cheating.”
“Life in a small town.”
“Exactly. Hey! Can we go up to the pepper factory?”
“Sure. I’m due a report on the progress they’ve made getting that duct system set up anyway. We’ll do that at the same time.”
Last year, Stella had made headlines in the
Sweet Pepper Gazette
for shutting down the Sweet Pepper packing plant for fire hazards. It had only been for one day. Everyone had been sure she’d lose her job, even though her grandfather owned the plant.
Ben Carson had thrown a fit, but they’d found a compromise that had kept the plant open. He’d repaired the faulty duct system that had periodically caught on fire.
“Greg Lambert’s up there now as manager, right?” Eric stared out the side window.
“Yep. He’s not too bad.”
“I always thought he was a little oily.”
“Oily?” She put her foot down hard on the gas pedal to get up the steep road that led to the packing plant.
“You shouldn’t gun it like that,” he warned. “There’s probably still ice on the road.”
“Don’t tell me how to drive in ice and snow. Chicago gets more ice than Sweet Pepper will ever see.”
The back end of the Cherokee fishtailed as it hit a patch of ice.
“I told you,” Eric said.
“Never mind. You were about to describe oily.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders that were barely see-through at all. “You know—underhanded. Slippery. Someone who offers you ten dollars as he takes twenty.”
“Okay. I get it. And I agree.”
“At least we agree on something.” He was melodramatic, showing her how far up and back he rocked as she pulled the Cherokee to a quick stop in front of the main office of the pepper factory.
The original brick structure of the first pepper bottling plant was still intact from the 1800s. It was used as the office/administration building. The whole facility and distribution center covered more than ten acres and employed hundreds of workers from Sweet Pepper and the surrounding areas.
“This place has grown.” Eric nodded. “The pepper business must be booming for the old man. You too, I guess.”
“I don’t think about it much.” Stella got out of the Cherokee. “It’s not like I get a paycheck or shareholder’s benefit.”
Greg Lambert was in his office when they were shown into the building by his assistant. Greg was in his sixties but still maintained some of his youthful good looks. His chiseled face was smoothly handsome, but his brown eyes were cold. “Chief Griffin.” He got to his feet and shook her hand.
It was the oddest feeling knowing that Eric was standing next to her when Greg didn’t acknowledge him. “Mr. Lambert. I believe the last report was due on the ductwork overhaul. I thought I’d drop by and pick it up.”
He smiled in a stiff manner. “Save me a postage stamp, eh Chief?” He handed her the paperwork. “I’m sure you’ll find that everything is in order. Would you like to tour the plant and take a look?”
Stella took the paperwork. “Not today. You’ve done a good job. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“I hear there was an unfortunate accident last night on Dead Bear Trail. I hope no one was seriously injured. It would be too bad if something happened to Barney Falk’s grandson the same day the old man died.”
Chapter 11
“B arney Falk’s grandson was there?” Stella asked.
Eric shrugged, not saying anything.
“Barney Falk III.” Greg leaned against his desk. “I think they call him Chip—as in chip off the old block. Only he’s always been a disappointment to his father and grandfather.”
“I don’t know the names of the boys. He might’ve been there. How do
you
know, Mr. Lambert?” Was this the link Brad was looking for?
“You know. It’s the grapevine.” Greg sat back down. “If that’s all, Chief Griffin, I have to get back to work.”
That was it, as far as Stella was concerned. She and Eric went back to the Cherokee.
“Same old Greg,” Eric remarked. “He’s
“Life in a small town.”
“Exactly. Hey! Can we go up to the pepper factory?”
“Sure. I’m due a report on the progress they’ve made getting that duct system set up anyway. We’ll do that at the same time.”
Last year, Stella had made headlines in the
Sweet Pepper Gazette
for shutting down the Sweet Pepper packing plant for fire hazards. It had only been for one day. Everyone had been sure she’d lose her job, even though her grandfather owned the plant.
Ben Carson had thrown a fit, but they’d found a compromise that had kept the plant open. He’d repaired the faulty duct system that had periodically caught on fire.
“Greg Lambert’s up there now as manager, right?” Eric stared out the side window.
“Yep. He’s not too bad.”
“I always thought he was a little oily.”
“Oily?” She put her foot down hard on the gas pedal to get up the steep road that led to the packing plant.
“You shouldn’t gun it like that,” he warned. “There’s probably still ice on the road.”
“Don’t tell me how to drive in ice and snow. Chicago gets more ice than Sweet Pepper will ever see.”
The back end of the Cherokee fishtailed as it hit a patch of ice.
“I told you,” Eric said.
“Never mind. You were about to describe oily.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders that were barely see-through at all. “You know—underhanded. Slippery. Someone who offers you ten dollars as he takes twenty.”
“Okay. I get it. And I agree.”
“At least we agree on something.” He was melodramatic, showing her how far up and back he rocked as she pulled the Cherokee to a quick stop in front of the main office of the pepper factory.
The original brick structure of the first pepper bottling plant was still intact from the 1800s. It was used as the office/administration building. The whole facility and distribution center covered more than ten acres and employed hundreds of workers from Sweet Pepper and the surrounding areas.
“This place has grown.” Eric nodded. “The pepper business must be booming for the old man. You too, I guess.”
“I don’t think about it much.” Stella got out of the Cherokee. “It’s not like I get a paycheck or shareholder’s benefit.”
Greg Lambert was in his office when they were shown into the building by his assistant. Greg was in his sixties but still maintained some of his youthful good looks. His chiseled face was smoothly handsome, but his brown eyes were cold. “Chief Griffin.” He got to his feet and shook her hand.
It was the oddest feeling knowing that Eric was standing next to her when Greg didn’t acknowledge him. “Mr. Lambert. I believe the last report was due on the ductwork overhaul. I thought I’d drop by and pick it up.”
He smiled in a stiff manner. “Save me a postage stamp, eh Chief?” He handed her the paperwork. “I’m sure you’ll find that everything is in order. Would you like to tour the plant and take a look?”
Stella took the paperwork. “Not today. You’ve done a good job. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“I hear there was an unfortunate accident last night on Dead Bear Trail. I hope no one was seriously injured. It would be too bad if something happened to Barney Falk’s grandson the same day the old man died.”
Chapter 11
“B arney Falk’s grandson was there?” Stella asked.
Eric shrugged, not saying anything.
“Barney Falk III.” Greg leaned against his desk. “I think they call him Chip—as in chip off the old block. Only he’s always been a disappointment to his father and grandfather.”
“I don’t know the names of the boys. He might’ve been there. How do
you
know, Mr. Lambert?” Was this the link Brad was looking for?
“You know. It’s the grapevine.” Greg sat back down. “If that’s all, Chief Griffin, I have to get back to work.”
That was it, as far as Stella was concerned. She and Eric went back to the Cherokee.
“Same old Greg,” Eric remarked. “He’s
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