Hero's Journey (8 page)

She wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't armed and couldn't call John for help. Patrick didn't seem to be personally dangerous, but he had caused a lot of trouble.

There was also the issue of how she would make him give up Hero if he didn't want to. She looked back at the cabin where Eric was standing on the front porch.

As though he had read her mind, he said, “Get him to come into the cabin. I can take care of him while you run down to the firehouse and call for help.”

Stella wasn't sure if that would work but it was the only plan she had. She smiled at Patrick when he parked his pickup and got out.

“I'm really sorry I haven't returned your calls, Chief Griffin.” He was covered in soot. His clothes looked as though he'd been wearing them for days. “It's this darn cell phone service around here. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. And I've been superbusy. There's good money to be made cleaning chimneys here in Sweet Pepper.”

“That's okay,” she said. “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

“No. I wish I could. I have to clean five chimneys today. How is yours doing?”

“It's fine. Just fine.”

He scratched his head. “Why were you calling me if everything is okay?”

“I wanted to give you another referral,” she ad-libbed. “I have the name and phone number in the cabin.”

“That's really nice of you, ma'am. I appreciate everyone helping me out this way.” He started to follow her into the cabin. “I hope your dog didn't suffer any bad effects from his little adventure with me.”

Stella stopped before she reached the stairs.

Eric growled a little. Patrick was barely out of his reach.

“Adventure?” She stared at him. “You took my dog.”

Patrick looked confused. “It was an accident. I got back to town before I realized that he'd crawled into the back of my pickup. I pulled the tarp closed on him. The first job I stopped at, he started barking. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known he was back there.”

It was Stella's turn to be confused. “What are you saying? Do you have Hero or not?”

“No, ma'am. I gave him to one of your firefighters. He said he'd see him safely back to the firehouse for me. Is the dog still missing?”

Stella glanced at Eric, who shrugged, confused now too.

“Who did you give Hero to?” she asked.

“I think his name is Dean. Not sure about his last name. He was helping some people with their taxes or something when I was there working.”

“When was that?” she demanded.

“That was the day I left here. Yesterday? The day before? I've been so busy, I'm not sure.”

Stella knew they'd been wrong about Patrick. It finally all made sense.

Dean had access to the same people's homes that Patrick did. He knew what they had that was worth money. He hadn't shown up for the Loflins' fire. Hero knew him.

“Sorry,” Stella said, jumping on the Harley. “I have to go. I'll send you that referral later.”

Patrick frowned. “Are we okay now? I don't want you to think I took your dog on purpose.”

“It's okay,” she yelled over the sound of the motorcycle engine. “I think I get it now.”

Stella called John from the firehouse. She gave him the address Dean had listed as his home in his contact information. They met there but the house was empty.

John looked at a leash that was tethered to a post on the porch. “This might be where he's been keeping Hero. There's dog poop everywhere.”

“What now? I'm not in the mood to wait around for him to get home.”

“I don't know. Don put an APB out on the vehicle the state has listed for Dean. He's going to turn up somewhere, Stella. About all we can do is wait.”

She wasn't happy with that idea. It seemed she had no choice.

A call came through for both of them on the fire department radio.

“Kent saw Hero on his way up to the pepper plant,” Tagger advised them. “Sorry, Chief. I know I'm not supposed to use the radio for anything except an emergency fire call, but I figured you'd want to know.”

“What street was that?” she asked.

“Kent says Fourth Street. Right next to where the old Masonic lodge used to be.”

Stella looked at John. She had no idea where that was.

“Leave the Harley here.” He got in his patrol car. “We can get there faster like this anyway.”

John and Stella sped through the sleepy streets of Sweet Pepper. Stella could see the large pepper-packaging plant on the hill overlooking the town as they went toward their destination.

“There's the 2004 Chrysler I have listed for Dean.” John pointed toward the green car parked in front of a neat, two-story brick house. There were no other cars in the driveway. “I'm calling for backup in case this turns ugly.”

“Make sure you tell them Hero could be with him.”

John did exactly that. He parked the patrol car across the street from the house. “Maybe you should stay in the car.” He pulled his service weapon out of its holster.

“Fat chance that's going to happen.”

Before Stella could step out of the car, the engine and pumper/ladder truck raced up Fourth Street toward them. Ricky pulled the engine on the curb in front of the house. Royce, who was Kent's backup driving the pumper, pulled in right behind the Chrysler. Dean wasn't going anywhere until the pumper moved.

Almost the entire Sweet Pepper fire brigade hopped off the trucks and gathered at the brick house. They weren't wearing their protective gear, but they carried axes and other makeshift weapons.

“He's not getting out of there with Hero,” JC said.

“What are all of you doing out here?” John asked.

“We heard there could be a fire at this house,” Ricky responded. “We're here to fight it.”

“Or to fight that terrible, dog-stealing person inside,” Banyin said, crowbar in hand.

Another patrol car joined them. The sirens brought Dean out of the house. He stood in the doorway and stared at them. “What's going on? Is there a fire?”

“Where's our dog?” Royce demanded. “You better get him out here right now.”

The noise also awakened Hero who'd been sleeping in the Chrysler. Sylvia began barking and jumped on the hood of the car. It was all Stella could do to keep the group from breaking the windows and taking the dog out.

“Oh.” Dean grinned sheepishly. “That's right. I found Hero wandering out on the street and picked him up.”

“And what are you doing at this house?” John asked him. “Are the owners of the property at home?”

The unfriendly faces around him had to make Dean nervous. “Times are tough. We all know that, right? I was only trying to make a living.”

Kimmie jumped on the porch beside him. “You kidnapped Hero. Officers, arrest this man.”

John joined them quickly. He took Dean to open the car door and released Hero. No one from the fire brigade noticed as the thief was led away in handcuffs. They were too busy receiving wet dog kisses and hugging Hero.

Two hours later, Stella rode the Harley back up to the cabin on the mountain. Eric greeted her at the door, demanding to know what had happened.

When he saw Hero loping up Firehouse Road toward him, he gave a huge shout that was heard by hikers and hunters on the mountain for miles around. Everyone speculated about what the noise they'd heard was. They told stories about how it had swayed the trees around them for months after.

And another Sweet Pepper legend was born.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from J. J. Cook's next Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade Mystery . . .

PLAYING WITH FIRE

Coming in paperback January 2014 from Berkley Prime Crime!

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.

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.”