Page 14 of Long Road Home

Maizie had sent a video of Cabot, Kenna’s dog that she’d left with the teen. The dog had been through illness and surgery and didn’t need to be on the road all the time. Kenna watched the video as she dried off from the shower, then dialed the teen’s number and put the call on speaker so she could dress.

The teen answered. “Hey.”

“Cute video,” Kenna said. Her dog, Cabot, had bounded over the lawn to greet Stairns, Kenna’s former boss at the FBI. The dog had raced to greet the retired man as he came out to sit with his morning coffee. She’d sat to be petted, then lie down by the man’s boot.

“She keeps getting bolder.”

“Stairns looks like he’s good. Healing.” He’d been shot in Mexico a few months ago.

Maizie sighed.

“What?”

“Everything doesn’t have to be about that.”

“The dog?” Cabot had gone through surgery for cancer. Maybe everyone in Kenna’s life was healing. Maybe everyone in the world was.

Maizie snorted. “You know I don’t mean everything doesn’t have to be about Cabot. Maybe everythingshouldbe about her.”

“But we can’t only talk about the dog,” Kenna pointed out. “Sometimes we should talk about work.”

“Nah.” Maizie chuckled. “You should just pay me to make dog videos.”

Kenna chuckled as well. As she layered up to go out, she told Maizie about the deputy’s visit.

When she was done, Maizie said, “I can’t find any other properties under her name, or the name of anyone in her extended family—alive or dead. No cabins she visited as a child. No favorite places to vacation. I havenoidea where Marion buried her victims.”

“There are entirely too many open stretches of land up here. She could have found an out of the way spot and buried them nearly anywhere.” Kenna would walk the wholecountry if that’s what it took, but she would rather have an idea of where to start.

“She doesn’t have a boat, so that nixes my idea that she dumps them in the lake.”

“That would be a good way to dispose of them.” Kenna paused. “Although, I wouldn’t want to be on the water when it’s so cold.”

Marion worked at the elementary school, which was terrifying but had given her access to the children. She’d also been overlooked as a suspect by the police.

She didn’t own a boat.

Deputy Kobrinsky had every right to be angry that Kenna had solved the case rather than the police, but he should be angrier that his department hadn’t figured it out. That so many kids had been victimized and murdered by that slow-drip IV bag.

“That’s what Forrest’s serial killer did,” Kenna added. “So maybe Marion heard about it and figured it was a good way to make sure no one found any of her victims. Or she figured anyone who found one if they washed up on shore would believe they belonged to the serial killer Forrest is writing about.”

That killer was more of a local legend, a man who carved a J into his victims, and had been dubbed “J.Pierce” by the media. He’d been dormant for years, and most presumed he was dead now. Unlike Marion, every one of his victims had been found. Washed up on the shores of Lake Michigan, up here on the Wisconsin peninsula.

So much death.

Maybe Kenna needed to go see that girl in the hospital, just to look at the life in her eyes rather than remembering the way she’d looked. Like she was already dead and gone.

“I wanna know,” Maizie said.

Kenna smiled. “Me too, Maze. You good otherwise?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Get back to work.”

She hung up to the sound of Maizie laughing and saying, “Yes, ma’am!”

All of them were navigating life together. It was messy, but they cared. Things weren’t always perfect, but she knew one thing.

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