In Hot Water (6 page)

“Like you did that?” She yawned. “You do what’s needed. I don’t have to tell you that.”

She’d finished the brandy-laced hot chocolate that Eric had made for her. The soft leather sofa near the fire made it too comfortable to get up. Stella yawned again, and closed her eyes.

*

When she opened them again, it was morning. Ice covered everything, making the tree branches hang low and the front door hard to open. The sun was up, sparkling on the frozen wonderland outside her window. It was a good day not to venture outside.

“There’s no food,” Eric complained. “You have to keep enough supplies around in case of conditions where you can’t get to a grocery store.”

“I’m sure there’s something. I know Hero has food. As long as there’s a Pop-Tart left, I’m fine. You don’t eat. Problem solved.”

Eric opened the kitchen cabinet. “No Pop-Tarts. No bread. No milk. Walt drank the last of the coffee. The best you can hope for is pancakes with mustard on them.”

Stella laughed at his worried face and then grimaced. “I think I must’ve hit that mountain a little harder than I thought. I’m sore all over.”

“Take a hot shower. I’ll search for more food.”

There was a loud, crunching sound outside. They both went to the window to see what was happening. “I hope that isn’t Bob again,” she muttered.

But it was John’s old pickup, chains on the wheels, crunching across the ice on the mountain road.

“What time is it?” Stella panicked.

“A little after nine,” Eric replied.

“I was supposed to be at the memorial at nine.” She rushed into the bedroom. “No time for food. Problem solved.”

S
tella took out her formal dress uniform. It was still in a plastic bag. The uniform was stark black with dozens of shiny brass buttons. The Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade emblem on the front gave it a touch of red and gold.

It was a little snug. She’d been fitted for it a few months before. Either it had shrunk or she’d grown. Darn those biscuits. Who’d have thought she’d like biscuits almost better than pizza?

Her hair was too long to tuck under her uniform hat. She had to tie it back at the nape of her neck. There was no time for makeup. The cold weather would make her face pink anyway. She put on her boots and was ready to go.

As an afterthought, she grabbed the box that held Eric’s fire chief badge in it. The town had sent it away to have it cleaned after it had been recovered, and the mystery of Eric’s death had been solved. The badge would be kept at the firehouse in his memory after today.

Stella looked at the badge she wore. The two were almost identical. Eric’s badge had some dents and wear to it. She thought she could always hold his badge up if words failed her during her speech.

Two speeches in two days
. She put on her black wool coat that matched the uniform. That was two speeches too many.

John was anxiously waiting in the kitchen. He looked tall, fit, and handsome in his dress uniform. “What are you doing? The mayor is about to burst a blood vessel. Come on!”

“I slept in. I didn’t even think they’d do this today after the storm.” She grabbed her gloves and keys with her bag.

“I have my pickup,” John said when he saw her keys. “It’s warm already. Let’s take it.”

“I’m not going to the memorial in your old pickup,” she said. “That’s why we have the Cherokee. I know the town council would take it the wrong way if I don’t show up in the vehicle that has my name on the door.”

“Are you kidding?” He held up his hands when he saw that she was serious. “Okay. I’ll meet you there. Hurry.”

John ran outside, and Stella looked back at the room. Eric had reappeared, which had sent Hero into fits of jumping and barking.

“Hero’s already been outside, and I fed him,” Eric said.

“Thanks. I’m sorry you can’t be there.”

“How weird would that be anyway?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t think people are supposed to be at their own memorials. Drive carefully.”

Stella considered that it made sense for him not to hear people make speeches about what he’d been like when he was alive. She was still sad that he couldn’t go. But there was nothing she could do about it.

“I’ll see you later.”

Hero ran out the open door and started jumping at the door of the Cherokee.

*

Mayor Erskine Wando had been talking about Eric Gamlyn for almost forty minutes when he gratefully saw Stella drive up in the bright red Cherokee with the fire brigade symbol on the door.

Despite the weather there was a good turnout—including representatives from the state and the investigators who were there to look into Barney Falk’s death.

Barney Falk had been scheduled to speak at the memorial. Instead the present state representative for the area, Susan Clark, was on hand. She was waiting impatiently for her turn. It was scheduled after Stella’s speech.

Stella and Hero ran from the parking area at the Heavenly Peace Cemetery to the temporary platform that had been set up on the back of the Scooter’s Barbecue flatbed trailer. It had been decorated with fire department paraphernalia and colors. There were also large black-and-white pictures of Eric and the original fire brigade from the 1970s.

The last time Stella had seen the trailer was during the Sweet Pepper Festival when a group of people had been clogging on it.

“And here’s our brave fire chief now,” Mayor Wando said into the microphone. “Stella Griffin, get on up here.”

Representative Clark, Chief Rogers, and members of the town council were seated in chairs set in front of the flatbed. They applauded as she went quickly up the stairs. Hero started to follow her, but Kimmie called him to where she was seated in the audience with his mother, Sylvia.

Stella looked out into the faces of the people she’d come to know. She smiled at all of them and adjusted the microphone for herself. “Good morning. Sorry I was late. I’m glad to see so many people out here this morning.”

Mayor Wando ducked in close to her. His formal top hat that he wore to all town events was slightly askew on his shaved head. A heavy coat made his tall, bulky body look even larger.

“I just want to say a word about our present fire chief.” His breath was visible in the cold air. “Chief Griffin was out with her volunteers a good part of last night when the rest of us were home drinking hot cocoa and staying out of the weather. They rescued a group of young people on Dead Bear Trail. Could I get the fire brigade members to stand where they are so you all can give these heroes a round of applause?”

The members of the fire brigade—all of them as far as Stella could see—got reluctantly to their feet. The rest of the audience gave them a long round of applause.

Stella was surprised the mayor put his arm around her. He smiled so the Smittys could take their picture. Then he shook her hand for another picture.

Mayor Wando finally gave her two thumbs-up and went to sit in a chair off the dais.

Stella knew that was her cue to speak. “We’re here today to honor a man who gave everything he had to keep the people of Sweet Pepper safe. Fire Chief Eric Gamlyn.”

There was more applause as Stella gestured to one of the pictures of Eric.

“Chief Gamlyn created the fire brigade in the early 1970s after perceiving the need for a local group to fight fires in Sweet Pepper. He recruited his volunteers and built a firehouse. I heard from a reliable source that there was already a group in place before the original fire brigade. I think they were called the garden hose brigade.”

People in the audience who remembered those days laughed and applauded. Stella went on to explain how the garden hose brigade worked.

“Wish we had pictures of that,” Walt Fenway yelled from the front row.

“No, you don’t.” Tagger laughed and shook his head, his eyes tearing up at the memories.

“In Chief Gamlyn’s time, the fire brigade saved thousands of dollars in property and hundreds of lives,” Stella continued. “Today the Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade continues Chief Gamlyn’s vision and legacy to the community. We honor those first brave citizens who came forward to make a difference.”

She nodded to Kent, who pulled the large gray tarp that had been wrapped around the larger-than-life sculpture of Eric. The wind helped him, and the tarp flew back from the statue.

It was remarkably lifelike, made of granite and set beside Eric’s grave in the cemetery. Already the Daughters of the American Revolution had raised funds to put in a flower garden with a bench beside it.

Everyone applauded again. A few people from the old fire brigade got up and saluted the image of their chief. Tears flowed freely as everyone stood to salute Eric.

Stella thanked everyone again for being there. She felt for the box holding Eric’s old badge that was in her coat pocket. She took the badge out and held it up for everyone to see it. She knew she hadn’t spoken even close to twenty minutes, but she was late and Representative Clark’s assistant was tapping his watch. She knew no one would mind if she left the podium.

There was a bright shaft of sunlight that came down to illuminate the badge. It was as though the clouds had parted to let the sun shine down just at that moment. The badge glinted as it caught the light. Everyone saw it and gasped, holding one another’s hands and remarking on it.

Stella put the badge away and stepped aside to let the representative say a few words.

Susan Clark spoke about how important local volunteer firefighters were. Her words fell on unappreciative ears. Sweet Pepper had appealed to her when the county had decided not to continue fire service. They’d hired Stella to start their own group soon after. Most there wouldn’t forget that when election day rolled around.

The applause for her wasn’t as hearty as it had been for Stella, but people in Sweet Pepper tried to be polite.

Mayor Wando announced the Sweet Pepper VFW memorial group. The men, none of them under eighty, got to their feet, clutching their rifles. Their uniforms were pressed and neat.

Stella admired their military precision—and the fact that they could still fit into their old uniforms. She hoped fifty years from now she’d be able to do the same. She was going to lay off the biscuits, or get some workout equipment in the firehouse. Otherwise, Molly Whitehouse, the town seamstress, was going to have to let out her uniform.

The captain who was the head of the group raised his hand for the twenty-one-gun salute. He called out orders to the seven shooters. They pointed their rifles at the clear blue sky. “The Star-Spangled Banner” started blasting from the speakers on the truck. The shots rang out, echoing off the Smoky Mountains that ringed the town.

When the salute had finished, people applauded, and the cold group began to break up.

“That’s enough noise to wake the dead,” a voice said very near Stella’s ear.

She looked to her left and gasped. “Eric! How did you get here?”

“I
s something wrong, sweetie?” Flo asked on the other side of her.

“No.” Stella took a deep breath and looked again. Eric was still there.

“Shh.”
He laughed. “Someone might think you’re crazy.”

“I know what you mean.” Flo wiped tears from her dark blue eyes. She patted her blond hair into place. “It gets me too. Eric was
such
a good man. He should’ve married me when he had the chance. He’d have lots of grandchildren here to see this memorial.”

“I never knew she felt like that about me,” Eric whispered.

Stella almost choked as she told Flo she had to leave—important fire brigade business. She went quickly to the Cherokee and got inside, locking the doors after her.

“This is really nice.” Eric rubbed his opaque hands appreciatively on the door and seat. “They spent a lot of money on it.”

Stella turned to him. “How did you get here? I thought you couldn’t leave the cabin.”

“I don’t know. All of a sudden, there I was—at my own memorial service. Nice statue, huh? It even sort of looks like me.”

“How can the rules change? All this time, it was either the firehouse or the cabin. I don’t understand.”

His eyes were serious as he said, “Did you
want
me to stay at the cabin?”

“No. Of course not. I’m happy for you. I can’t imagine what it’s been like being trapped somewhere for forty years.”

She
was
happy for him. Except this might make her life more complicated
.

“Good! I want to see
everything
. The cemetery, not so much. Your speech was nice. Thanks. Now let’s drive around Sweet Pepper. I want to go in the café and up to the pepper plant. Then I want to go past all the old houses. Maybe we should stop in at Flo’s too.”

“Slow down. I have other things I have to do today besides playing tour guide.”

“Good.” He rubbed his large hands together. “I’ll go with you.”

There was a knock at the window. Stella opened it. It was Agent Whitman from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. She’d met him during the investigation into Eric’s death.

“Sorry to bother you, Chief Griffin. I wondered if I could have a word with you in private.”

Stella glanced at Eric. Could Agent Whitman see him too?

No. Of course
not
.

She unlocked the doors and got out.

“I was wondering why you locked the doors.” Eric was instantly at her side. “I know you didn’t think that would keep me in. Were you trying to keep me out?”

“I can’t talk to you right now,” she muttered.

“Sorry.” Agent Whitman straightened his blue tie. He was an average-looking man who seemed to like wearing plain gray suits. He reminded Stella of a schoolteacher she’d had in Chicago. “Is there a better time?”

“No.” She smiled as she started walking beside him. She liked Agent Whitman, but she was very conscious of Eric walking on the other side of her. Having a ghost follow her everywhere would take some getting used to. “This is fine. What can I do for you?”

“Great. I’m glad to see you decided to stay on as fire chief. I’ve heard glowing reports about your work.”

“Thanks. It’s a great job.”

“I’d like to take you into my confidence on the fire that killed Representative Barney Falk.”

“You’re here investigating that matter too?”

“No. I’m actually only here to see
you
, Chief Griffin.”

“Look out.” Eric shook his head. “Another fan of Stella Griffin. You’d better ask if he’s married before you start dating him.”

Stella glared at him and had to bite her tongue to keep from answering. She’d have to get used to
that
too.

“There are plenty of TBI agents working this case, but we need someone on the inside track. That would be you, Chief Griffin. Our concern is that someone within the group may be part of a cover-up.”

“A cover-up? What kind of cover-up?” she asked.

He stopped walking under a huge cedar tree that had been blown toward the east for so long that it permanently pointed in that direction. “We’re not sure yet. We know Mr. Falk was murdered. What we need to know is why and who was involved.”

“Who is
we
?” Eric asked.

A valid question, Stella thought. “Who are you working with on this, Agent Whitman?”

“The governor, Chief Griffin. I can’t tell you any more than that. I want to ask you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that sounds wrong.” He handed her his business card. “Give me a call or email me if that happens. Please don’t say anything to anyone else. We’re not sure who we can trust on this.”

“Okay.” Stella looked at his card. She already had one of his cards from the last time they’d met. She kept the new one anyway.

Agent Whitman held out his hand to her. “Great. I appreciate your help. Would you like to get some coffee? It’s cold out here.”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

Agent Whitman drove his modest gray Buick to Main Street and parked in front of the Daily Grind Coffee and Tea Shop. Stella drove the bright red Cherokee and parked behind him.

“Can we go to the café instead?” Eric asked.

“You haven’t been in the coffeehouse ever,” she reminded him.

“All right. I seem to be tethered to you, Stella. I tried to leave the cemetery and look around town by myself. I couldn’t do it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been here all this time and you haven’t been able to leave the cabin with me.”

“I guess something changed. It’s not like there’s a handbook for ghosts, like that cute ghost couple had in that movie with the snakes,
Beetlejuice
.”

Stella didn’t have time to ponder what movie he was talking about. Eric was a TV junkie, probably because there wasn’t much else he could do.

Agent Whitman was looking at her through the window with a questioning expression on his face. She had to ignore Eric and get out.

This is going to be complicated.

“Do you mind if we have coffee in the café?” She got out of the Cherokee and locked the doors with the fob.

“Wow!” Eric looked at the keys she held. “That was
cool
. They didn’t have those forty years ago. Do all vehicles have them now?”

Stella ignored him. They were going to have to come up with a protocol if Eric was going to be out of the cabin with other people around. He couldn’t talk to her and expect her to answer for one thing. She knew he had to be excited about getting out for the first time in so long. But she couldn’t walk around as though she were talking to herself either.

Agent Whitman smiled. “No. That’s fine. I could use a little breakfast anyway.”

“Me too. I had to run out of the cabin this morning without eating. Not that I’m much of a breakfast person anyway.”

“You can say that again,” Eric agreed. “But thanks for coming here. I ate breakfast here every morning when I was fire chief. Sometimes Ricky Senior would join me with Tagger and Bobby Trump.”

Stella and Agent Whitman sat across the table from each other. The café was crowded with people who’d been at the memorial service.

Eric was able to walk around the entire café, exclaiming at people he knew and talking about how the place looked exactly the same. “I wish I could eat chili cheese fries.”

“Bradford.” Agent Whitman held out his hand to Stella again. “My name is Bradford.”

Stella had been watching Eric. “Sorry. Half asleep from the call last night.” She shook his hand. “And please call me Stella.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “Stella. It was a good rescue.”

“So people call you Brad?”

Eric was walking around like a big ghostly kid in a candy store. She had to ignore him.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I realize that we’ve never used first names. I thought we should. If that’s okay with you?”

“That’s fine, Brad.” She looked at her menu. As always her eyes went right to the biscuits. Well, she was committed to the idea of getting that workout equipment for the firehouse. It would be okay if she ate another biscuit. “I think I’m going to have the egg-and-cheese biscuit with a large Coke.”

“Not a coffee drinker.” He said it like he was writing it in the notebook she knew he carried in his inside jacket pocket. “How are the biscuits?”

“I love them.” She laughed. “A little
too
much.” She pulled at her snug-fitting dress uniform. “People feed you a lot around here. Someone always wants me to eat something.”

“It’s the home of the sweetest, hottest peppers in the world. And the pepper festival. Are you involved in that yet?”

“Have I been here for more than five minutes? Everyone here lives and breathes the pepper festival. In fact, I’m on the planning board this year. I’m in charge of bringing in new recipe contest entries. Do you have something you’d like to contribute, Brad?”

“I’d be glad to.” He took his notebook out and began to jot down a recipe. A waitress came and took their order—Brad had an egg-and-cheese biscuit too, with coffee.

“Chief Griffin.” Police chief Don Rogers came to their table. “Agent Whitman. Is there a meeting I didn’t know about?”

Agent Whitman got nimbly to his feet and shook Chief Rogers’s hand. “We’re not meeting officially, Chief. We met at the cemetery after the memorial service and we decided to get out of the cold and have some coffee.”

Chief Rogers’s eyes narrowed. “You mean this is
personal
?”

Agent Whitman smiled. “I guess you could say that, yes. It’s good to see you. Have a nice day.”

Chief Rogers stood there for another moment looking like he was digesting a lump of coal before he raised his eyebrows and walked away.

The waitress brought a Coke and a cup of coffee. She promised the biscuits were coming out fresh and would be there soon.

“Are you married, Brad?” Stella asked when they were alone again.

“No. But I’m engaged. Why do you ask?”

Stella took a sip from her Coke. “You’re about to have a new girlfriend.”

He carefully scanned the restaurant. “Excuse me?”

“Me.” She sighed. “Don’t look now, but people in Sweet Pepper are probably already planning our wedding.”

“Oh.” He still sounded confused. “I see.”

Stella didn’t try to explain. She hadn’t understood for a long time either. Life in a small town was different from life in a big city. People liked to speculate on anything a single woman did in public or private.

Their biscuits arrived hot from the oven and they enjoyed their breakfast in companionable silence. Stella waited for him to mention the investigation again but he never did. She wasn’t clear on what she was supposed to be looking for or expecting to find during the course of the arson investigation. She assumed he’d let her know as they moved forward.

When they were done eating, Brad paid for the two meals and said he had to get back to Nashville. “I enjoyed our talk. You have my phone number. Call me if anything seems strange.”

Stella mused over the idea of what he’d think of as “strange.” Would it be a haunted cabin? At one time, she would’ve thought that was strange. She studied the neatly printed recipe he’d given her for smoked chili peppers in garlic sauce, and hoped she didn’t have to make it for the taste-testing part of the contest.

Obviously a man of many talents.

She walked out of the café, not thinking about Eric until he was at her side.

“Don’t do that again.” He swore softly, his chest rapidly rising and falling. “It was like a punch in the gut.”

“What was?”

“I think it was you leaving the café. There seems to be a certain amount of space we can have between us, but not much. I don’t understand it either. As soon as we get back to the cabin, maybe we can run a Google search on it.” He laughed. “Does anyone think that name is funny?
Google?
Is it someone’s name?”

She laughed at his Google reference. He was a bigger Internet junkie than she was. “I have an hour before I’m supposed to meet the arson investigator from Nashville. We can do whatever you want until then.”

Eric was beyond ecstatic. “You know that liquor store wasn’t here before.” He pointed out dozens of changes on Main Street. “And the town hall used to be in the old furniture store.”

They both got in the Cherokee so that he could see as much as possible. Stella drove slowly through Sweet Pepper.

Eric exclaimed over the pepper-shaped water tower and the traffic light. “I heard you and Agent Whitman are dating now,” he teased Stella. “That’s what happens to fast women who eat breakfast with gentlemen from Nashville.”

“Wow. Maybe no one can hear
you
, but you can certainly hear everything,” she muttered as they drove through the historic district. “I have a feeling that as long as I’m single, the people of Sweet Pepper will be matching me up with boyfriends everywhere I go.”

“That’s what happened to me. They always had me dating someone I’d never met or introducing me to daughters, nieces, cousins, and sisters. The trick is to keep them guessing. If you get married, and have breakfast with someone like Agent Whitman, they’ll think you’re cheating.”

“Life in a small town.”

“Exactly. Hey! Can we go up to the pepper factory?”

“Sure. I’m due a report on the progress they’ve made getting that duct system set up anyway. We’ll do that at the same time.”

Last year, Stella had made headlines in the
Sweet Pepper Gazette
for shutting down the Sweet Pepper packing plant for fire hazards. It had only been for one day. Everyone had been sure she’d lose her job, even though her grandfather owned the plant.

Ben Carson had thrown a fit, but they’d found a compromise that had kept the plant open. He’d repaired the faulty duct system that had periodically caught on fire.

“Greg Lambert’s up there now as manager, right?” Eric stared out the side window.

“Yep. He’s not too bad.”

“I always thought he was a little oily.”

“Oily?” She put her foot down hard on the gas pedal to get up the steep road that led to the packing plant.

“You shouldn’t gun it like that,” he warned. “There’s probably still ice on the road.”