Page 16

Dominic floated in and out of a sensual haze, lost in the bliss of the most incredible sex he’d ever experienced in his life. Presley was his equal in passion, desire, and appetite.

Back in high school, she’d been Gwen’s adorable cousin. She’d been way too young, and he’d never seen her any other way. He most certainly hadn’t thought about kissing her.

Who knew that the sweet little girl would grow up to be his dream woman?

Darkness had descended, and stars twinkled over the lake. He’d checked in with Gia earlier, happy to learn she was having a great time with Tracey. Major was doing well too. That eased any guilt he felt at sending her away.

Presley hummed, and he luxuriated at having her in his arms. “You smell so good,” he murmured against her neck as he gathered her closer.

Dominic’s phone chimed, jarring him from the sexual high he was currently riding like a surfer hanging ten over a point-break wave. He’d have ignored it if it hadn’t been the tone he’d assigned to the fire station. With a sigh, he released Presley and sat up to grab it from the nightstand. Presley gathered the sheet against her and scooted to lean against the headboard. He wanted to rip it away to stare at her perfect breasts.

“Hello?” His jaw clenched as he listened to what was being said. He glanced at Presley with a sympathetic look, and she jumped out of bed. He couldn’t even take pleasure in seeing her naked body as she slid into her clothes.

“I’m on my way.”

He disconnected and dressed quickly.

“Dominic?”

He hated having to break the news to her. “There’s been another fire.”

“Who was it?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Charmaine.”

Presley dropped onto the bed. “Oh, no. Dominic, she has three children.”

“Yeah. I know.” Abraham, Ruth, and Lazarus. They would grow up without their mother.

“What happened?”

Dom yanked on a pair of jeans and stepped into his boots. “I don’t have the details. All I know is that there was a fire at the church.”

#

Dominic and Presley dressed quickly and drove to the church. Presley parked away from the activity in case Eddie Smith was watching. While Dominic jogged off to meet his crew, she headed toward Reggie Branch, who was talking to Charmaine’s husband, Ezekiel. Before she reached them, she detoured to a stone bench and took out her phone. Would it do any good to warn Jessie and Tamera again? Presley had tried once, but they hadn’t believed her. Now Charmaine was dead. She had to try again.

Maybe she shouldn’t release the information until the police okayed it, but right now, she didn’t care about protocol. She dialed Jessie’s number.

“Hello?”

“Jessie, it’s Presley Parrish.”

“Presley, s’good to hear ya.”

Damn it, she was drunk. “No, it isn’t, Jessie. Listen to me and focus. Charmaine died tonight.”

A loud gasp sounded, followed by glass shattering. “No. You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t kid about something as serious as this.”

“W-was it another fire?”

“Yes. I don’t have the details yet. Jessie, I need you to be careful. It seems more likely that someone might target you and Tamera next.”

“Have you told her yet?”

“No. I called you first.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Presley’s brows raised. “You’re talking again?”

“Not really, but I want to be the one to tell her.”

“Okay. I’ll check in with you later.”

She disconnected and surveyed the area. Reggie was still with Charmaine’s husband. She jumped up and headed their way. Reggie glanced up from his notebook when she approached. “Hey, Presley.”

“Hi, Reggie.” She addressed Ezekiel. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Dunn.”

He nodded but didn’t respond. He looked upset but not distraught. She turned back to Reggie. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Instead of Reggie answering, Ezekiel did. “Charmaine spends every evening in the candle station.”

“It’s the room in the church where people light candles in a symbolic act to show reverence to God by offering a representation of their devotion through the flame,” Reggie added.

Well, now, that was a highly detailed explanation. Presley raised her brows at Reggie. “Ah. I thought that was a Catholic thing.”

“I instituted it,” Ezekiel boasted. “Atonement of sins shouldn’t belong to one religion or another. Besides, I’ve always been fascinated by fire. What better way to show devotion to our Lord?”

Interesting. In her experience, someone enamored with fire played with it. Often.

“Charmaine has prayed there every night since we were married,” Ezekiel continued. “It was dark, and she tripped, crashing into the stand holding the votives. I’ll take comfort in knowing she left this earth as an angel and met our savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, quickly.”

Sheesh, he was just as garrulous as his wife. “I’m sorry for your children,” Presley told him.

He waved a hand. “They’ll be fine. Several women in the congregation are candidates to take her place. They will raise the kids in faith.”

Presley recoiled. He was talking as if it were a business transaction, not the death of the woman he had pledged to love forever. She suddenly felt very sorry for the kids and wondered what Charmaine had seen in the man.

“I’d appreciate you letting me know about her service. I’d like to attend.”

“There won’t be one,” Ezekiel stated.

“You’re not having a funeral for Charmaine?”

“She wouldn’t have wanted one. They’re a waste of money. We’ll pray for her soul at the Sunday service.”

Presley was about to tell him what she thought of him when someone called his name and he left. Good for him, or she might’ve hauled off and slugged him.

“Take a breath, Presley.”

She glanced at Reggie. She’d forgotten he was there. “What?”

“You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I am. It’s as if Ezekiel is trying to erase Charmaine’s entire life. Memorializing her has been reduced to a mention during a sermon, and he’s actively recruiting a replacement wife. What kind of man does that?”

“Ezekiel, apparently.”

Presley crossed her arms. “Charmaine was killed.”

Reggie flipped his notebook closed and stuffed it in his pocket. “You heard her husband. She spends every night there. Someone left the sweeper plugged in, and she tripped over the cord in the dark, smashing her head into the stone floor.”

Presley blew up. “Damn it, Reggie. That’s too convenient. You seriously can’t believe it was an accident?”

He sighed. “I must follow what the evidence is telling us. I can’t make up scenarios to fit some narrative.”

She pointed a finger at him. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you must follow. The odds of the three friends dying in fires so close together are astronomical. You are committing malfeasance.”

“I’m not, and I agree with you, Presley,” he said, palms upraised. She realized she’d been yelling.

She leaned closer to him. “Then listen to me. I need to find a killer. I will do this without you.”

#

Reggie Branch watched the fire trucks depart as he put his notebook away. Presley Parrish was right. There was no way the fires weren’t connected. He didn’t believe for a minute they were accidents, but as he’d told her, that was where the evidence led. He couldn’t manufacture scenarios.

Her last words rang in his ears. She would do it without him. He didn’t doubt that she was an incredible detective. She worked for the premier security agency in the country. They didn’t hire just anybody.

He had run Margy Binder and Nancy Babcock’s incidents by his boss earlier, and based on the facts, he’d found nothing suspicious. Coincidental, yes. Suspicious, no.

That was before Charmaine had died in, once again, a fire.

Since the women hadn’t been in contact in years, Reggie had no motive or suspect. Even the causes of death weren’t suspicious. Presley’s own company had run tests, and no drugs had turned up in the victim’s systems, nor were there any ligature marks indicating the victims had been restrained.

Reggie was about to cross the lot to his car when something on the ground beside the church caught his eye. Taking out a flashlight, he walked over and crouched down. There were round bits on the ground. He withdrew a pen from his pocket and picked one up, bagging it in an evidence envelope.

It was late, but instead of going home, he drove to the station and headed to his desk. Much of the building was quiet. He was a floor up from booking, so he didn’t hear the nighttime busts nor the sobs of drunken arrestees. The other detectives had gone home. His temporary partner, Jed Flowers, had returned to South Dakota. According to Presley, he was a suspect.

A tug of a chain bathed light across his desk. Since they were recent, he had the files from Margy Binder and the Babcock’s fires handy. He took them out and spread them in front of him. Starting with Margy, he withdrew several pictures and studied them closely. He located a shot of the outside of the cottage but needed a magnifying glass.

Reggie dug around in his drawer but didn’t find one. He slid it shut and stood to check the cubical Flowers had been using while he was visiting. He found one and returned to his seat. Moving the picture beneath the light, his jaw firmed as he held the magnifier over the image and saw what he was looking for.

He grabbed Nancy and Gene Babcock’s folder and pulled out the photos. Sure enough, the same substance littered their yard. It wasn’t any old cereal.

It was Cheerios.

Reggie Branch needed to solve the case before another person lost their life. Would he have done so sooner if he’d listened to Presley Parrish when she first arrived in town?

There was no way to know the answer to that now.

#

Jessie King tossed back a healthy dose of vodka, savoring the burn down her esophagus. She’d been blissfully drunk earlier. That had been before Presley’s call. That brief conversation had instantly sobered her up. Her hand shook as she punched a number on her phone. She wasn’t sure if it was alcohol or nerves causing the tremor.

“Hello?”

“Charmaine’s dead.”

“What?” Tamera screeched.

Jessie had to yank the phone from her ear. Good Lord, the woman could shatter glass a mile away. Jessie poured another tumbler full of Grey Goose Altius and waited until the liquid cleansed her palate before saying, “Hundred bucks says you can’t guess how she died.”

“Damn it, are you kidding me right now, Jessie? Another fire?”

“Bingo.”

“Jessie, what’s going on? Do you think—”

“Shut up, Tamera.”

“Jessie, someone knows.”

“There’s no way . . . unless one of you talked.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Tamera barked.

“Then it had to be one of the others.” It had been her number one fear for years. She hated to count on anyone else and had misgivings from the beginning about trusting her friends. They were all weak. “Probably Charmaine and her holier-than-thou attitude.”

“Well, someone is taking revenge. I thought it might be you.”

Vodka burned Jessie’s throat as it came back up. She coughed and sputtered. “Are you joking?”

“No. Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m scared.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me blaming you.”

“I didn’t . . . I’m sorry.”

Jessie wanted to be mad at her old friend, but there wasn’t time. “Tamera, do you want to come stay with me? We have excellent security.”

“I can’t. My calendar is booked all week. I need the money or I won’t make my mortgage payments.”

Jessie almost offered to pay for her next installment but stopped before she did. She had plenty of cash—well, Sam did. But it had been ages since she and Tamera had been close. Years. What if Tamera was the one killing the other women? Jessie would be inviting the wolf into her home.

“All right. Stay safe.”

Jessie disconnected and refilled her glass. She didn’t know when she had emptied the last one, but then, she was comfortably indifferent. Her preferred state.

She stumbled to the window and gazed out at the manicured lawn. Her husband was off somewhere, probably having wild monkey sex with one of his many mistresses. At one time, it would’ve bothered her, but she’d given up on their relationship, probably before Sam had. The only reason they stayed together was for appearances. His very conservative parents would be disappointed in him if he divorced her, which might affect his inheritance. Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew he could stay married to her and have his side pieces, and they would be none the wiser.

Whatever. Jessie had stopped caring a long time ago.

Maybe she drank more than she should, but it was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay. Even then, they still plagued her. Sometimes, she thought she might be slowly going crazy. Would that be such a bad thing?

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, blinking twice to bring the name into focus. She dropped the phone with a scream. Oh, God, it was Gwen! She was calling from the grave!

Jessie carefully picked up the cell and the fuzziness cleared. She let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Gwen calling, but Glenis Ellington, the chair of the gala Jessie was hosting in a couple of days.

Jessie rolled her eyes and almost toppled over. She had to clutch the sideboard to stay upright. The last thing she wanted to do was hold an event, especially now that her high school friends were dying, but she had no choice. It had been on the social calendar for a year, and all the bigwigs, movers, and shakers in Serenity Shores and the neighboring cities, including Duluth, would be in attendance. Invitations went out weeks ago, and RSVPs were already collected. The train had left the station. No way to yank the emergency brake now.

#

Presley was quiet on the drive to the safe house. Charmaine Dunn Wells was dead. Four of the original Cheerios were now deceased. That left two.

Presley thought about Charmaine’s three young children. It hurt to know that the kids would grow up without their mother. According to Ezekiel, anyone with boobs in his congregation could replace her. That made Presley sick. Would that woman remind the children of their mother or make them forget about her? It wasn’t fair to Charmaine.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Dominic said, breaking the silence. He reached over and clutched her hand.

“Me too.” She glanced at him. “I gave my condolences to her husband, Ezekiel. Do you know what he had the audacity to say to me?”

“No, what?”

“That there were a dozen women in the congregation who could take her place and raise the kids.”

“Damn, that’s cold.”

“Yeah. So is the fact that he’s not even holding a wake or funeral. But, get this, he’s going to say a prayer for her soul at his Sunday service.”

“That’s sick.”

“Dominic, he admitted he was fascinated with fire.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“How did he work that into the conversation?”

“We were discussing the candle station that turned over and started the blaze. I told him I thought it was a Catholic tradition. He said it shouldn’t belong to one religion and that he’d always been fascinated with fire.”

“That’s a symptom of pyromania. It makes you wonder how often he indulges his obsession.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

A sharp trill sounded. Presley glanced around. “What is that?”

Dominic pulled his phone from his pocket. “Someone’s trying to break into my house.”