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Presley Parrish was headed home. It wasn’t something she necessarily wanted to do, nor was she looking forward to it. She’d left Serenity Shores, Minnesota, in the rear-view mirror to go to college and hadn’t looked back. Her parents had moved to Southern California, so there was nothing there for her anymore.

Except for the Cheerios.

Presley came to a stoplight on the outskirts of town and inhaled deeply. Located approximately thirty miles north of Duluth, Serenity Shores was situated on the banks of Lake Superior, the biggest of the five Great Lakes and the world’s largest freshwater lake, shared between the United States and Canada. She had some wonderful memories of the town, but she also had horrible ones, like the night her cousin died.

Neither she nor Gwen had siblings, so Gwen had been Presley’s older sister from the time she could remember. Gwen doted on her and let her tag along wherever she went. Gwen had been a Cheerio, a member of a group of six girls who had cheered together from first grade through high school. When Gwen babysat Presley, the others would be there too, practicing cheers and tumbling, laughing, and having fun. They’d accepted Presley into their group and even had an outfit like theirs made for her so she could perform with them at football and basketball games. Maybe everyone saw her as a sort of mascot, but she hadn’t cared.

Presley had been so proud to stand beside them and root, root, root for the home team. She’d started gymnastics at three years old so she could tumble up a storm. During one of the timeouts at basketball games, Presley would backflip, one after the other, down the length of the court, to the delight of the crowd. Those were the good times.

The bad had been the night Presley’s parents had sat her down and told her that Gwen died in a fire. Presley remembered it as clearly as if it’d happened yesterday instead of almost twenty years ago.

In Gwen’s honor, Presley had continued to cheer throughout junior high and high school, but her career goals had shifted. She’d always loved animals and planned on becoming a vet—and she technically had. But instead of tending to sick pets, she’d been a soldier in the United States Army. She’d taken online classes and had her degree by the time she had been honorably discharged. The police academy had come next, and she’d finished at the top of her class in almost every discipline.

Despite her accomplishments, she had been consistently overlooked and never taken seriously. The one person who had championed her cause was Captain Ed Smith, who had turned out to be a disgusting sexual predator.

The light turned green, and she continued through the intersection. Now, another Cheerio was dead. Margy Binder had passed away two days ago in, coincidently, a fire. Presley hadn’t spoken to her or any of the others since Gwen’s death, but she felt she owed it to Margy to attend her funeral.

Serenity Shores had changed since she’d left, so much so that she barely recognized her hometown. It had grown with new restaurants, shops, office buildings, and housing developments. Her first stop was at a grocery store for flowers, and then she drove to Green Hills Cemetery, situated, as the name implied, on hills outside of town. It was a beautiful setting with mature trees, a koi pond, and tasteful landscaping.

Gwen’s grave was located in the back section on Aspen Lane. Presley parked and walked down the incline to the rose-colored marble headstone carved with angel wings that read: Gwen Irene Parrish, beloved daughter, cousin, niece, friend. Gone but never forgotten .

Two vases attached on either side of the stone held plastic flowers in pink, lavender, and blue. Gwen’s parents had contracted with a local florist to supply fresh buds weekly before they’d relocated to Southern California. There were too many painful memories of their daughter to stay. Once Presley had graduated from high school, her parents joined them. Both of Gwen’s folks had since passed away.

Presley placed the bouquet of pink roses, Gwen’s favorite, on the ground before the headstone. Guilt assailed her that she hadn’t visited since she left for college.

“Hey, Gwenie, it’s me, Presley. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve stopped by here.”

She proceeded to tell Gwen about her life and the job that she loved. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I’m not that shy girl you knew. I can take down a man three times my weight. I’m proficient in hand-to-hand combat and wouldn’t hesitate to use a gun if necessary.”

The sound of a car approaching halted Presley’s dialogue. She realized she’d been talking to Gwen for over an hour. She stood and turned to see more vehicles arriving. There must be a burial taking place soon. She said goodbye to Gwen, hopped in her SUV, and drove away before the other vehicles blocked her in on the one-lane roads.

Traffic was picking up as she navigated the main streets through town. A sign for the police station had her flipping on her signal and turning into the visitor lot. There was no reason for her to stop here. Margie’s death had been ruled accidental. Presley had read in the online papers that she’d left a burning candle unattended. Still, something nagged at her. Call it a hunch.

She found an open spot and parked. Presley glanced around the area as she traversed the sidewalk to the entry. She’d taken a class trip to tour the police station in grade school, but other than that, she’d never had a reason to visit. Jogging up a set of steps, she opened the door and approached the window.

“Hello. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with Detective Reggie Branch.”

Presley had gone to school with Reggie and knew he’d joined the local department. She’d called to congratulate him when she found out he’d made detective a few months after her.

“Presley Parrish, is that you?”

Her eyes shot to the woman, hardly recognizing Denea Porter. They’d been in the same homeroom for four years. Presley barely held back a groan. In high school, Denea had been the biggest gossip. Presley’s return would be announced on social media by dinnertime.

“Hi, Denea. How are you?”

Denea had always been a tad overweight, constantly jumping on the bandwagon of the latest fad diets throughout her teens. It looked as if she’d put on at least a hundred pounds. Her once-brown hair was now a bleached blonde with her dark roots showing.

Denea held out her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “I married Doyle Sipes. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Oh, well, he was two years younger than us. He was in the chess club and on the math team. He’s a history teacher at the high school now.”

“Congratulations.” If Presley didn’t stop her, Denea would prattle on for days. “Is Reggie in?”

“Oh, I think he is. Let me check.”

She made a call and then hung up. “He’ll be here in a minute. So, are you married?”

“No. I focused on my career.”

Denea’s head tilted to the side, and she gave Presley a sympathetic look. “Really? That’s too bad.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because you’re smack dab in the middle of your childbearing years. You should be popping out babies.”

Was she seriously having this conversation? “Maybe if I was born in the nineteen-fifties. I’m quite content with my life, thank you.”

Denea opened her mouth to say something but was cut off.

“Presley?”

She turned to see Reggie standing behind her, looking more handsome than he had been in high school. A crisp white shirt and blue tie accentuated his dark skin. Black hair buzzed short framed a beautiful face. He’d been the prom king their senior year, and every girl had wanted to date him. They had gone out as juniors before realizing there were no romantic sparks. They’d decided they were better friends.

“Hey, Reggie. It’s good to see you.” Presley hugged him. Subtle notes of an alluring aftershave wafted to her.

“You too, Presley.” He glanced at Denea. “We can talk in the conference room.”

“We’ll catch up soon, Presley,” Denea called out.

Presley waved over her shoulder.

Reggie led her through the station, and memories assailed her of her former job. The sights, the smells, the sounds. So familiar. She’d loved it at first. Until she didn’t.

“Hey Branch, did that officer from Chicago call you back yet?”

Reggie paused to talk to the person standing before them. The man glanced at her and did a double take. Then he smiled. Around six-two, he was handsome, with dark-brown hair and eyes, but she did not like the look on his face. It was, for want of a better word, predatory.

“Detainee?” he asked Reggie out of the side of his mouth.

“Old friend,” Reggie replied.

“Ah, well, Reggie’s old friend, I’m Jed.”

“Detective Flowers is visiting from Rapid City, South Dakota, researching a cold case,” Reggie told her.

“Presley,” she said as she shook his outstretched hand. He held on far too long, forcing her to politely jerk her fingers free.

“I haven’t heard from Chicago,” Reggie told him. “I’ll call them back in a little while.”

“It was nice to meet you, Presley,” Jed said, that cocky smile back in place. He probably thought it was sexy, and for some women, it might be, but she found it creepy.

Reggie guided her to a conference room and closed the door. He held a seat for her, and though she could do it herself, she knew his manners were ingrained. His mama had taught him right. She sat and waited until he did the same.

“What brings you home?”

“Margy Binder.”

“Oh, yeah. That was tragic.”

“She was one of my cousin Gwen’s best friends.”

“The Cheerios. I remember.”

“I wanted to see if you’d let me look at the official report, detective to detective.”

“Why? It was accidental.”

She shrugged. “Call me curious.”

Reggie’s coffee-colored eyes studied her.

Finally, she sighed and admitted, “Fine. I don’t like coincidences.”

“What are those?”

“You mean the definition? A remarkable concurrence of events—”

He chuckled. “No, with the case.”

“Margy died in a fire. So did Gwen.”

“Presley, that was, what, seventeen, eighteen years ago?”

“I know.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, he placed a manilla file in front of her. With one hand on thefolder, a twinge of guilt assailed her, prompting her to admit, “For the record, Reggie, I’m not on the police force anymore.”

“You’re not? What happened?”

Nope. Not opening that can of worms. “I took a job with a private company. CObrA Securities.”

Reggie’s brows lifted. “Well, I’m duly impressed, Presley. They’re the best in the business.”

A rush of pride washed over her. She was so fortunate to work for them.

Reggie pointed to the file in front of her. “Go ahead.”

Presley skimmed the report, which included notes from the fire inspector who had determined that an unattended candle had ignited the blaze. He or she had included a memo that stated over nine thousand fires were started by candles each year. That amounted to around twenty a day. That was a significant number.

She came to a picture of Margy’s burned body and swallowed hard. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten before she’d stopped at the station. “It looks like Margy slept through the blaze. Did she have a fire alarm?”

“Yes, but she is—was one of the millions of people around the country who don’t replace the batteries.”

“That’s a shame,” Presley murmured. She might be alive had she taken that small step. “Did she own the home or rent?”

“Owned.”

So, the landlord wasn’t responsible. “Was an autopsy conducted?”

“Yes. Smoke inhalation killed her, which is the leading cause of death in a fire.”

Presley nodded absently and studied the rest of the files. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She closed the folder and pinned Reggie with her gaze. “What’s your gut feeling?”

“About the fire? An accident.”

“You don’t find it suspicious that Margy died in a blaze, the same as Gwen?”

“No, I don’t. Again, Gwen died almost twenty years ago. Thousands of people perish the same way each year. You might not believe in them, but it’s an unfortunate coincidence.”

He was right. Fires weren’t uncommon, and neither were people who didn’t maintain their alarms. Still, she had a feeling they were related. It was the reason she’d jumped in her car and driven hundreds of miles to investigate.

Presley relied on her instincts. They had solved many a case and put dozens of bad guys behind bars during her career. Reggie might not believe her, but she would listen to them now.