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something about a fire that attracted people. It didn’t trouble her. On the contrary, Colleen understood the fascination. When she was a child and living in an apartment complex on the mainland, there were only two things that got the neighborhood kids running—the ringing bell of the ice cream truck and the blaring siren of the fire engine. As soon as she heard the ear-splitting wail of approaching engines, she would race to the street, then sprint, first in front of, then alongside, then behind the engines. She was always faster than the other kids, including the boys. After chasing a few fires, Colleen got good at predicting where the trucks were headed and took shortcuts through playgrounds, terrace-level walkways, and storm drains, sometimes arriving just in time to see the engines pulling up.
    She had cherished those rare moments when she arrived early, before the firefighters sprang into action. One time in particular, she had arrived several minutes before the firefighters, partially because of her intimate knowledge of the apartment complex and partially because the fire truck had been unexpectedly blocked down the road by a construction crew. When she realized the firefighters were delayed, she ran up the stairs of the building, knocked on doors, and screamed for people to get out. She even carried one family’s frightened dog down the steps before the firefighters finally arrived and dragged her back from the building. Colleen would never forget the good feeling she had had in saving the dog or the pat on the back she had received from one of the firefighters.
    She noticed a commotion in the crowd gathering behind the yellow perimeter tape. She spotted Bill, arms folded and feet firmly planted two feet apart. Colleen recognized this stance. It was the one he took when he felt people were being unreasonable. It was the one he had taken this morning with her.
    “What’s going on?” she asked Jimmy.
    “Nellie’s insisting on coming in.”
    Colleen’s heart sank. Bill was breaking the bad news. She made her way toward Bill to try and help.
    “We don’t have an ID on the body, Nellie,” Bill said, trying to reason with Myrtle’s best friend. “You don’t know it’s her. Isn’t that right, Chief McCabe?”
    Colleen nodded. “The sheriff’s right. We won’t know if it’s her until the coroner’s report.”
    “She never showed at the fair. It’s not like Myrtle to miss manning the booth. I know it’s her,” Nellie said with a sob.
    Colleen knew it, too. “Sheriff Dorman or I would be happy to call you as soon as we hear,” she said, gently touching Nellie’s shoulder.
    “Why don’t you go home, Nell. We know how to reach you. And there’s nothing to be done here,” Bill said.
    “But what about the Society documents? Myrtle kept the originals in her home office. I told her how foolish it was to keep them here, even offered to keep them in my store safe, but she wouldn’t listen. All because of that thing that happened with her and Edna,” Nellie said with disapproval.
    Colleen’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Did she detect an unusual note of anger in Nellie’s voice?
    Nellie caught Colleen studying her. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe she’s gone,” she said and sighed.
    “That section of the house is relatively unharmed,” Colleen said. “Once it’s safe, I’d be happy to have those materials removed for safekeeping.”
    “How about you head home? You’ve had a long night,” Bill added.
    Nellie paused, glanced at the scorched Crepe home, turned, and walked to her car with the dispersing crowd.
    “I’d like your men to check for footprints around the property, particularly near the kitchen window,” Colleen said when she and Bill were alone.
    “What’s on your mind?” Bill asked.
    “Arson.”
    “You think we’re dealing with a homicide?”
    Colleen nodded. Bill studied her a moment. Colleen knew that look. It meant he thought she was asking him based on a