That Old Flame of Mine (22 page)

“I’m a little past my prime, but thanks.”

She smiled at the laughter in his voice. “You were saying something about being visible last night. I think I passed out. Sorry.”

“We’ll talk about it later. You’d better go before they come after you. I’m going to try out the pepper recipe.”

Hero started barking, tiny, high-pitched sounds, as he came into her office, sniffing at all the corners of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a puppy.” Hero rolled over on his back. Stella guessed Eric was rubbing his tummy.

“It looks like Hero was our last gift from Tory,” she said. “He’s the fire brigade’s new mascot.”

“I haven’t seen a dog in a long time.”

The puppy was wagging his tail and pouncing at something she couldn’t see.

Stella left them in her office and went outside. All the volunteers were present—even Marty. She had to admit she was surprised that he kept at it. He didn’t seem the type. Again, she cautioned herself on being prejudiced by what John had to say about him.

“There are going to be a lot of times that you only have a few minutes to put on all your gear and pick up what you need for the call,” she said to the volunteers.

“Without breaking your ankle.” Bert Wando laughed.

“Definitely without injury,” Stella agreed. “You can’t practice this too much. I know you old-timers think you’re as fast as you can get. I guarantee that there’s always room for improvement.”

With that, Stella took out her stopwatch, whistle, and clipboard. Everyone ran for their gear when she blew the whistle. They were finished when they had reached a spot on either the pumper or the engine.

Marty finished last each time they ran through the drill, though she had to agree that he put in a good effort. He might make a decent firefighter yet.

They moved outside after about an hour and began working with the hoses again. Stella realized she had only three really competent volunteers when it came to using the hoses. The team needed more than that. If Petey, Ricky, or John didn’t show up, it might be hard for the brigade to handle a large fire.

The older members were starting to get the hang of it. Royce and Bert were struggling, the hose jumping away from them as soon as there was any pressure in it. Stella encouraged and tried to challenge them as they watched Petey master the hoses.

Royce sat down heavily on the ground and took off his helmet. “I ain’t never gonna be able to control that thing. I don’t know how she does it.”

“You can do it,” his friend JC said. “It’s taken me a while, but I’ve almost got it now.”

His tough, older face defiant, Royce said, “What difference does it make anyway? The old man won’t let us keep doing this. She defied him.” He pointed at Stella. “He’s gonna come down on all of us like a sack of potatoes.”

“You’re wrong,” Stella said. “Ben Carson and I struck a deal this morning. I’ve given him some time to get that ductwork cleaned up, the right way this time. He’s agreed to replace the connection on the water tower right away. I agreed not to fine him.”

Royce stared at her after JC gave him a hand up. “Must be true what they’re saying in town. You
must
be kin to the Carsons. The old man would never put up with it otherwise.”

“That does bring up an interesting question,” Marty said. “If your next fire chief isn’t a member of the Carson family, what will happen to the fire brigade?”

Chapter 26

A
ll the wet volunteers looked around at each other. Stella knew the question had raised doubts in them about what they were doing. They needed their confidence. She didn’t think they’d find it thinking about Marty being the fire chief when she left.

Her lips tightened. “I don’t think the town only hired me because I’m related to Ben Carson. It’s going to be more important that the person who leads you when I’m gone knows what they’re doing—a lot more important than who they know.”

“Who’s that gonna be, Chief?” Banyin asked.

“I’m announcing right now that Ricky Hutchins and Petey Stanze will be assistant chiefs from now on. They’ll be working together to take my place. They’re the best trained and have done more for the brigade than anyone else.”

There was a short round of applause and a lot of backslapping, then the volunteers went to change and put the equipment away.

Marty walked up to her. “I understand your reasoning on this, Stella. I hope you’re not sorry. I might be the only person who can keep the fire brigade going.”

John was standing behind him. He put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder as a warning. “You better watch your mouth, son. I’ve about had enough of you, Carson or not.”

Marty eased John’s hand off his shoulder. “Sorry, John. I didn’t mean to step on your toes. I know you have feelings for the chief.
Everyone
knows.”

John glared at Marty as he saluted him and left. “That boy is wearing a Teflon suit. Nothing sticks to him. I’ve had him on DUI already and he got off with equipment failure. Nobody around here can top the Carson money.”

John’s serious face made Stella change the subject. “Are we still on to talk to Walt Fenway?”

“I’ll be ready when you are.”

Stella was ready before John was done putting away his gear. She filled out reports she needed to send to the state and looked at the proposed budget for the fire brigade.

She heard John telling everyone good-bye and put things away. She was ready to leave when a tall, burly man with dirty clothes and messed-up brown hair stopped her.

“I’m Jack Carriker. Heard you needed some work done on your equipment.”

Stella was half expecting some kind of smirk on his face from the way he’d said it. He looked at her with a straightforward gaze.

“You mean the vandalism on the trucks,” she replied. “Yes. I’ll show you.”

Kent was still there. He came up and shook Jack’s hand. “Me and Jack go way back. I used to beat him up at school.”

Jack grinned. “You wish!”

Marty came up too. “Jack?”

The older man nodded to him. “Mr. Lawrence.”

“Are you volunteering?” Marty’s tone left no doubt he thought it was a crazy idea.

“No, sir. Looking after some trucks that need painting and any other odd jobs the chief here might have for me.”

Marty patted him on the back. “He does odd jobs at the estate too, don’t you, Jack?”

Stella didn’t like Marty’s patronizing attitude toward the other man. Clearly, Jack wasn’t wealthy or well educated, but that was no reason to look down at him.

“Let’s check out those trucks,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Marty. Good job today.”

After she showed him the damage on the trucks, Stella also talked to Jack about some other work that still needed to be done at the firehouse. Some of the floorboards were loose, and a few of the doors were warped and needed to be replaced. She had plenty of money in the budget for the work, and she suspected Jack needed the pay.

John came up as she was shaking hands with Jack. She told him to charge what he needed at Potter’s Hardware in town.

* * * 

John and Stella got in the Cherokee. “You’re going to let him work here?” he asked.

“I don’t see why not. Kent knows him. He seems okay.”

John pointed her in the right direction for Big Bear Springs, where Walt Fenway lived. “He’s the son of the infamous Shu Carriker. Lives on the family’s old farm, or what’s left of it, with his mother. Shu was Ben Carson’s go-to man years ago. His son took over that position. He also does odd jobs around town. We’ve never had any problem with him—at least not one we could prove.”

“Being a go-to man must not pay as well here as it does where I’m from,” she said. “What kind of stuff did his father do for Ben?”

“Kicking people around. Beating them up. Threatening them. That kind of thing.”

“And you think Jack does that for my grandfather now?”

“Maybe,” John admitted. “Like I said. There’s nothing we can prove, but there have been allegations.”

The road leading out of town was empty. John was silent for a few minutes but then explained that there were two unincorporated towns outside of Sweet Pepper—Big Bear Springs and Frog Pond.

“Will the fire brigade need to take care of them too?” Stella asked as they drove through the tiny area that made up Frog Pond. It looked as though there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred residents.

“We’re not clear on that yet. They’re talking about starting their own volunteer fire departments. They might need help getting them going, but that probably won’t be for a while.”

She nodded. “Not until I’m gone.”

“That’s about it.”

“I think naming Petey and Ricky as assistant fire chiefs will work out, don’t you?”

“For now. There might have to be only one when you leave.” He glanced at her. “Why Ricky? He’s kind of a hotshot. He doesn’t seem like leadership material to me. He’s too young to command respect from the older men. For that matter, so is Petey.”

“In other words, you don’t like the idea at all.”

“I wish
you’d
stay on.”

His voice was deep and inviting. She pulled herself back from trusting him. She wasn’t sure where things might lead with him. As soon as he remembered who her family was, that would be that.

“I think the group will be in good shape by the time I leave. Maybe Petey or Ricky won’t make it as chief, but someone will step up.” She pointed to the “Big Bear Springs” sign that was hanging on a pole at the side of the road. “Where to now?”

“Take a left here.”

Stella followed his instructions, and the Cherokee was immediately on a rough gravel road. The mountains rose up at the end of it as though there was nowhere to go but into them.

“Marty won’t give up that easy, if he really wants to be fire chief,” John mentioned.

She wished he would have stuck with giving directions or talking about the area. She liked him best that way. “He’s got a long way to go before he even figures out how to hold on to a hose. He’s not taking over my fire brigade unless he’s ready.”

“I think he wants
you
. The fire brigade is a means to an end.” He cleared his throat. “I know you laughed at this before, Stella. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“That’s not happening, John. He’s not my type.” She laughed. “I seem to like bad boy cops with lousy attitudes. Sound familiar?”

“Turn left again at this driveway.” He didn’t remark on her words.

Stella sighed and left it alone. She was probably better off.

It was hard to tell it was a driveway. There were plants growing through what was left of the gravel, and the rest was a muddy track. If it hadn’t been for the mailbox with some kind of animal skull on it, she wouldn’t have guessed that the path led to anything at all.

The track went up and down like a roller coaster, with dense trees growing close on either side. Some of them brushed the sides of the Cherokee. Not really used to mountain driving, Stella held the wheel tightly and eased the vehicle through the ruts until a small cabin appeared in a rough clearing.

“Here we are,” John said. “I think you might have left indentations in the steering wheel. Don’t worry. No one will notice.”

Stella turned off the Cherokee and hopped out. “Blue Heaven.” She read the inscription on the front door. “Are you sure this is where the ex-police chief lives?”

As if in answer, the front door opened suddenly and a man stepped out. He had a large shotgun pointed at them. “You all just turn around and head back out the way you came. I’m not taking no damn census, and if I won a contest, I don’t want to know.”

“Whoa! Walt, it’s me, John Trump, Bobby’s boy. This is the new fire chief, Stella Griffin. We’re here to talk to you about one of your old cases.”

Walt Fenway lowered his shotgun a little and squinted at his visitors. He was a short man, maybe five feet, with a heavy pelt of yellow-white hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a while. “John? Why didn’t you say so, boy? Come on and set down. I finished a batch of hard cider yesterday. You and your lady friend are welcome to help me open the first keg.”

The cabin wasn’t more than a one-room shack that appeared to be falling down around the old police chief. He put a tap in a wooden keg and let dark yellow apple cider run into three tin cups. “Let’s take it out back,” Walt said. “It’s a fair enough day. Might as well enjoy it before the cold sets in.”

Once she saw the breathtaking view from the back of the shack, Stella understood why Walt had decided to live here. Thousands of fir trees swept like a carpet down the side of the mountain, beyond which rose up darker ridges. A large waterfall cascaded from a rocky pinnacle, the frothy water plunging hundreds of feet to a river below.

“What a view.” She sat on one of several stumps obviously used for that purpose. In the middle, there was a large fire pit. It looked as though Walt did most of his cooking right here. Red coals still gleamed through the ash in the bottom of the pit.

“So what brings you out this way?” Walt asked after they were seated.

“Adam Presley’s death.” John sipped the hard cider carefully. “You remember that?”

“Oh yeah.” Walt stirred the ashes and added a log to the red coals. “The car salesman. Bad business there.”

“You worked with Chief Gamlyn on that case,” Stella said. “I understand he wasn’t happy with the outcome of the investigation either.”

“Eric Gamlyn.” Walt smiled and tossed another log on the fire. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time. Many nights that rascal and I sat out here talking and drinking. He was a good man.”

“What did the two of you think was wrong about the Presley case?” John tried to refocus the old chief’s attention.

“We knew it was all wrong—the whole setup. Nobody douses themselves with lighter fluid, then calmly lights a cigarette.”

“Could it have been suicide?” Stella asked.

“Nah. We didn’t believe it. Neither did Tory.” He glanced at her. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“You haven’t heard?” John asked. “Tory was murdered. We thought to begin with that it was arson because her house was set on fire. It looks now like someone tied her up and gave her too much insulin.”

Walt swore as he stood up. “Who did it?”

“Right now, it looks to be her son,” John explained.

“That little—” Walt threw the rest of his cider into the fire pit, causing the flames to shoot up high. “Sorry. That was a waste of mighty fine cider.”

“I didn’t know Tory well before she died,” Stella admitted. “She told me the day before she died that her first husband had been murdered and asked me to look into it.”

“Yeah, she was sure of it. Eric and I knew something was wrong too. We couldn’t prove it. Then Old Man Carson started leaning on us. We had to back off or lose our jobs.”

“Why do you think Ben Carson was interested in stopping the investigation?” Stella asked.

“I’ll tell you why,” Walt said. “Because he’s a low-down skunk who is more interested in his own gain than in what’s right. He knew something was wrong, just like we did. He didn’t want his precious festival messed up by it.”