella changed out of her mother’s old, too-tight clothes. She glanced around, wondering if the ghost was watching her as she changed into clean jeans and a Sweet Pepper Festival T-shirt. It was creepy thinking she could be living with someone she couldn’t see.

What was that old show on TV she used to watch with her aunt? Oh yes!
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
! She’d loved that show.

She wore the shoes she’d taken from her grandfather. They were comfortable. Why not?

Maybe that was what John meant about her being corrupted by them.

Stella looked at her scratched and bruised face in the bathroom mirror as she ran a comb through her hair. There wasn’t much she could do to make it look any better. Considering that she’d wrecked her bike, she counted her blessings. It could’ve been much worse.

When she stepped out of the bedroom, John smiled. “That was quick. You’re a woman of your word, Stella Griffin. In some ways, I wish you were staying in Sweet Pepper.”

“Just not if I’m going to be corrupted by my family name?”

“I guess I shouldn’t have said that either.” He nodded at the fireplace. “I closed it up for you—no sparks. I wasn’t sure if you’d thought about it, being a city girl and all.”

“Thanks. That’s fine.” She picked up one of her many Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade hoodies. “For the record, people in Chicago have fireplaces too. Not to mention that I’m a firefighter and I know about that type of thing.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge, ma’am.”

Stella could’ve sworn she heard a
humphing
sound from the cabin. She ignored it. She tried to pull up the zipper on her sweatshirt. She was still cold, probably still feeling the effects of the accident. “I don’t know what’s wrong with this thing.”

John put his hat down on the kitchen cabinet and bent to the task of trying to pull up her zipper. “It might be you instead of the jacket. That looks like a pretty nasty cut on your head.”

He managed to manipulate the zipper, pulling it up to her chin. His hand lingered against her throat. He looked down into her face and smiled again but didn’t speak.

She swayed a little closer to him, prepared to let something happen, her eyes closing a little.

The security alarm went off, throwing them apart as Stella went to check the control pad. Finally the terrible, blaring noise stopped. She wondered if the ghost she hardly believed in had anything to do with ruining that moment.

“I think we should go.” She grabbed her cell phone from its charger and put her laptop into a bag. She could drop it off with Charlie while she was in town. He was only open a few hours on Sunday.

“Looks like it. I’ll meet you at the car.”

She put the key in the lock, holding the door open until John was off the porch. “I hope this isn’t an example of our new spirit of cooperation.” She faced the house as she locked the door.

There was no response. She noticed as she and John drove away that the porch light came on. Despite being a little annoyed, she smiled. She might have to talk with Eric about leaving the house when John was there.

“You’re not planning on asking Tagger any questions about Tory’s kerosene lamps, are you?” John asked as he started the police car.

“You can have that honor, if you want it. As the arson investigator, it’s still my job to find out what caused the fire. We might run into each other a few times. Nothing personal.”

“Fair enough.” He manipulated the sharp turns on Firehouse Road with a smoothness that she wished Ricky would learn.

“You know, Tagger is a nice guy,” she remarked. “Why is everyone so protective of him?”

“I don’t know. We take care of each other in Sweet Pepper. They say he hasn’t really done much since he came back from the Vietnam War. Before that, he was a different person. Like Chief Rogers said, he’s a hero. We like that around here.”

Stella understood that—unless he had something to do with the fire at Tory’s. She hoped he didn’t. She didn’t want to keep butting heads with Don Rogers all the time.

They arrived at the firehouse to find the volunteers practicing with the three-inch hose. It was difficult for the newbies to control the larger hose. Tagger was sitting in a lawn chair watching them as Stella and John pulled up.

Petey and Ricky had the hose in hand, but lost their grip when Allen turned and dropped his side. As the barber waved to Stella, the hose went crazy, flopping across the parking lot until Kent turned off the water.

“Why do we even need a bigger hose?” Ricky asked. “It seems to me like the two-inch is enough for the job.”

“You all will need that three-inch if the pepper-packing plant catches on fire or one of the hotels goes up,” Tagger explained. “That’s the commercial size. And from where I’m sitting, we’ll lose the plant before you figure out how to hold on to it.”

“That’s not fair,” Ricky complained.

“Tagger’s right,” Stella added. “You need to practice with all the hoses. You aren’t even hooked up to a hydrant here, so the water pressure isn’t at full force. You can’t get distracted.”

The team picked up the big hose again, this time with Allen, Petey, and Kent on it. Ricky went to turn on the water.

“Thanks, Chief,” Tagger said with a broad smile. “Between you and me, we’ll get them into shape yet.”

“I know we will,” she agreed.

“Tagger, did Ricky tell you about the kerosene lamps in Tory’s basement that made the fire burn hotter?” John asked.

“Sure. I was surprised.” Tagger struggled to his feet.

“Why was that?” John replied.

“Because Miss Tory would never keep a kerosene lamp in the house, not even in the basement. She was scared of fire. Her first husband died in a fire, you know. That’s one reason she wanted you here so bad, Chief. She thought it was real important to have a strong fire department.” Tagger looked at John as though he couldn’t believe he had to tell him that last fact.

“Where did she store the kerosene?” John asked.

“In the back shed, with the lawn mower and the gas.” Tagger nodded. “It’s back away from the house.”

“Did she normally keep the lamps back there with the kerosene?” Stella wondered.

“Yes. I kept them filled in case there’s a storm and the power goes out.” Tagger scratched his head, looking puzzled. “How did those lamps get in the basement? There hasn’t been a storm in a while. And she should’a only had one, even if there was a storm.”

“That’s something we have to find out,” Stella answered.

John shrugged and looked at Tagger, obviously hating to ask the next question. “Where were you when the fire happened?”

“I don’t know. Probably at the park, helping with the celebration. That’s where I was when the chief saw the smoke from Tory’s house. You can ask Bob Floyd, if you don’t believe me. He was helping me move that big container of potato salad that Lucinda Waxman brought over.”

Tagger looked near tears from John’s question. Stella put her hand on the old man’s arm to steady him. He sobbed and pushed his face into her chest, hugging her tightly. She gasped as the pain in her ribs shot through her.

John glared at her. “So now I’m the bad guy for asking what you wanted to know.”