That Old Flame of Mine Page 5

Flo met them at the front door to the three-story house very similar to Tory’s. The only difference Stella could see were the bright colors of the trim against the white framework of the house. There was a wide veranda with dozens of rocking chairs like the ones on the deck at the cabin.

  “Well, my stars! What a surprise to see you here tonight, John. And you too, Chief Griffin. Are you here together—or will you need two rooms?”

  Flo—if she had a last name, Stella had never heard it—was an adorably chubby middle-aged woman with teased-high blond hair. She always seemed to wear pink and had inquisitive blueberry-colored eyes. She was also one of the town’s biggest gossips.

  Stella could only imagine the news of her and John being here together hitting the diner and the coffee shop the next morning.

  John’s face reddened a little as he glanced at Stella. “We’re definitely not here together. Except that I brought the chief. She needs a place for the night until I can get someone to check out the electric up at that old cabin.”

  “Not a problem in this world, honey.” Flo winked at him. “She can certainly stay here, and welcome. You know they’re not going to find anything wrong up there. That old place is haunted. I was surprised they even put you up there, Chief Griffin. What were they thinking?”

  “Please call me Stella. I’ve already heard the cabin is haunted. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Flo,” John cautioned. “Don’t tell her those old stories. There’s nothing wrong that an electrician can’t fix.” His radio went off. It seemed that there was more to do tonight than arrest Boyd Jeffries. “I have to go, Stella. I’ll make sure someone comes back for you in the morning.”

  He nodded to them both, then was gone.

  Flo giggled as he left, and pulled Stella into the old house. “He’s sweet on you. And he’s a good man. You could do a lot worse. Now, let’s have some coffee and talk about Eric Gamlyn.”

  “You mean the old fire chief?” Stella asked as she and Flo sat down at a round table in the kitchen. There were coffee, juice, tea, and snacks at a sideboard. The cookies, muffins, and cinnamon rolls smelled like they’d just come out of the oven.

  “Have a cookie.” Flo put one on Stella’s plate. “They’re my own recipe—last year’s Sweet Pepper Festival winner. Chocolate and hot peppers. You won’t be able to eat just one. Sure you want soda this late? I don’t mind it, but it bothers some people.”

  Stella tasted the cookie politely. She was surprised to find it was really good. Dark chocolate—with a bite to it.

  “Eric Gamlyn was a popular man around here in the 1970s.” Flo poured herself a cup of coffee and took a cinnamon roll from the glass platter. “He was a big man—strong—Viking blood, his daddy always claimed. He worked as a lumberjack for years somewhere up north. Maybe Canada. He settled down back here after his daddy passed. He made furniture. His daddy left him a cute little house on Main Street. But Eric was a builder. He sold that place and bought that property out there where the firehouse is. He built the cabin and the firehouse almost singlehandedly. Then he started the fire brigade.”

  Stella wondered if Eric’s name should really be Paul Bunyan. As Flo rattled on about him, his exploits kept getting bigger and bigger.

  “And that’s why they killed him.” Flo put down her coffee cup and shook her head. “What a waste.”

  “I think I missed something,” Stella admitted. “I thought he was killed fighting a fire.”

  “That’s what they wanted us to think. Oh sure, he was in a burning building when it collapsed on him, but that wouldn’t have killed Eric. It was because the county wanted to take over the service, and there were those who were going to make some money on it. His ghost has rattled around in that old cabin ever since.”

  Stella took another cookie. Who knew peppers and chocolate could taste so good together? She really needed to find some weights to work with at the firehouse if she was going to keep eating this way. “And that’s why you think the cabin is haunted?”

  “Cross my heart and hope that lightning strikes me dead.” Flo sincerely crossed her heart with her fingers. Her dark blue eyes stared into Stella’s. “Everyone knows it. Why do you think someone hasn’t rented it or bought it after all these years? Why do you think it still looks like he just built it yesterday? I guess the council hoped you’d be a good luck charm for that. Eric left that land to the town. They haven’t been able to unload it.”

  Stella digested the ghost story as she finished nibbling on her third cookie. She wasn’t sure if Flo knew what she was talking about with her tales of the cabin being haunted—but that would certainly explain all the weird things going on up there—if she believed in that kind of thing.

  It might also explain why they were going on. Maybe someone wanted to buy the property now. Scare the city girl and there was money to be made.

  Stella changed the subject. “You’re right about these cookies. I think I need to go to bed before I eat all of them.”

  “Have you figured out why Tory was in that house when it caught fire?” Flo asked. “I guess what I mean is, why didn’t she get out? It doesn’t make any sense, her being found in a closet. She was one of the smartest, calmest people I’ve ever known. I don’t believe she panicked. If I were you, I’d check into that son of hers. He’s wanted her money and that house for years. Where was he when she was killed?”

  Stella had no answers for her. Flo kept talking as they climbed the staircase to a quaint room in one of the old turrets in front. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here tonight. You’re welcome back anytime. They can check out that cabin from now till doomsday. Unless they take an exorcist up there, things are always going to be strange.”

  Tired and glad that she was finally alone, Stella put on her nightclothes and stared out at Main Street without turning on the light. The room was much smaller than the one she slept in at the cabin, but the lights weren’t turning on and off, and she didn’t have that odd feeling that someone was watching her.

  It was crazy. Her father and his big, Irish family had told stories about ghosts and other creatures since she’d been a child. She didn’t believe those stories either. It was easier to believe there were snakes in the wiring—although she might prefer a ghost or two. She really didn’t like snakes.

  She finally lay back on the elaborate four-poster and stared at the ceiling. She went over and over the fire in her mind. Stella sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to figuring out what had caused it. She’d helped with several investigations but had never done one alone. She hoped she was up for the challenge.

  She closed her eyes and was soon dreaming about Eric Gamlyn. He was riding in the same seat she’d taken beside Ricky in the fire engine that day. He was barking out orders to his volunteers. They were fighting a fire in town. He ran into a burning building just seconds before the whole thing collapsed.

  Stella woke up abruptly. She’d been crying. It was morning. Sunlight was streaming through the tower windows. The smell of coffee filled the bed-and-breakfast. She could hear the sounds of a TV, a hair dryer, and maybe an electric toothbrush coming from somewhere.

  She washed her face, shaking her head at her red eyes. Too many ghost stories right before bed, not to mention hot pepper and chocolate. She didn’t believe in ghosts. The man in her dreams, with his long blond hair and broad shoulders, only looked like the real Eric because she’d seen that picture of him.

  Stella thought about the shadowy intruder who’d disappeared so quickly after John had arrived. She hadn’t been able to see his face, but she could tell he was a tall, large man—like Eric Gamlyn.

  “Stop it right there.” She stared at herself in the tiny bathroom mirror. “Don’t get carried away with this. Think about the snakes slithering around in the wiring instead. It’s creepy, but at least that makes sense.”

  Her cell phone rang. It was her mother calling from Chicago. “How are things going? Is your team shaping up?”

  Stella told her about the fire. “T
hey don’t have an arson investigator, Mom. They want me to do it.”

  She could hear her father’s comments in the background as he listened to their conversation. “You’ve got plenty of training, Stella. Don’t worry about it. Another few weeks and you’ll be home. I’m sure they’re happy with all you’ve done for them.”

  “Your father’s right,” Barbara Griffin told her daughter. “Anything else going on?”

  “Just the usual. Oh yeah. Except for the ghost in my cabin.”

  “Ghost? What makes you think there’s a ghost?”

  “Not me. Local folklore. It’s the ghost of the old fire chief. He doesn’t want anyone living in his house.” Stella laughed to take the edge off her words.

  “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for it. We both know the only ghosts are the ones from our past that we can’t leave behind.”

  “If you’re saying that because you’re worried about me and Doug, don’t be. I haven’t even thought about him in weeks.”

  There was silence for an extra minute on the phone. Stella was about to ask if her mother was still there. Barbara’s voice came back with an odd inflection to it. “Anyone else interesting you’ve met?”

  “Lots of characters,” she said. “I’m sure I could write a book.”

  Stella thought she heard her mother whisper “Thank God,” but she wasn’t sure.

  “We have to talk,” Barbara said. “I know I should’ve said it before, but it never seemed to be the right time. I wish I could get away and be down there with you. Even though I promised not to try and sway you—”

  Stella’s radio started blurting out calls for help from the firehouse. She always had it with her, as did all the volunteers. “I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  Chapter 6

  Stella threw on her clothes and ran out of the bed-and-breakfast, leaving Flo yelling after her about not eating the most important meal of the day.

  She stopped when she reached the street, realizing that her bike was still at the cabin. This is what she’d been afraid of. How was she going to get out to the firehouse?

  “Hey, Chief!” Ricky skidded up to her in his old black pickup. “John said you needed a ride. Hop in and let’s go.”

  That’s what John had meant about it not being a problem. She got in and slammed the door. “What’s up with the squawking on the radio?”

  “Don’t know. I got the call and left the dishes half done at the diner. I couldn’t tell who it was. Who’s on duty?”

  “I think Petey was supposed to be up there,” Stella said. “After yesterday—”

  “Someone’s there, Chief. Wait and see. Petey was upset, but she wants this to work. She won’t run out on you. None of us will.”

  Stella was surprised by his words. She knew she and the guys at the station back home felt like that about Chief Henry. Any of them would give their life for him. She hadn’t expected that kind of loyalty from this job. All the volunteers knew she was leaving. Why would they attach themselves to her that way?

  She grabbed at the passenger-side door as Ricky turned a corner on what felt like two wheels. She’d thought it was only the engine that he drove too fast. He was a speed demon compared to her, even though people called her reckless because she rode a bike. She was really a very practical, conservative person.

  At least she thought so.

  “I almost got a ticket for driving too fast out here,” she hinted. It was his truck. She could tell him to slow down when he was driving the engine, but not when he was in his own vehicle.

  “Old Chum, right?” Ricky laughed. “Yeah, he’s gotten me a few times. He didn’t ticket you because you’re the fire chief, right?”

  “No. He actually thought I was someone else and took off before he could give me the ticket. He called me Abigail.”

  “Weird.” He grinned. “That’s old Chum for you. He’s strange and a real stickler for the rules. Abigail, huh? I don’t know anyone around here by that name.”

  “He seemed to. I think he’s afraid of her, whoever she is.” Stella gave a sigh of relief as the pickup made it into the parking lot at the firehouse. Already three other volunteers were there.

  Petey came running out. Her light brown hair was a mess. She had a few breakfast stains on her white Sweet Pepper T-shirt, but Ricky was right. She hadn’t let Tory’s death slow her down.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” she said. “Old Tagger locked himself in there with the radio and the computer when I went to the bathroom. I tried to talk him out. He’s just sitting in there laughing. I didn’t know if you’d want me to break down the door or what.”

  By that time, Allen and Kent had arrived. Don Rogers came up with his sirens blaring and blue lights flashing. “What the hell is going on out here, Ms. Griffin?” he demanded. “What kind of show are you putting on now?”

  “You tell me,” Stella demanded defensively. “You’re the one who pleaded to have Tagger Reamis as some kind of mascot for the fire brigade. He’s taken over the radio.”

  Don looked annoyed. “I didn’t plead for anything. I asked to have a hero of our town doing what he knows best. As a veteran of the last fire brigade, and after fighting bravely in two wars, he’s earned at least that much. A man like that doesn’t deserve to be thrown out like old dishwater.”

  At that point, Tagger got on the loudspeaker. “All of you out there, start your engines. Let’s hear ’em roar.”

  “He sounds like he’s drunk as a skunk,” Ricky said.

  Allen shrugged. “What do you expect? That’s what our town hero does best.”

  “I don’t care how you do it,” Stella said to Don, “but get him out of my firehouse.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he grunted. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty.”

  Stella ignored him. All of the volunteers stood outside with her, waiting to see if the police chief could coax the old man out without calling for help. Tagger began shouting obscenities—and what sounded like a recipe for preserving hot peppers—on the loudspeaker. There was no way to keep a straight face.

  A few minutes later, true to his word, Don came out with Tagger in tow. The short, gray-haired hero was apologetic when he saw Stella. “Sorry about that last part,” he said, a little unsteady on his feet. “That was too much vinegar. I need to write that down. That was the winning recipe in the 1979 festival, you know.”

  He smiled and Stella smiled back. He might be a little crazy and drunk to boot, but he reminded her of Jerry O’Toole back home. O’Toole had served her station proudly for many years. He’d lost it one day after a fire that had killed twin girls only three years old. Now he drank too much and hung around giving out advice to anyone who would listen. Maybe every firehouse needed someone like him.

  “I’ll be back,” Tagger called out with a wave and a big smile as Don put him in the back of the police car.

  “We have to figure out a way to keep this from happening again,” Stella said. “We might have to get a door that locks automatically and everyone has a key.”

  “Everyone but Tagger, right, Chief?” Allen laughed.

  “I think so.” Stella looked at her little group. They’d worked so hard to get here. They still had a rough road ahead of them. “Since all of you are here, how about a few training exercises?”

  No one was very enthusiastic about the idea. It was Saturday, and everyone had somewhere else they would rather be. But they were game for it, and it wasn’t long before they were taking turns carrying the one-hundred-fifty-pound dummy across the firehouse floor, trying not to let his feet touch the concrete.

  Petey was the best at this—as with everything else. They all marveled at her tenacity and the strength in her thin arms. Her victim’s feet never touched the floor, despite the dummy outweighing her. Her face was a mask of grit and determination.

  “How does she do that?” Ricky demanded. “Can somebody please tell me that?”

  There was some good-natured teasing
when Allen dropped his dummy, then stepped all over it. Kent picked it up and threw it across his shoulders, running to the stairs and throwing up his hands as though he’d made a touchdown.

  “Hey! That’s my job.” Bertie joined them, hobbling into the firehouse on crutches, his ankle in a cast.

  Training ceased as everyone gathered around him. “I guess you did a job on that ankle,” Ricky teased him. “I thought you were clumsy. Now I know you break easy too.”

  “Tell me you’re not out for the season,” Kent pleaded. “The Cougars don’t have a shot at the title without you.”

  “Nah. I’ll be out about three weeks, then I can go back for training.” He nodded to Stella. “I know I can’t assist at any emergencies right now, but I could take some shifts on the computer. I’d like to hang around anyway, if that’s okay with you, Chief.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure no one will argue with you taking some of the monitoring time. Just don’t try sprinting across the concrete and you’ve got yourself a deal. It’s good to have you back.”

  Ricky made a lunch run to the diner, bringing back barbecue pork sandwiches, pickles, chips, and drinks. Early on in the yard cleanup around the firehouse, they’d located an old picnic table. They spread everything out on it now, with someone’s towel covering the holes.

  They ate out in the sunshine while the Dalmatian puppy played in the little patch of green grass. The whole team seemed to be in love with the dog. They fed him scraps and tried to think of a name for him. Stella didn’t know what to say about keeping the pup. She’d have to find out what Victor Lambert thought about it. Technically, she supposed the puppy was his.

  As always, conversation was lively. The topic eventually turned to the fire that had killed Tory. The mood grew somber. It was different than it had been the night before. The group was sad but wanted to know what had happened to the woman they had all looked up to.

  Stella told them that Tory had died before the fire had started. There were a few gasps of surprise at that as well as a few sighs of relief. It wasn’t their fault. Inexperienced or not, they couldn’t have saved her.