Page 1 of Long Road Home

Chapter One

Friday, 7:55 p.m.

Door County, Wisconsin

Aclosed front door kept secrets from the world.

Kenna’s job was to kick the door in and drag the truth to the light. Today though, she knocked.

“It’s almost like we’re partners.” A glint of humor laced the tone of the woman standing beside her on the concrete doorstep.

Kenna had parked her Subaru behind the Mercedes and the Mitsubishi at the curb. Charlayne and Betty were already here. Forrest, her “partner” had hitched a ride, which made sense given Kenna was currently squatting in her garage.

Only the woman beside her knew the whole plan.

Kenna wanted to say she wasn’t in the market for a partner. Or she could tell Forrest not to get used to it.

Neither sentiment left her mouth.

Forrest Crosby was just a few years older than Kenna but didn’t wear it so well. The past two years had aged her, except when she smiled. Even then, the glint in her eyes didn’t touch her mouth above the scarf wrapped around her neck. She wore insulated jeans and tennis shoes, an oversized sweater under her jacket. Hair pulled back.

They both wore heavy coats, but Kenna’s had fur around the hood. She’d left the base layer off from under her jeans since they’d be inside Marion’s house tonight. Then home to Forrest’s house where Kenna’s RV was parked in her garage out of the cold, snow, and wind.

The same wind that froze her fingers as she knocked again on Marion’s front door.

Forrest held a tray. Under the lid was a selection of meats, cheeses, nuts, and fruit that Kenna was going to make sure they took home if this went sideways and no one ate.

The door swung open.

Kenna pasted on a smile. “We’re here.”

Marion frowned very slightly.

Good.

Marion should be nervous, but seemed to push it off quickly. “Come in. The others are already here.”

Forrest went first, so Kenna could cover her back. The snack tray went to the coffee table in the living room, passed over the back of the couch to Betty, who’d turned when they came in. Charlayne sat in the armchair with a glass of something sparkly she’d probably brought herself and hadn’t offered to anyone.

Kenna unzipped her coat, but wasn’t about to take the time to unlace her boots. They might have to run out of here.

Forrest did the same. Kenna had given her a full briefing.

Over the last six weeks or so, as Kenna had been living inher RV garage, she and Forrest had discovered some common ground. Forrest was a mystery writer but hadn’t typed a word of fiction into her computer since her husband and son were tragically killed in a traffic accident on the highway late at night, coming back from a movie.

Two years ago.

Instead, she was currently researching a true crime book on a local legend, a serial murderer no one had caught. Kenna had peeked into the office and studied the collection of papers and case files Forrest had managed to compile. So far she’d resisted the urge to call Maizie and get her on the case.

The grieving wife and mother might need to solve it herself.

“Coffee? Tea?” Marion wandered down the hall to the kitchen, which connected back to the living room. The hall rug needed vacuuming, and a thin layer of dust had accumulated on the bookshelves. She set her jacket on the arm of the couch beside her.

Forrest took a folding chair in the corner, which left Marion on the hotseat—a padded piano stool in front of the cold fireplace.

Kenna leaned back against the couch just to feel the pistol at the small of her back.

Maybe she wouldn’t need it.

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