Feeding the Fire (12 page)

Mack looked into the refrigerator for a minute, pulled out the carton of milk, then slammed the door shut and poured a bowl of cereal.

“It was nice,” he continued. “Better than I imagined. We ate, we had some wine, and sat out on my deck and talked with the fire pit going. We graduated a year apart in high school, but our paths never really crossed. I was with my ex, Shelley, back then, so I only had eyes for her. Since the divorce, I’ve been more focused on the job. But talking to Cheryl, we have a lot in common.”

“Sounds interesting,” Grant noted with a flat tone. He could tell his boss was leaving out the key, juicy details of his date with Cheryl.

Mack clutched the bowl of cereal to his chest. “We did end up going to the ice-cream shop around two in the morning. She made me the best hot fudge sundae I’ve ever had in my life.”

Grant perked up and went to get his own cup of coffee. “You guys talked until two in the morning?”

Mack frowned at him and shoveled a large bite of cereal into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “How about your date with Pepper?”

Grant grinned and let his boss change the subject. “We had a good time. No ice cream in the middle of the night, but I can’t complain.”

“I’m telling you,” Mack said, “take Pepper to Scoops and split the Fudge Royale sundae.”

Grant nodded. He’d keep that in mind; he already knew they both enjoyed chocolate fudge. He was thankful they’d hung window blinds in time for
that
encounter. But that reminded him of a question he wanted to ask. “Hey, Mack, did you happen to mention to anyone that we replaced that window at Pepper’s house?”

Mack finished chewing and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, that night we had a visit from the peeper. It was either dumb luck on his part or he knew the window had been replaced and wouldn’t be covered up yet.”

Mack leaned back against the kitchen counter and frowned. “You know, Cheryl had a run-in with the peeper, too, about a week or so ago. A few days before the auction.”

“Was she home alone?” he asked, following up on Simon’s theory that the peeper seemed to target women alone at night.

“Yeah. It was pretty late, too. The shop closed up at nine, then she drove home. It was nearly ten when she noticed someone watching her through her living room window.”

Grant shook his head. “This was the second time he’s been to Pepper’s house. Simon says nearly fifteen different single women in Rosewood have reported prowlers since Christmas. I don’t like it. They need to catch this creep.”

“Yeah, they do. My sister is home alone with the kids at night while her husband works at the hospital. If that pervert cracks one glimpse of my sister or one of the girls, I’ll pummel him with my bare hands.”

His sisters.
It hadn’t even occurred to him that this guy might go after his sisters. Hazel was probably safe since she still lived at home, but Maddie had recently bought one of the older houses on Daisy Drive. It was nearly spitting distance from the fire station, on a well-lit intersection, but it was also directly across the street from Woody’s Bar, where any drunken idiot could stumble into her yard to take a peek.

“I’d better talk to Maddie and make sure all her windows are locked and cover—”

The alarm went off, interrupting Grant and making his heart leap in his chest. They both sprang into action. He tossed his coffee into the sink and rushed down the stairs with Mack close behind him.

“What have we got?” Grant heard Mack shout into his radio.

“Ambulance and support rescue vehicle requested at 1473 Azalea,” the dispatcher responded. “Suspected heart attack victim. Possible DOA.”

They shot out the side door to the rescue truck and pulled out into the street just behind the ambulance. With sirens blazing, they raced through the streets to the address on Azalea Street.

Dead on arrival.
Despite what the dispatcher said, a possible DOA usually meant a definite DOA, but it took a paramedic to officially confirm the person had died.

Every time a call came in to the station, there was a moment of panic as Grant waited to hear the address. Was it someone he knew? Someone he cared about? His family? This address was unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean anything. He knew most of the people in town, even if he couldn’t recite their addresses by heart.

It didn’t take long to get there. They rounded the corner in time to see the two EMTs, Naomi and Isaac, pull into the driveway and charge for the front door. Mack parked on the street and they followed behind into the house. The older sedan in the driveway looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Until he got inside. Grant’s heart sunk when they went into the living room and he saw the portraits on the wall. This was Bert Swenson’s house. Had the widower’s heart finally given out? Grant moved down the hallway, following the voices, until they entered the master bedroom.

The first thing he saw—surprisingly—was Bert Swenson standing nervously by the doorway. He was wearing his bathrobe over his pajamas, his thin graying hair was going every which way, and he was nervously chewing at his thumbnail. If Bert was okay . . .

Grant moved past him into the room. There were clothes scattered all over the floor. There was even a bra there that he gingerly stepped over. Bert had company. Naomi and Isaac were both hovering over a still figure on the bed. When Isaac turned to get something out of the case, he could see the face at last. It was Estelle Townsend, the owner of Rosewood Bakery and the one who had paid seven thousand dollars for Bert’s company at the bachelor auction.

Oh dear
 . . . Grant’s eyes widened when he realized Miss Estelle was wearing a lacy, red negligee. There was a giant bottle of lubricant on the nightstand next to a hot-pink vibrator that would make any man feel inadequate. She and Bert had been . . . He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the images in his mind, but it didn’t help.

Naomi’s fingers pressed into Estelle’s neck for a moment. The entire room stood silent, waiting for what to do next. Each of them was ready to snap into action, but the sad frown on her face made Grant realize quickly that there was nothing to be done. He’d tried to hold out some hope, but the pale, unnatural color of Estelle’s skin beneath her heavy makeup had given away the truth. She’d been dead for quite a while, probably with Bert unknowingly asleep beside her.

“She’s gone.” Naomi tugged the blanket up to cover Estelle’s face. “Radio Sheriff Todd to send his boys down here and have him notify her daughter, Robin, as next of kin. Also, someone call Walter Hancock at the funeral home to come pick up the body.”

“I’ve killed her,” Bert said sadly from the doorway, shaking his head. “People kept telling me I should date again, that it would be good for me after Margaret died. I thought at worst I’d throw out my back or something. I never expected something like this.”

Mack went up to Bert and put a comforting arm on his shoulder. “You didn’t kill her, Bert. At her age, her weakened heart could’ve given out at any time. It’s not your fault.”

They ushered the distraught older man down the hallway and sat him in his recliner. Bert just shook his head. “It is my fault. I told her how good I was. She thought I was just bragging, but it was God’s honest truth. I never let a woman leave my bed unsatisfied. That just wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do in my mind.”

Grant paused, his eyes growing wider as the man spoke. The lingerie and the vibrator were bad enough. He didn’t want to hear this.

He and Mack exchanged looks of mutual horror, but Bert kept right on talking.

“Estelle told me she’d only had two real orgasms in her forty years of marriage and she wanted to make up for lost time. She said she’d paid seven grand for me and she wanted me to earn every cent of it in bed. She didn’t want dinner or a ride around the lake in my boat. All she wanted was the best loving I could give her. I took that as a challenge and look what happened! She’s dead.”

Overwhelmed, Grant sunk down into a plastic-covered wingback chair and exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

At least she died happy.

Chapter Eleven

“We’ve been so busy today, I haven’t gotten to ask how your week off went,” Sarah said, balancing the cash drawer and going through the day’s receipts.

Pepper looked up at her, setting her broom aside. She’d just finished cleaning up her station after her last appointment. She had been quieter than usual today. Since her discussion with her mother Sunday afternoon, she’d found herself in a whirl of activity. She’d unpacked boxes, hung pictures, and put away things she didn’t even know she owned, they’d been boxed up so long. Anything and everything she could do to keep her mind from wandering down that dark path, the better. Once she was at the salon, she stocked shelves, cleaned, and even organized the magazines between clients.

Between that and the news of Estelle Townsend’s death throwing everyone for a loop, there hadn’t been much time to chat.

Pepper shrugged. “It was fine. I got a lot done. I need to do a few more things and then I can actually have company over.”

Sarah smiled. “That’s great, Pepper. I know you were worried about all that money going to the auction. Sounds like Grant is more handy than you thought.”

Oh, he was excellent with his hands, she thought. But “Yep” was all Pepper said. “He had the guys from the firehouse come help one morning, too. That was nice.”

Sarah slammed the cash register drawer shut and put the deposit in the locked envelope she dropped at the bank each evening. “And Valentine’s Day?” she pressed.

Pepper sighed. Her instinct was to dodge the topic of Grant, but she really couldn’t do that anymore. Whether or not her family approved and whether or not Grant’s father was a son of a bitch, they were dating. He’d asked and she’d accepted, so Grant was her boyfriend. That meant their relationship was out in the open now, consequences be damned.

“We went to Whittaker’s. After a long week, just the thought of driving to Birmingham was exhausting.”

“I bet.” Sarah picked up the envelope and grabbed her coat off the hook. “Are you about ready to close up? I’ve got to drop off this deposit and get to the Piggly Wiggly to get something to take over to Robin Townsend tonight.”

The obligatory food parade had already begun. Pepper needed to take over something, she just had no clue what. “Any idea what you’re bringing?”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe a pot of vegetable soup. The weather turned cold today and it’s supposed to stay pretty cold through the week. I thought something warm and comforting might be nice. Maybe chili since it’s chilly!” she said brightly.

“I was thinking a tray of deviled eggs. Or maybe a congealed salad that I can chill overnight and take over in the morning before the shop opens.”

“You’ve got time,” Sarah said. “The visitation is Wednesday afternoon and the service is Wednesday evening.”

“They pulled that together pretty quickly,” Pepper noted with a frown. She wasn’t expecting it to be until Thursday at the earliest.

“Well, Estelle probably had a prepaid plan put together when her husband died. If the plot and the casket and such were already taken care of, it’s just a matter of coordinating everything with the funeral home. And between you and me, Robin is probably keen to get through all this before the rumors start swirling about her mother and Bert.”

“That’s certainly not how you expect your elderly widowed mother to go, but I say good for her. Who wants to die in a rocking chair watching
Wheel of Fortune
?” Pepper grinned and turned off the back lights. She picked up her own coat and scarf, following Sarah out onto the sidewalk and waiting while she locked the door.

Sarah just laughed at Pepper, stopping when the roar of a motorcycle got near. “I think you have a visitor on his way.”

Pepper turned toward the direction of the echoing rumble and a moment later, Grant’s black-and-chrome Harley-Davidson rounded the corner and pulled up. “You can hear him coming from a mile away,” she said.

“Fair warning never hurts,” Sarah noted. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Pepper waved as Sarah got into her car and drove off toward the bank. She took a few steps toward the curb, pausing as Grant pulled off his helmet. “Hey there, Motorcycle Man.”

“Hey, yourself,” he said. His dark hair was messy from the helmet, but that just boosted his boyish charm by a few notches.

“What’s with the helmet?” she asked. “Don’t all the bad bikers wear the kind that just covers their head?” His wrapped all the way around, covering his face, too.

“A skull cap? No, that’s not for me. I’m too pretty to leave half this face on the asphalt. Care to go for a spin?”

“After that enticing visual?” Pepper winced. She wasn’t exactly born to be wild. “I think I’ll pass.”

“If you’ve had a day anything like mine, you need it. Leave your troubles on the road. Come on. It will be fun.”

Pepper had never been on a motorcycle before, but she didn’t think “fun” would be the first word to come to mind. “I don’t have a helmet.”

Grant leaned down and unsnapped one of his leather saddlebags. He pulled out a shiny black helmet like his, only with green flames wrapping around it. “I got this for you.”

She looked suspiciously at the helmet. “For me? How do you even know what size I wear?”

“I measured your head while you were asleep.”

“What?” Pepper choked, her eyes widening.

“I’m kidding,” Grant said with a wry grin. “I guessed, but I’m pretty sure I nailed it. Try it on and see.” He killed the engine and lowered the kickstand before getting off. “Hold still,” he said.

Pepper held as still as she could while Grant tugged the helmet on. Her hair was going to be an absolute wreck. The helmet was tight, but not too tight, and wrapped all the way around her face with a visor that slipped down to protect her eyes. Apparently he thought she was too pretty to leave half her face on the street, too.

Grant fastened the strap under her chin. “Shake your head around. Does it slide or move on your head?”

“No.”

“Does it feel like a vise is crushing your skull?”

“No.” Pepper laughed.

“Then it’s perfect, just as I thought. Come on.” Grant took her by the hand and led her to the bike. He helped her get seated on the back and then climbed on in front of her. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” he said. “Hold on tight.”

Pepper clung nervously to him as he fired up the chopper again and pulled out into the street. They roared through the square and turned onto the street that headed out of town. By the time they reached the narrow, winding road that would intersect with the highway, she was finally able to relax.

The sun was starting to set, the sky a gold and purple mix of clouds and atmosphere. There were no other vehicles on the road. The wind was exhilarating, blowing her hair behind her, while the visor protected her face. It didn’t take long for her to understand why Grant enjoyed this. It was soothing. The vibration of the bike, the scenery blowing by, the total freedom of roaring down the road without anything between you and life . . .

She took a deep breath and leaned in to rest her chin on Grant’s shoulder. They road about twenty minutes that way, finally coming to a stop at a little restaurant along the highway she’d never heard of before. The gravel parking lot had half a dozen other motorcycles and as many trucks.

“The Greasy Skillet?” she said after pulling off her helmet and shaking her hair around. “Sounds appetizing.”

Grant climbed off the bike and then held out his hand to help her hop off. “Don’t be scared. This place has amazing food. Bertha does it up right.”

“Then why didn’t we come here for Valentine’s Day?”

He twisted his lips in thought, then wrinkled his nose. “While the food is amazing, it doesn’t exactly have the romantic atmosphere I was aiming for. You’ll see what I mean.”

Grant took her hand and led her across the gravel and dirt lot to the front door. He held it open for her, letting her step inside the Greasy Skillet first.

As he’d said, the décor left something to be desired. It had plaster walls covered in old pictures and highway memorabilia. The tables were all freestanding with plastic over the top. The chairs were metal and screeched across the worn linoleum floor every time someone moved. It was clean, but not fancy, and that was fine with her. This was what she grew up with. Well, aside from the room full of bikers and country boys all with their eyes glued to her.

“Pick a table,” Grant said. “There’s no hostess.”

Pepper opted for a table in the back corner. Grant plucked the laminated menus out of the holder and handed her one. Standard country fare—fried chicken, country fried steak smothered in gravy, fried catfish, macaroni and cheese, turnip greens, fried okra, biscuits . . . the kind of food that would stick to your ribs, and your ass, but you’d enjoy every bite.

A teenage girl came out of the kitchen to take their drink orders, then vanished again. Two tall glasses of sweet tea and a basket of fresh-from-the-fryer hush puppies materialized moments later and she took their order. Grant got the country fried steak and Pepper went with the pork chops, both agreeing that they would leave room to split a piece of lemon icebox pie for dessert.

“I know why my day sucked,” Grant said once they were alone. “Judging by the pinched look on your face, I’d say you’re in the same boat.”

Pepper shrugged. “Same ol’, same ol’. You go first. What happened to you today? Oh wait . . .” she paused. “Did you find Estelle?”

Grant winced and nodded. “Yeah. Dealing with death is never fun, especially here in Rosewood where everyone knows everyone. Somehow in Birmingham it was easier. There were more fires, more accidents, more dead bodies, but I didn’t know them, so I could just do my job and not take it home with me. Most of the time. But finding Estelle? She made the dinosaur cake for my fifth birthday. I just didn’t need to see her like that.”

“See her like that? I thought I heard it was a heart attack.”

“Without sharing any details, I’ll just say that there are some things seen that cannot be unseen.”

“Her and Bert, huh?”

“Yes. What about you? You’ve seemed a little . . . off . . . since Sunday morning. Are you regretting dating me so soon?” he smiled, trying to ease the tension.

“No, not at all.” Pepper had been dreading this discussion since the moment she learned the truth about her mother and Norman Chamberlain. There was so much more to the story than she ever expected. It had shaken her. Her mother had been deliberately vague about the details of her pregnancy, leaving Pepper to wonder if she’d had the baby and given it away, or ended the pregnancy. If the baby was adopted, that meant she had a brother or sister out in the world. It made her wonder what else she didn’t know about.

But the hardest part was not being able to talk about it with anyone. She couldn’t tell Grant what was really behind their families’ differences. Instead, she reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m perfectly content with my decision.”

“Then let me guess,” he offered as his thumb stroked over her skin. “It’s your mother.”

Pepper opened her mouth to argue, but it was the truth. Perhaps a part of the story would be enough to get her through their impromptu dinner. “Forget my mother,” she said dismissively. “Her beef with your family has nothing to do with either of us. I’ll date whomever I want to date. I’m tired of her prejudices coloring my opinions.”

Grant frowned. “I don’t want to cause friction in your family.”

“Unfortunately, Chamberlains
breathing
is enough to irritate my mother and brother. Nothing will make them happy, but I’m hoping in time, they’ll change their mind. If you and I . . .” Her voice trailed off. Even though they were dating, she had a hard time speaking about their relationship in a long-term context. Would that scare him off? Make her sound more invested than she was? “I think once they get to know you,” she corrected, “they will realize they’ve misjudged you. You’re not your father.”

“Thank God for that,” Grant said.

Pepper’s gaze flicked up to meet his. She hadn’t expected that response. It was one thing for her mother to have issues with Norman, but she never expected his own son to feel that way. “Do you two not get along?”

Grant straightened up and looked over her shoulder. His line of sight shifted until she realized that the waitress was bringing their dinner. He pulled his hand away from her and the conversation was put on hold as their platters of fried, flavorful meals were presented.

“My father and I get along fine,” Grant replied once the waitress left. “I just don’t agree with some of the choices he’s made in his life. I don’t exactly hold him up as a shining example of who I want to be someday.”

“Why?” Pepper asked. She knew his father wasn’t quite the upstanding citizen he liked to portray, but did Grant know more about Norman’s escapades than she expected? “What did he do?”

Grant just shook his head and pointed at her plate with his fork. “Don’t let your food get cold. It’s best when it’s piping hot from the kitchen.”

Tuesday afternoon, the chime of his front door startled Logan out of a rousing game of
Candy Crush Saga
. He leapt up from his desk to greet the woman standing in his lobby.