That Old Flame of Mine Page 7

  It was a harsh criticism but not one she hadn’t considered. “I have to go.”

  “Good luck,” Valery called out. “I hope Vic didn’t kill his mother.”

  Stella ducked into the hardware store. She didn’t want to get involved in a discussion that could be said to prejudice her findings.

  She walked around the narrow aisles on the squeaky old wood floors and added to her shopping basket. The place smelled like paint, tool oil, and sawdust. She needed reflective tape, plastic containers, labels, a few flashlights, and some gloves. She had Tommy Potter add the cost to the account set up for her and paid for by the town.

  Tommy glanced at her from behind the old-fashioned cash register that looked like it had been there since the store opened in 1939. “Going out to see what happened at the Lambert place?”

  “Yes. It’s routine.” Stella signed her name on the credit voucher.

  He snorted as he laughed. “If that’s what you want to call it. Around here, we don’t consider it routine when you kill your own kin.”

  Obviously this was the accepted explanation for what had happened to Tory. “We really don’t know what caused the fire, Mr. Potter. That’s why we’re investigating.”

  “Some investigation. Drag that sorry excuse for a son of hers down to the police station and beat the crap out of him. There’s your investigation.”

  Stella nodded and smiled. “Thanks for your input. I’ll see you later.”

  As she left the uncomfortable atmosphere of the old hardware store, Stella noticed she still had a little time before she had to go to Tory’s house. She got on her bike and drove down to the end of the shopping area and stopped again at the security and computer service company whose logo was on the system at the cabin.

  “Chief Griffin!” Charlie Johnson, the owner of the company, greeted her. He was a tall, large man with close-cropped gray hair and glasses. He was good with computers, and he was friendly. The two didn’t always go hand in hand, in her experience. She’d had some trouble with her laptop when she’d first arrived in Sweet Pepper, and he’d taken care of it for her. “How is the world treating you this fine day?”

  Stella chitchatted with him a little, glad he didn’t mention the fire. “Is there any way you could do a sweep of the cabin I’m staying in on Firehouse Road? This may sound silly, but I’m hearing voices up there. I was wondering if you could do some kind of electronic monitoring that could help me find out who’s responsible.”

  Charlie nodded as though it was a request he heard all the time. “So what are you thinking? The house is wired? Satellite feed? Maybe you left the radio or TV on without realizing it? Ghosts?”

  She could tell from the way he’d said it that he knew about the ghost of the fire chief. “I’m wondering if you can monitor and record what goes on in the house, that’s all. That way I’ll know if I’m crazy. Mr. Vaughn checked it for snakes. I’m still hearing some things that shouldn’t be there.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve heard about the ghost but you don’t believe it?” He smiled as he looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You know, I’ve lived other places too. No one likes their haunts like Sweet Pepper. And Eric Gamlyn is the best. Why I’ve heard stories—”

  “Please don’t tell me there’s a ghost in the cabin,” she said. “I’m glad it’s not snakes, but a ghost? Really?”

  He chuckled to himself, which Stella found a little annoying. “Certainly, we can monitor and record what goes on in the house as part of your security system—for a slightly higher fee. When would you like to start?”

  “Right now.” Stella put her credit card on the desk between them. “I’d appreciate it if you’d add the additional charges to this card for me, instead of billing the town.”

  “Sure. How long?”

  “Let’s say the next forty-eight hours. When can I listen to it or see it?”

  “We can set you up with an online account. You can sit and listen to it all the time, if that’s what you want. We’ve already got cameras and audio up there as part of our security package. I’ll need you to bring your computer in, though, so we can check it and make sure it can access the security feeds.”

  “I’ll bring it in later. Thanks.” Stella wasn’t sure if this was the answer to her problem, but since her next step seemed to be an exorcist, it seemed like a good idea.

  Chapter 8

  With that settled, Stella rode down to where the Victorian houses seemed to bend toward each other as though they were old ladies gossiping. The burned remains of Tory’s house no doubt gave them plenty to talk about.

  Stella laughed at herself. She wasn’t a fanciful or overly imaginative person by nature, certainly not prone to giving personalities to old houses. She blamed it on the people and this town. Sweet Pepper was rich with legends of the mountains. Since the day she arrived, she’d realized that locals kept the tradition alive by telling and retelling old tales—like those of Eric Gamlyn’s ghost and his many exploits in life.

  Maybe once she’d proved to herself what was really going on at the cabin, she could prove it to everyone else and they could let go of the old chief. Then the town could sell the cabin. It was too nice to stay empty all the time.

  She appreciated that the local lore was beautiful and important to the people of Sweet Pepper. But it was important to honor Gamlyn’s achievements in life rather than believe he was still hanging around haunting the cabin. Maybe the town could put up a statue or plaque to him.

  By the time she reached Tory’s house, her core volunteer group was already waiting on the scorched and mangled grass—even Petey. Stella was surprised and pleased that learning a little about arson investigation meant so much to them. The town needed a few more volunteers as dedicated and hardworking as they were, but they were a great start.

  Chief Rogers was also waiting. He was there with John, both of them in uniform. A third man she didn’t recognize was wearing an orange jumpsuit and goggles. He had to be the insurance investigator since he was holding a large clipboard.

  Goggles!

  Stella pulled the bike in toward the curb to park with the other vehicles. She’d totally forgotten goggles or safety glasses. That was careless and stupid. It had to be a product of too much imagination and not enough focus on her job.

  It was especially bad since Chief Rogers was there to rub it in her face. Their antagonistic relationship assured her that he would take great pleasure in doing so.

  Her grim but welcoming volunteers walked toward her. She removed her helmet and clipped it to her bike. She handed out the tape, plastic containers, and other items she’d purchased at the hardware store and promised to explain why they needed all of it as they went along.

  “Give me a minute and we’ll get started.” Stella saw Chief Rogers approaching, looking angry as usual.

  Her volunteers refused to move out of his way, angrily staring at him with their arms crossed on their chests. They finally parted when he growled out an order to step aside. They didn’t go far. Stella noticed that John had stayed where he was, with the man in the orange jumpsuit.

  “Ms. Griffin—could I have a word in private?” Chief Rogers yanked his head toward the same area where they’d taken Tory after bringing her out of the house, under the spreading oak branches.

  “Sure.” It was the polite response. She could hear Chief Henry in her head telling her to play nice.

  Chief Rogers wasted no time with pleasantries. “I won’t have you going around my back again like this. When there’s something that involves my department, I expect a written request for assistance on whatever it is. Officer Trump is not the chief of police. You come to me. Get it?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Stella saw John shrug and shake his head apologetically. She understood all right. He didn’t like his men taking on any task that might undermine his position in town.

  Her first impulse was to tell him what he could do with his written request. She reconsidered, realizing that John’s job c
ould be on the line. She certainly had nothing better to offer him with a volunteer department.

  So she astounded herself and Chief Rogers by agreeing with him. “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

  He stared at her until she thought his eyes would bulge out of his head.

  She added, “I think it’s very important for the police and fire departments to work together, don’t you?”

  He leaned closer to her, the smell of his aftershave overpowering the odor from the fire. His blue eyes had narrowed to slits. “Sister, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but whatever it is, let me assure you that I’ve been around longer and I’m better at it.”

  With that cryptic statement, he stalked away, yelling, “I don’t have all day. Let’s get started.”

  Stella followed behind him and introduced herself to the man in the orange jumpsuit.

  “I’m Maurie Graff.” He adjusted his glasses before he offered her his hand. “I’m the insurance investigator assigned to this case.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Stella shook his hand. “I’m the acting fire chief for Sweet Pepper.”

  “I noticed none of your people are wearing safety glasses. I have a few extra pair in my van, if you’d like to use them.”

  Stella’s face felt a little hot with embarrassment, but she didn’t hesitate to accept his offer. “Thanks. We can use them. It will save me from sending someone back to the hardware store.”

  “You’ve got quite a crowd,” he remarked. “Students?”

  She explained the situation while Allen and Ricky, who’d walked up there with her, went to get the extra safety glasses from the van parked beside her bike.

  “This should be a good learning experience,” Graff said. “Even though there’s probably nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Really?” Stella was surprised to hear him already categorizing the fire as ordinary. Most investigators were more objective than that—or they were actively hoping the fire was arson so they could deny the claim. “I was here during the fire. It seemed a little hot to me. Something wasn’t right.”

  “These old houses are lovely, but they’re fire hazards, Chief. Bad wiring, most of the time. And they’re all tinderboxes ready to go up in flame. Things happen.”

  It was hard for Stella to imagine Tory not being as scrupulous about safety as she was with everything else. It was always possible. Everyone occasionally got careless.

  “Sometime today, Ms. Griffin.” Chief Rogers looked impatiently at his watch. “Next time, try to come prepared, huh?”

  She gritted her teeth but managed not to return the gibe. Having him for an enemy wasn’t good for the department. She was the fire chief. She shouldn’t antagonize him.

  “Ready, Chief.” Allen handed her a pair of safety glasses.

  Stella realized when she looked into the eager faces of her volunteers that this might be the only chance they’d have to learn something about fire scene investigation. At least she hoped it was the only fire they would face before she left. It was important to focus on what they needed to learn.

  “One of the most important things you’ll do after a fire,” she told them as they stood outside the house, “is to talk with eyewitnesses, if there are any. In this case, Chief Rogers collected that testimony already, I believe.”

  “That’s right,” he snarled in reply.

  “And we’d appreciate a copy of that report, if you don’t mind,” Stella continued.

  “My pleasure. Can we go inside now?” he demanded.

  It was hard for everyone to go into the house. Knowing Tory had died here made the blackened rubble even harder to look at. Banyin hesitated at the front stairs, but Ricky smiled at her and encouraged her to go on.

  The group walked carefully through the front door behind Chief Rogers and John, who stayed close to his side. The first floor was badly burned, some spots unsafe for them to walk across. The stairs to the second floor were damaged, charred in a few spots. Chief Rogers declared them safe after stepping hard on each stair.

  “We’ll start in the least damaged part of the house,” Stella explained as Ricky snapped digital pictures. “The second and third floors are probably only smoke damaged. You guys kept the fire from going up above the first floor. In general, fire spreads sideways and up. Fire rises and burns in a V pattern. We’ll find the point of the V at the origin of the fire.”

  Stella didn’t realize Banyin was videotaping everything she said until she looked up. Everyone was diligently taking notes. She smiled, pleased, and looked away.

  “We can see some cracking and flaking from the heat on the walls and floors up here,” Stella continued. John and Chief Rogers stayed in the lead. The insurance investigator stayed beside her, furiously scribbling on his clipboard. “You can see the smoke damage throughout this floor.”

  “I don’t see any smoke detectors.” Graff made a note of it. “Having those in place might’ve saved the victim’s life. Perhaps the new fire department could give out information on how important these are. Maybe even conduct a few door-to-door inquiries.”

  “A smoke detector wouldn’t have saved your client’s life,” she replied. “Tory had been dead for a while before the fire started.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Graff looked at his clipboard and twitched a few papers without writing anything. “There was no memo about that. I just assumed she died from smoke inhalation.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have had a chance to receive that information before you came here. We only just found out.”

  “I see.” He jotted down a few words and started looking around again.

  The group made their way up to the third floor, where Ricky took plenty of pictures of the smoke-damaged upholstery, drapes, and clothing. They discussed ways to examine the smoke damage and pinpoint the most heavily affected areas.

  “Does anyone know yet what killed Mrs. Lambert?” Graff asked as they went back down to the second floor.

  “Not yet.” Chief Rogers jumped in (apparently listening the whole time). “But my department is working on that issue as we speak. The coroner is conducting an autopsy. We’ll know soon enough.”

  “An autopsy?” Graff seemed surprised and uneasy about that discovery.

  “We’re not expecting foul play, but there were some anomalies,” Chief Rogers said. “We think there was a stroke or some other medical emergency. She probably was unable to call for help.” He pointed out the closet, closed off with police tape, where Stella had found Tory.

  They headed down to the main floor after that sobering moment. All the volunteers had stared at the walk-in closet as though it were an evil portal from a horror movie.

  “We can see some glass melting here at the foyer area.” Stella tried to redirect their focus away from Tory’s death. “That happens at about fifteen hundred degrees. You notice there was nothing like that upstairs. The real heat was coming from the basement. That’s where we’ll see the most damage and find the cause of the fire.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Chief Griffin.” Graff seemed a little subdued and a lot more nervous.

  Stella was more than a little curious about that.

  “The stairs to the basement are toast,” Chief Rogers said. “We’ll have to go out and come in from the back.”

  They followed his direction, walking around the side of the house, inspecting places where the paint had blistered and the siding had buckled. The grass was like a swamp from the amount of water it had taken to put out the fire. Their feet squelched in the patches of red mud.

  The basement was definitely more badly burned than any other spot in the house. Black ash was everywhere. Nothing had been left untouched by the flames.

  “That area over there looks the worst.” Allen pointed toward the far wall in what was the center of the house. They picked their way carefully through the damage to get there.

  “Yes.” Graff was suddenly in front of them, walking immediately from the outside basement door to a
spot where an electrical outlet was located above a metal table. “This looks like wiring to me. As I thought.”

  What was left of a large worktable was melted in spots. It was one of the only large objects with enough shape remaining to easily define it. There were melted bits of glass, metal and plastic scattered around the area, fused to the tabletop.

  “You can see it here.” Stella pointed to the deep burns in the wall with pieces of wiring still hanging behind it. “The fire probably began here. It looks like some type of accelerant here too.”

  “Maybe these were kerosene lamps,” Graff suggested almost cheerfully. “People keep them around for storms. The wiring had a short and caught on fire—it caught the kerosene and there’s your accelerant, Chief Griffin. I’ve seen it happen before. I’m sure you have too.”

  “What makes you say kerosene?” Stella asked. Graff wasn’t close enough to look at the burn pattern in the dark basement, let alone smell it. “People keep whiskey in their basements too. And paint thinner. It could’ve been any of those things.”

  Stella leaned down and sniffed the glass shapes on the table. He was right. They smelled of kerosene. A greasy black film covered the heavy steel tools around them. She had each volunteer come forward and sniff the area as she had.

  “When you’ve seen as many fires as I have,” Graff darkly joked, “you know what to look for. It’s an instinct after a while.” He continued writing on his clipboard.

  It was hard to say. Graff was older than her. Stella still found it hard to believe he had more experience. She could have fit this whole county into the area back home that her station handled.

  His attitude had changed too. It seemed as though the cause of the fire was less important to him now and he was eager to get the whole thing over with.

  Stella shone her flashlight up into the burned area above the table. It was right below the stairs on the main floor. She didn’t disagree with Graff’s assessment of the fire—she was very curious as to how he’d made that decision so quickly and without a more thorough investigation of the components.