Page 31 of Raging Inferno

“I’ve forgotten how beautiful it is here,” Presley murmured.

“You tend to take it for granted when you see it daily,” Dom replied.

There was a lull in the conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He came to a stoplight and checked the directions on his onboard GPS.

“I suppose you also know all about Tamera,” Presley remarked.

Dominic glanced at her. Was that snark he detected? “Actually, no. I haven’t seen her in years. She recently divorced her third husband, Earl Pace, a musician. She’s an accountant.”

“How do you know this?”

“Sam King.”

“Hum. He seems to know more about the Cheerios than his wife, who was one,” Presley observed.

“I noticed that too.”

The robotic voice instructed him where to turn, and soon, he stopped in front of a yellow Queen Anne-style historic home with a double-column front porch. It was located in a neighborhood close to the Rose Garden, Lakewalk, and downtown Duluth.

“It’s charming,” Presley noted as they stepped out of the vehicle.

Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. Dom almost placed a hand against Presley’s back as they navigated the sidewalk, but he refrained. Barely.

As they neared the home, it was apparent that it needed significant repairs to return to its original glory. Most of the paint was peeling, a long, jagged crack marred the glass in the bay window, and several pieces of the decorative spindle work and gable trim were missing. The roof looked as if it wouldn’t last through another Minnesota winter. The handrail wobbled, and several boards gave with his weight. He hoped he didn’t fall through the porch.

Presley pushed the bell decorated with a Common Loon. A few minutes later, the door opened.

“Can I help you?”

“Tamera Pace?”

“It’s Watts,” she corrected. “I went back to my maiden name.”

#

Much like Charmaine, Presley never would’ve recognized Tamera. She looked nothing like the teen Presley remembered, with wavy mahogany hair and a face full of freckles. This woman was a hard-looking bleached blonde with a surgically enhancedchest. Lines fanned from the corners of her heavily made-up eyes, and the freckles were covered with a layer or two of foundation and blush. She almost looked clownish.

“Tamera, I’m Presley Parrish.” When the woman just stared at her, she added, “Gwen Parrish’s cousin.”

“I know. I just can’t believe it. Pep! It really is you.”

Tamera pulled her in for a hug, and the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke almost knocked Presley over.

Tamera released her and framed her face with her hands. “Honey, it’s been too long. How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Times are tough, but aren’t they all over?”

“Can we talk to you? You remember Dominic Bianchi.”

Tamera took in Dominic, and she obviously liked what she saw, judging from the predatory gleam in her eyes. “I would’ve recognized you anywhere, Dominic. Still tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous. Every girl in school crushed hard on you.” She hugged him. “Come in. Come in. It’s so good to see you both.”

Tamera held the door open, and they stepped into her home. The entry was set up as an office space with a cluttered desk and two visitor seats. Tamera cleared stacks of files from the chairs and dropped them in a pile against a wall.

“Please, have a seat. Would either of you like something to drink?” When they declined, she lifted the top of a decorative pink lotus on her desk. The petals dropped open to display an array of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

“No. Thanks.”

---