That Old Flame of Mine (19 page)

No one has any personal secrets here
. She pocketed the piece of taillight. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere until the job is done.”

“That’s what I like to hear! I’d love to have dinner with you tonight, if you’re not busy. Can you come to the house, or would you rather go out?”

She couldn’t think of a reason not to eat with him. “Okay. What time?”

“Seven. I could send a driver for you. I’ll have the cook whip up something special. What’s your favorite food?”

“My favorite is either macaroni and cheese or popcorn, take your pick. Seven sounds fine. At your place? I’ll drive.”

“Wonderful. Do we know each other well enough now that I could give you another hug?”

“Sure.” Stella stood still while he hugged her with enthusiasm. She lightly put her arms around him, feeling awkward.

“Thank you. That meant a lot to me.” He released her. “I’ll see you later.”

She watched him leave as the rollback arrived to take her Harley to Ricky’s friend for repair. The driver shook hands with her. Everyone helped put the battered bike on the truck. Stella hoped it would be ready before her contract was up. She didn’t plan to leave it behind.

“Ben really likes you,” Marty said after the bike was on the truck. “He talks about you all the time. I’ve never seen him hug anyone in the whole time I’ve known him, not even my mother.”

“If it makes you feel better, they say I look like my grandmother did at my age. Maybe he’s just reliving the past.”

“I don’t think that’s it. I’ve heard him say he has a future in mind for you. Better watch it—you’ll be a Carson yet.”

Chapter 22

S
tella wasn’t worried about being a Carson. She went out and bought a new dress for dinner that night, along with a pair of matching shoes, new boots, and three pairs of jeans. Definitely too much for her saddlebags on the way home, but that’s why God had created FedEx.

Eric remained silent while she was at the cabin dressing for dinner. She was glad John didn’t show up either. She didn’t want to explain where she was going.

She pulled her dark red hair back into a ponytail and pinned it up on her head. She was trying to look a little classier than she normally did with it straight down on her shoulders. She ended up pulling out the ponytail in the truck as she was driving away from the cabin. Maybe she just wasn’t a classy kind of person.

The porch light went on as she left. Eric must still be there—just not talking. She wondered what was going on with him.

Stella questioned her motives about buying the new dress and shoes. Surely she wasn’t trying to impress her millionaire grandfather. She decided it was more that she wouldn’t have worn jeans and a T-shirt to her father’s family’s house for dinner back home. She wanted to accord Ben Carson at least that much respect.

The gatekeeper smiled from his tiny stone house, opening the gate for her before she had to stop. It was dark, and the property was a fairyland of small lights that showed off the house and grounds.

“Welcome back, Stella.” Her grandfather met her at the front door. “I’m so glad you took me up on my invitation. We have so much to talk about.”

He led her to a cozy room where a table was set for two near a fireplace. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and the furniture was masculine. There was a large globe on a stand near shelves of books and a rack of antlers above the door.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He pulled out a hidden panel of bottles and glasses. “I have red and white wine, whiskey, rum, and vodka. If something sounds better, I can send someone out for it.”

“Red wine is fine, thanks.” Stella looked around at all of the different pieces of art he had collected through the years. There was a large portrait of a woman about her age above the fireplace. It grabbed her attention. It was like looking in a mirror. “I guess I do look a lot like Abigail.”

He handed her a glass of wine. “She was twenty-five when that was painted. Her hair was dark but otherwise, the two of you could be twins. I would have known you anywhere.”

“My mother looks like her too,” she remarked. “I guess I got the Irish red hair from my dad.”

He smoothed a hand down the side of her hair. “Yes. I love the color. I can imagine Abigail with hair your color.” He looked back at the portrait. “She was half of my soul. When she died, most of me died with her.”

“How did she die?” Stella sipped her wine.

“I know you’ve spoken to Barbara by now.” He smiled. “What you mean is—did I kill her?”

“Did you?”

“I think, in a way, that I did. That’s what your mother picked up on, why she left. I worked too hard, was gone too much. Abigail was alone too often. That was why we argued before I went to the plant on the night she died. That was why we always argued. She wanted to take your mother to Hawaii for a vacation, and she wanted me to go along. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask. I was too busy keeping the factory going and dreaming of wealth to see how important it was to her. The guilt has never left me.”

“You kept tabs on my mother after she left, and me, after I was born.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you? I didn’t want your mother to marry some lazy drifter. I was happy with what I learned about your father. I was proud to follow your life, Stella. You’re a very accomplished young woman.”

A maid and a man Stella assumed was the cook brought in soup and fresh-baked bread.

“I think it’s time to eat,” Ben said. “I hope you don’t mind eating in here. I’ve never liked the dining room unless there were a lot of people.”

“No. This is fine.” Stella took a seat as he held the chair for her. “I’m surprised that Marty and Vivian aren’t here.”

“I thought it would be nice if it was just the two of us. In fact, if you’ll come and live with me, be my hostess for parties and whatnot, I’ll send Vivian and Marty packing tomorrow.”

She was stunned by his careless disregard for his family and quickly tasted the thick pea soup to cover her surprise. She had to assume he was serious. “You know I’m not going to do that. I like being a firefighter. I’m going home when I’m done here.”

“I appreciate that. You deserve so much more. I could give it to you—show you the world. What woman your age wouldn’t want that?”

“I guess that’s me.” She broke off a piece of crusty bread, still warm from the oven. “I’m really happy with who I am and what I do. I can’t imagine living the life you’re talking about.”

“That’s all right. I want you to know the offer is always there. I told your mother much the same thing and offered to bring her and your father down here to join you.”

“I assume you got the same response?”

“For now. I’m relieved to be in communication with Barbara again. She promised that she’d come down for a visit. It’s a start.” He put his spoon down and rang a small silver bell. “The soup is a little peppery for me. I know that sounds odd since peppers are my life. Having eaten them since I was small, I have a very sensitive palate for them.”

The cook rushed in with the next course—salad and cheese. Stella liked the soup and opted to pass on the salad.

“What would it take, hypothetically, to get you to stay in Sweet Pepper? Your own house? Better funding for the fire brigade? Tell me, Stella. We can work out whatever it takes.”

At that moment, her pager went off. She looked at it, then apologized as she got up to leave. “I’m sorry. I have to answer this call. Thanks for dinner.”

“You’ll think about my question, yes? Whatever it takes. Let me know.”

“I will,” she agreed. “Please don’t hold out any hopes that it will happen.”

Stella left the estate and headed back down the mountain to the firehouse. She didn’t know what to think about her grandfather’s comments regarding Abigail’s death. She wasn’t really sure if her grandmother’s death had anything to do with her. It was a long time ago. Her mother had admitted that she’d misunderstood what had happened. The police had cleared the case.

It was drizzling lightly, making the roads slick and glossy. When she reached the firehouse, half of the volunteers were already there, suiting up and pulling out the gear. Banyin had been manning the communications room and told Stella the call had come from the pepper-packing plant. “Not sure yet what the emergency is,” she said. “Can I suit up and come too?”

“Much as I’d like to have you there, somebody has to be here to monitor calls. The rookies don’t know how to do that yet. I haven’t seen Tagger either. If he makes it in, he can take your place.”

Banyin frowned. “Okay. I’ll look for Tagger. Thanks, Chief.”

All of the new volunteers were suited up and ready to go by the time Stella walked over to the engine. Marty was there, looking as smooth and cool in his gear as he did in designer jeans.

Everyone else looked white faced and terrified. There wasn’t time to reassure them before they left. She assigned Kimmie and David to ride on the pumper and sent Bert, Marty, and Royce to the engine.

“Let’s go,” she called out.

“Have you been to the pepper plant yet?” Ricky asked as he turned out of the parking lot. “A lot could go wrong up there. I hope it’s not too rough on the newbies. You want me to keep an eye out for them?”

“Everybody needs to keep an eye out for them and each other. You’re not much more than a newbie yourself. Watch your back and be careful.”

“Aww, Chief. That doesn’t sound too good for me taking your place. You’ve already decided to give the job to Petey, haven’t you?”

“I’m not making any decision on that until a few days before I leave. You’re still in the running. I have to tell you, Petey is out in front right now.”

They drove through town, past the old lady houses on Main Street, then turned onto Pepper Street. The large factory complex was spread out before them, with hundreds of lights illuminating the parking lots and the dozen or so metal buildings. Ricky drove directly to a two-story brick building where, despite the late hour, every light was on.

“This is the main office, which is the address we were given,” Ricky explained. “This place has been around since the 1800s when they first decided to start canning peppers.”

“Okay. Let’s park and get inside.”

The factory manager was waiting outside the door in the drizzle with several others. Greg Lambert introduced himself, shaking hands with Stella and then with John, who’d come off the pumper to join them.

Stella gave Greg a subtle once-over. This was Tory’s second husband, Vic’s father. He was older, with a thick head of gray hair, but still retained some youthful good looks. He appeared to be a determined man with thin lips and a hard chin.

“What’s the problem, Mr. Lambert?” Stella asked.

“A couple of times a year, we have an issue with one of the air ducts in the main production building. There’s a buildup of dust that catches fire from sparks the canning machine throws out. We get that put out and clean the ductwork, and we’re good for a while again.”

Stella didn’t want to argue with the man—at least not until the possibility of fire was over—but that had to be the worst system she’d ever heard of. She couldn’t believe someone hadn’t devised something safer given all the years this place had been in business.

“The main building is over there.” John pointed toward a large metal building with a giant yellow “1” painted on it.

“Let’s get down there,” Stella said. “Is there a hydrant?”

“No,” Greg said. “In the past, the county fire department has drawn the water from our tank.”

“Anybody want to hazard a guess as to what size hose that is?” Ricky asked, obviously trying to show up Petey.

“John, have Kent check it out. Thanks for your help, Mr. Lambert. We’ll talk later.” Stella signaled everyone to head down to the main building.

About a dozen workers were standing outside the building. JC and Royce both worked at the factory. They explained that the night shift was small, maybe twenty people. Building 1 was used for the packing operation. Most of the others were used for packing, storage, and shipping

There was some smoke coming from inside. It was white and wispy, not much going on yet. Stella held her radio, waiting for a report about the water connection as she walked into the plant with the shift supervisor.

“They always tell us to get out,” he said as they walked through the front door. “But really, it’s not that bad. It happens all the time when sparks from the pepper-packing machines hit the dust buildup. Not exactly a fire—just kind of smoldering.”

Stella went up the ladder at the back of the plant to inspect the duct that was smoking. It was part of the exhaust system. There wasn’t a fire, at least not yet. She could see the potential for one in the foot-deep dust that had accumulated in the old ductwork.

When she’d come back down, she asked, “How often is this thing cleaned out?”

The supervisor shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s not really my call.”

“I think they clean it out when this happens,” JC said. “It always struck me as something bad waiting to happen. Lambert and, pardon my saying so, your grandfather, always act like it’s nothing. Sorry, Chief.”

“Don’t be sorry. Part of your job as a volunteer firefighter is to notice potential hazards. I’d say this qualifies.”

JC exchanged looks with Royce and the supervisor, tension on his dark face. Maybe she wanted to be the one who made a big deal about this, but not them.

John finally called in. “We don’t have anything that will fit this connection, Chief. We’re bringing the pumper over. Be there in a minute.”

It wasn’t bad enough that the factory allowed these fire hazards to continue, Stella thought, they weren’t even set up to handle a serious fire. What were they thinking? The Carsons had grown rich from this place. They needed to invest some money back into it.

Petey and Ricky, each trying to be the first one to work on the duct, got the smoldering dust pulled out. It dropped to the concrete floor, showering sparks everywhere as it hit. Kent, Allen, and Bert used fire extinguishers to contain the sparks. It was a mess, but the duct was clean and the smoke was gone.

By that time, Stella had lost her temper. “Not only did you have to call us to put out the fire, you got free labor getting your duct cleaned out,” she told Greg Lambert. “I’m shutting you down until there can be a complete safety inspection of the plant. And I’m fining you for allowing the safety hazard.”

“You can’t do that.” Lambert looked at John for agreement. “The fire department can’t shut us down. I’m calling Chief Rogers and Mr. Carson. You’ve crossed a line, Chief Griffin. I can’t imagine what Mr. Carson is going to say.”

Ricky nudged Petey with his elbow. “He must be the only person in Sweet Pepper who doesn’t know who the chief is.”

Stella didn’t have official fire department citations yet, so she wrote what she’d said on a plain sheet of paper and handed it to Lambert. “I’ll be back in the morning. I’d better not see any sign of people having worked here until then. Good night, Mr. Lambert.”