Sweet Pepper Hero

Book 4: A Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade

by J.J. Cook

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Old rivalries heat up in the fourth Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade mystery from the national bestselling author of In Hot Water.

Fire chief Stella Griffin has been put in charge of judging the annual recipe contest, but Eric—her resident ghost and true culinary genius—has vanished. Before she can track down his latest haunt, she’s called in to investigate a local moonshine distillery that was set ablaze, making her realize there’s more than pies and cakes cooking in Sweet Pepper. 

As rumors of a revived whiskey war ignite, Stella turns to the town’s elders to help her find answers. The past might have some clues as to what has sparked the present fires. But when following a lead lands her in buried rubble, Stella realizes she must extinguish this case fast or she might be going down in flames.

Release date: January 5, 2016

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

Praise for the Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade Mysteries

Berkley Prime Crime titles by J. J. Cook

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

The Sweet Pepper Difference

Recipes

About the Author

Chapter 1

Sweet Pepper fire chief Stella Griffin burned her hand on the cookie sheet she was removing from the oven. She shook it and stuck the injured digit in her mouth as she used the other hand to put the tray of chocolate and hot pepper cookies on the counter.

Lucille Hutchins laughed. “I can’t believe this is your cure for a burn. Let me see that.”

Stella looked at the bright red spot on her finger. “It’s nothing. Let me get these cookies on the tray to cool.”

“Never mind that.” Lucille grabbed Stella’s hand and led her to the stainless steel worktable. “It looks bad. I’ll get you some ice.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stella smiled. “It’s your kitchen. We’ll do it your way.”

“That’s right.” Lucille’s husband, Ricky Hutchins Sr., joined them in the large kitchen of the Sweet Pepper Café. “Lucy will fix it up for you. Those cookies smell great.”

Lucille shook her bright red curls. “That’s the third time this morning that she burned herself. It’s kind of ironic, being the fire chief and all, don’t you think?”

“What I find amazing is that she asked for our help at all with these festival recipes. You’ve seen her entries in the contests before, not to mention cakes and pies that she’s brought to events. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a rookie in the kitchen.”

Lucille and Ricky hovered over Stella as she obediently kept her burned finger in a bowl of ice. She felt more than a little out of her league with these people who had been running the café for years. They had no idea how much of a rookie she really was.

“It’s just that my kitchen at the cabin is too small to make so much food, and your kitchen is strange to me.” Stella smiled and hoped that made sense. She would’ve liked to confess exactly what had brought her to ask for Lucille’s help, but that would mean telling them about her missing ghost.

“We’re just razzing you, Stella.” Ricky Senior gave her a careful hug and a pat on the head. “We’re glad you wanted our help testing the recipes for the Sweet Pepper Festival contest.”

“That’s right.” Lucille grinned at her. “I knew when you told me that the committee wanted you to get new recipes from people that you’d end up making them before they were included in the contest. You didn’t know that, did you?”

“No.” And I wouldn’t have volunteered for the position if I’d known. Stella smiled to take away the bluntness of her reply. “But it’s okay. I really appreciate you guys helping me with this.”

The truth was that Stella didn’t cook at all. Her father had always said she’d better meet a man who loved her red hair and fiery disposition, because her cooking was never going to impress a potential boyfriend. She was good with a microwave. Even a toaster oven was okay. But when it came to mixing and baking cookies, cakes, pies, and various other scratch foods, she was a newbie.

She could hardly confess that the ghost of the former fire brigade chief, Eric Gamlyn, was responsible for every bit of food—excluding Pop-Tarts and toast—that came out of her cabin. Without him, she was lost as far as cooking was concerned.

And he’d been gone five months.

Flo, from the Sweet Pepper Bed-and-Breakfast across Main Street, bustled in with two more bags of groceries. “I think I’ve got everything we were missing.”

Stella had enlisted her help too. The more people working on the project, the less anyone would notice that she had no idea what she was doing. Flo was willing to help—and even better—she understood Stella’s dilemma. They had talked about Eric’s ghost many times.

Everyone from Sweet Pepper, Tennessee, where they grew and cherished the hottest, sweetest peppers in the world, believed that the old cabin on Firehouse Road was haunted by their first fire chief. It wasn’t a question of finding believers for Stella to talk to.

She was from Chicago, where sometimes her Irish relatives would talk about ghosts their ancestors had seen in the old country. There might be the occasional ghost walk through the cemeteries or the old gangster warehouses in the city.

But that was nothing compared to the belief people from Sweet Pepper had that their dead relatives were always hanging around. They saw ghosts almost every day and talked about them as though they were still here.

Stella lived with Eric, but she was still shy about talking to most people about him. Flo knew he was at the cabin with her. Eric’s old friend, Walt, believed in him too. Tagger was the only remaining member of the original fire brigade when Eric had been chief. He could also see and hear him.

These were the people Stella trusted. It still seemed too weird for her to discuss Eric with anyone else. She was the fire chief. There was a certain decorum that went with the job. She didn’t want people to think she was crazy.

“Those new cookies smell yummy.” Flo unpacked her bags. “Have you tried my recipe for chicken soup with peppers yet? I think it might win a blue ribbon this year in the contest.”

Flo had won many blue ribbons in the Sweet Pepper Festival recipe contest down through the years. She displayed them all proudly in her parlor at the bed-and-breakfast. She always had a new idea in mind for the next contest. It was people like Flo who kept the festival going.

“We’re not to soups yet,” Lucille told her. “We’re trying to keep the foods in the same order as the contest. Cookies, cakes, and pies. Soups, stews, and main dishes. Desserts that don’t fit into a category. We’re still working on cookies, cakes, and pies. Stella did a great job getting new recipes.”

Flo patted Stella’s shoulder. “Live and learn. I’ll bet you won’t make that mistake again.”

“That’s for sure.” Stella got to her feet and put the bowl of ice in the sink. “I’m fine now. Let’s move on to the next recipe.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Ricky said. “There’s the tasting aspect of trying these recipes.”

Lucille giggled. “That’s the part Ricky likes best.”

Flo picked up a warm cookie. “Who doesn’t? You have to try one, Stella. Our opinions don’t have to be logged into the recipe contest book, but yours does.”

Stella got out the notebook she’d been given, and turned to the page with the chocolate and pepper cookies. “They baked well. I checked that spot. They have a good appearance.”

“And they taste mighty fine.” Ricky smacked his lips after chewing one. “They remind me of Susan Everson’s cookies that she made way back when.”

“A little.” Lucille ate her cookie as she considered the taste. “These cookies have chocolate morsels in them as well as chocolate in the dough. I think that’s what makes them different.”

“And spicy too.” Flo waved her hand in front of her mouth. “Almost too much for me, but I’ve been getting more sensitive to hot peppers as I’ve gotten older. They’re probably fine. What do you think, Stella?”

“They’re chocolate—what’s not to like?”

They all laughed. Stella wrote that she liked the taste of the cookies in the recipe book. From this stage, the recipe committee would whittle down the numbers of recipes to the top ten or so. The taste-testing would continue with the next committee. Eventually, the winners would be chosen, and their recipes would be on display at the Sweet Pepper Festival in the fall.

“Are you sure we can’t skip around?” Flo asked. “I like the look of this whiskey and hot pepper cake. Raisins and nuts too. Sounds like hot pepper fruitcake. Is this your recipe, Stella?”

“No. I’m not submitting this year since I’m judging this part of the contest. It seemed like a conflict of interest.”

“Conflict of interest?” Lucille laughed. “It happens every year. There aren’t that many of us to go around. We’re bound to judge some of our own stuff. The town’s not that big.”

“I didn’t know.” Stella smiled. “That’s the last of the cookies. Let’s try the next recipe.”

Lucille and Ricky excused themselves to talk to someone who wanted to use their party room for an anniversary dinner. It was Sunday—very little was open in Sweet Pepper—including the café. But it was the perfect opportunity to make recipes for the contest.

Flo put her arm around Stella when Lucille and Ricky were gone. “Any news on Eric?”

“No. Not yet. Nothing in weeks, really. How do you look for a missing ghost? It’s not like I can have Chief Rogers put out an APB on him. I don’t think there’s an alert for missing ghosts.”

“Cheer up. You’re gonna find him. You know he didn’t leave on his own. He’ll find some way to get back. Or you’ll figure out who took him.”

“Whoever has his badge has control of him,” she reminded her. “It was someone who knew what he or she was doing. I was glad Hero was okay after he was drugged. I hoped the herbs they’d used on him might lead us to Eric, but no such luck.”

“Have you checked with the local farmers’ markets and herb supply stores?”

“That’s the first thing Walt thought of. Nothing. The herb that was used wasn’t even available at those places. I found a place in Sevierville that stocked it, but the man said he hadn’t sold any in months.”

Flo’s frown marred her smooth, carefully made-up forehead. “Maybe he’s lying. I hate there’s no one who can help on a professional level. I know we can’t call the police.”

“But Walt knows police procedure since he was acting chief for so many years.” Stella sighed. “There’s just no trail to follow. We’re stuck until we come up with a new angle.”

“If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to tell you,” Flo offered. “What about asking Madam Emery to do a séance? Maybe she could talk to him and ask where he is.”

Madam Emery was the local tarot and palm reader who also did horoscopes and helped the living communicate with the dead. Eric and Stella had a disastrous run-in with her before he went missing.

Stella had thought of her as a suspect right away but couldn’t find anything that would lay Eric’s disappearance at the woman’s feet. If Madam Emery had Eric, and was keeping him prisoner, Stella couldn’t prove it.

“I don’t know. I thought Eric would find some way back to let me know where he was. I’ve looked for him every day, Flo. Maybe he doesn’t want to come back.”

“Now that’s talking crazy talk!”

“I miss him.” Stella smiled sadly. “I guess that sounds crazy too, huh?”

Flo hugged her again. “Not at all. You two are so well suited to each other. It’s just too bad you didn’t come around while he was still alive.” She giggled. “Of course you weren’t born yet.”

“I guess. Thanks for listening anyway.” Stella looked up as Ricky and Lucille came back into the kitchen, blinking tears of frustration and unhappiness from her brown eyes. “Okay. I think lemon pepper cookies are next.”

They started mixing the dough according to the recipe that had been submitted.

Stella hadn’t told Flo how empty her life had been without Eric. She’d become so accustomed to having him at the cabin all the time. It was like her best friend was gone.

She’d made plenty of new friends after moving here from Chicago to take the position of fire chief, but none of them knew her or understood her as Eric did. They had so much in common and thought so much alike. He could be bossy and grumpy at times, but so could she. And they’d just begun to explore taking him out of the cabin using his badge as an invisible tether.

Someone had used that against them.

They’d just started putting the dough for the lemon pepper cookies on a tray when Sweet Pepper police chief Don Rogers stopped in.

“Walt told me I’d find you here, Stella. Could I get a minute of your time?”

Stella wiped her hands on her apron. “Sure, Don. What’s up?”

The fifty-something man with graying blond hair in a crew cut darted his glance at the other people in the kitchen. “I need to speak with you alone, if you don’t mind.”

Lucille smiled. “Go and talk to him. I’ll get the first batch in.”

Ricky went to shake hands with Don. “Good to see you, buddy. Got an emergency, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that,” Don responded, giving nothing away.

“Thanks,” Stella said to Lucille. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked with Don into the unlit café dining area. “I know it’s not an emergency since my radio didn’t go off.”

“Not an emergency for you, but we’ve had a bad morning. Skeet Richardson is in the hospital. I think I might need your help.”

Chapter 2

“What happened?” she asked. “How is he?”

Officer Skeet Richardson was one of the full-time Sweet Pepper police officers. He was a decent man who had been helpful to her many times since she’d moved there. He was also a volunteer firefighter. That meant she felt responsible for him.

“Every year the ATF leans on us to go around and dismantle all the illegal whiskey stills we can find in the area. Usually it’s not a big deal—we pretty much know where to find them since the same bootleggers have operated them since before I was born.”

“Really? I had no idea there were illegal whiskey stills anymore.”

He laughed. “Yeah. They’re as much a part of the mountains as the peppers. Most of the time there aren’t more than a few, but the longer I let it go, the number increases. There are probably twenty or thirty good-sized operations out there right now.”

Stella pushed a long strand of fiery red hair from her face. She’d worn it up that day to avoid any contact with the food. “And Skeet was hurt dismantling a still?”

“Actually Skeet was hurt when the still blew up in our faces. Jerry Jones, the man who ran the still, was killed. He was fourth or fifth generation.”

“Oh my God! That’s terrible. How badly was Skeet injured?”

“He wasn’t as close as he could’ve been,” Don said. “Another minute and he would’ve been at the morgue with Jerry Jones.”

She noticed the scratches and burn marks on the side of his face. “You were close too, huh? What can I do?”

He touched one of the scratches on his cheek. “I think we might need a firefighter with us this year. The still was in Jerry’s basement. It’s been there—except for a short time every year when we’ve dismantled it—for fifty years. His daddy made hooch too.”

She put her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I didn’t get a call on that fire.” She didn’t want to put too fine a point on it after the tragedy, but the fire brigade should have been notified.

“We were at the scene and contained it with fire extinguishers. No need to roust you after the fact, Stella. But from now on, I want one of you with me, if you can arrange that.”

“Not a problem. I’m guessing this is unusual for a still to blow up.”

“It used to happen years ago, but like everything else, bootleggers have gotten better at what they do. I haven’t seen anything like this since before Walt was police chief.”

“Do you still have the still or what’s left of it? I’d like to take a look at it.”

“That works for me. I wish you’d take a look at the scene too. When can you go out?”

“I’m not sure.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Could you just leave me the address?”

He shook his head. “I’d feel a lot better, given the circumstances, if you had one of us with you. I don’t know if this was an accident—or something else. I’d rather not take any chances.”

While Stella chafed a little at his protective tone, she was pleased that their relationship had developed to this point where they could have these conversations and he cared what happened to her.

It hadn’t been long before that the only way they communicated was through John Trump, the liaison between the two groups, and zinging sarcastic one-liners at each other.

In the spirit of their newfound cooperation, Stella agreed. “All right. When is good for you?”

“How about an hour?” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Can you wrap up the cookie making by then?”

“I think so.” She sighed. “I’d rather have been out there with you when the still blew up than trying out cookie recipes.”

He grinned as he put on his flat-brimmed cap to leave. “You should’ve been born a man, Stella. They never ask me to cook anything. They’re just happy if I show up at the festival to eat. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“I’ll be at the firehouse getting my gear,” she said.

Don left, and Stella went back to the kitchen. Three batches of cookies were cooling, and the last batch was in the oven.

“Sorry. Thanks for getting this done. They smell good. Have you tried one?”

“Not yet,” Lucille said. “We were waiting for you. You should get the honors since you collected the recipes.”

“Let’s all try one together,” Flo said. “I’m feeling hungry myself.”

Ricky agreed, and each of them ate a lemon pepper cookie.

“Could’ve used a bit more sugar.” Flo threw the rest of her cookie into the trash.

“I like it.” Ricky finished eating his.

“Me too,” Stella said. “Lucille?”

“I agree with Flo. A little more sugar would’ve been a better balance with the lemon.”

“Too bad we can’t change the recipe,” Ricky added.

Flo and Lucille were horrified.

“You can’t tamper with the recipes,” Flo told him. “They’re either good or not. That’s the whole point of having the taste test before the contest.”

“I can’t even believe you said that.” Lucille glared at her husband.

“All right. All right.” Ricky grinned. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like to see a good recipe go bad when it could be saved.”

“So appearance, good.” Stella wrote in her journal. “Recipe, good. Taste—needs more sugar.”

“What’s next?” Flo flipped through the recipes on the counter.

“I have to go.” Stella explained about helping Don. “I’ll have to work on this again later. Good thing it’s months until the festival.”

“The committee should have taken into consideration how busy you are,” Flo remarked. “I’m going to have a talk with Elvita and Theodora. You might need to get some help with this.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Stella protested.

“No. Flo is right,” Lucille said. “You should have a couple of helpers—like me and her. It wouldn’t hurt anything if we did some of the baking.”

“That’s right.” Flo smiled. “You could still write in the journal, but we could help you out a little with the hard work.”

“But you have jobs too,” Stella said. “I don’t want you to be overwhelmed for my sake.”

“Hush now. It’s done. I’ll let you know what we can do. You go on and help Don with his problem.”

“And be careful,” Ricky called out. “We don’t want to lose our best biscuit customer.”

Stella patted her stomach, which was starting to fit in her clothes again after weeks of running, weightlifting, and eating fewer biscuits. She hated to admit it, but part of her weight loss was Eric being gone. Without him constantly cooking delicious foods at the cabin, she ate a lot less.

But she’d be willing to work out harder if she could bring him back.

“Thanks, guys.” She removed her apron and picked up her bag. “I’ll see you later.”

“And good luck on that other project,” Flo called out. “I’ve got you in my prayers.”

Stella went out to the red Cherokee that was parked in front of the café. Main Street seemed strangely empty, but it was Sunday morning, when most of Sweet Pepper was at church. Later there would be some foot traffic in the park and around the ice cream parlor and the coffee shop. Mostly Sunday was a relaxing day in town. Monday would be busy again with all the shops open and people headed to work.

She took a deep breath of the clear, cool air. She hoped wherever Eric was that he was able to see the dogwood trees blooming white and pink against the pale green of the new leaves on the mountains. Pale purple flowered trees, curiously named redbuds, were also part of the new spring growth.

Eric had taught her the names for the trees and dozens of other things. She was a city girl. She knew tulips and other flowers, like roses that her mother and grandmother had planted in their yards, but nothing about wildflowers in the meadows and plants that could be used for survival.

He’d also pointed out the little brown bats that came out at sunset when they were sitting on the back deck of the old log cabin he’d built when he was still alive. He made her stop and listen to the sounds of owls and whip-poor-wills that were in the oak and pine trees around them. He’d laughed as she’d fallen into the shallows of the Little Pigeon River when she’d tried to catch a turtle sunning itself on a rock.

Where she’d grown up she was more likely to hear sirens at sunset than owls. She hadn’t known a tree from a shrub. She knew grass because she’d mowed her parent’s miniscule patches of lawn when she was a kid. But she’d never seen blackberry bushes or eaten their delicious fruit right off the branch.

“And no one nagged you about eating a nutritious breakfast or questioned how you dressed when you went on a date,” she reminded herself as she started the engine in the Cherokee that had her name airbrushed on the side door.

There were certainly disadvantages to living with her ghostly roommate. He had no sense of personal space, and sometimes he moped for days when he thought about dying forty years ago. He was on the Internet or watching TV all hours of the day and night and frequently forgot that she was sleeping when he played a loud video on the computer.

She headed out of town until Main Street became the wider highway that ran to Sevierville. The road took her to the Sweet Pepper volunteer fire department building. Several cars and trucks were parked outside even though Royce Pope was the only one scheduled to be on communications. Someone had to be there twenty-four hours a day.

Tagger Reamis greeted her in the parking lot as she got out of the Cherokee. “You aren’t gonna believe what happened, Chief.”

Since their conversations frequently started this way, Stella had given up trying to guess and simply went with it. “What’s up?”

“Walt thinks he may have a lead on finding Chief Gamlyn.”

Too many discussions had begun like this since Eric had disappeared. “I have to change clothes and get my arson kit. Can this wait until I get back?”

“Chief!” Tagger stared hard into her face. “I think this could really be something serious this time. I know you aren’t giving up on him, right? We have to bring him home.”

There was nothing that Stella wanted more, but she’d been on too many wild-goose chases set up by Tagger and Walt. “You know I want him home, but I promised Don Rogers I’d go with him to investigate a still that blew up.”

Tagger looked surprised. “Wow. Like in the old days? There used to be a lot of turf wars between the bootleggers around here. Better be careful with that. They can get mean, Chief.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I’ll call Walt. Maybe we can talk about the new idea when I get back. That way all three of us can be here. Okay?”

He grinned, scratching his gray hair, his rheumy brown eyes happy that they were at least still searching for Eric. “We won’t let Chief Gamlyn down. I know we won’t. He’d never let one of us down.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “We won’t let him down. We’ll find him.”

“That’s the spirit, Chief!”

“What are we celebrating?” Banyin Watts asked as she walked out of the firehouse with her gym bag. She was a tall, muscular woman who was working to get her body back after having a baby last fall. Banyin worked as a librarian at her day job. Her husband, Jake, was also a volunteer firefighter.

“Not celebrating yet,” Tagger told her with a giggle. “Soon. We’ll be celebrating real soon.” He went inside and left the two women alone.

“He’s always so weird,” Banyin said. “Really, what’s going on?”

Stella explained about the explosion, and Skeet Richardson’s injury.

“Oh no. Shall I send him something from us?”

“Sure. That would be great. Take it out of petty cash. Let’s see how many people we can get together to visit him in the hospital.”

Stella tried to keep up the traditions she’d learned after working with the Chicago Fire Department for ten years before coming to Sweet Pepper. They were good traditions, even for a volunteer squad. It kept people active in each other’s lives. That was a good thing when they went to fight fires. They were important to each other.

She’d learned most of those traditions at home from her firefighting relatives—she was the only woman—but her father, grandfather, uncles, and cousins were firefighters.

“Will do, Chief. See you later. Be careful when you investigate that fire. Let me know if you need any help.”

“I will. Thanks, Banyin.”

Stella continued into the firehouse with a glance at the big clock on the wall. She’d made it to her locker before Kimmie and David Spratt saw her. The Spratts supervised the training of the fire brigade’s two Dalmatians. As usual, that was why they wanted to talk to her.

“Sylvia couldn’t pass her final exam today,” David blurted out.

“I can’t believe she still couldn’t pass,” Kimmie, his wife, added. “Hero got his certification a month ago. I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.”

The Spratts were more timid than most of the other volunteers in the group as far as taking risks were concerned, but they were very competitive in their fields. David was an insurance agent, and Kimmie was in real estate. They tended to be edgy about how well the dogs were doing too, especially Sylvia.

They’d rescued Sylvia and Hero, her pup. Hero had taken to his training as