Page 8 of Raging Inferno

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.

Chapter Two

Presley departed the police station twenty minutes later, unable to convince Reggie that anything was amiss. He escorted her out a side door so she didn’t have to encounter Denea again.

She’d managed to coax the contact information and addresses of the remaining quartet from him and was surprised to learn that Charmaine Dunn, Tamera Watts, Nancy Baker, and Jessie Hooper had all stayed in the surrounding area like Margy. She assumed one or more would’ve moved away at some point over the years. Three had married—Nancy twice and Tamera thrice. Margy had been the only one who’d remained single. Besides Gwen.

Presley planned on speaking with Jessie Hooper first. She’d always been the ringleader and Gwen’s best friend. But instead of driving to her house, she detoured to the fire station closest to Margy’s home, assuming they would’ve gotten the call.

She found a spot to park and entered the two-story building through one of the open bay doors. A woman was washing windows on a ladder truck while another worked with a thick, gray hose. Two men were polishing the trucks. One of them glanced up and spotted her. He stood, and his gaze ran from her head to her feet and back. A smile broke out on his face as he wiped his hands with the rag. He was adorable, with light-red hair and a muscled body that would’ve looked right at home on a wall calendar. She’d bet her last paycheck he wasn’t legal to drink alcohol.

“Hello, there,” he drawled as he sauntered her way. “How can I help you?” He wagged his brows.

“I need to speak with your captain.”

“Aw, come on, I’m tired of doing maintenance and need a distraction. I’m sure I can assist you with whatever you need instead of bothering Cap Bianchi.”

Presley blinked. “Bianchi? As in Dominic Bianchi?”

He regarded her shrewdly. “Yes.”

Presley was transported back to when she had been a young girl harboring a humongous crush on Gwen’s handsome boyfriend. He had been the star of the basketball, baseball, and football teams, a consummate athlete, and Presley had been smitten. Whenever she’d been around him, shyness had gripped her, and she could never say more than two words before giggling. He’d always been so sweet to her.

Gwen had dated Dominic duringtheir freshman and sophomore years. It had crushed Presley when they broke up. Even after he and Gwen had stopped dating, he’d still greeted her at games.

“I’ll reiterate,” the cute young firefighter said. “Let me help you. I’m Garrett, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Garrett, but I still need to speak with Captain Bianchi.”

His lips pursed. “Fine. Ruin my day, beautiful. Maybe I’ll get over it. Maybe not. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I knew him years ago. Tell him Gwen Parrish’s cousin is here to see him.”

“Okay, Gwen Parrish’s cousin, I’ll let him know.”

While he disappeared through a doorway, she checked out the wide bay that housed two large trucks and a smaller one. Turnout gear hung on hooks along one wall, with boots lined up beneath in perfect alignment. There was even a fire pole in one corner. She didn’t know those were still a thing.

Several of the men and women had stopped what they were doing to watch her. What? They never had visitors?

As if sensing they’d been staring, they all went back to their tasks, except for one woman who came over to her. “Hi, I’m Rena.” She held out a hand. “Are you dating the captain?”

Presley shook it. “No, I’m here to ask him a few questions.”

“Ah. So, you’re a reporter.”

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