“I hate leftovers,” he said, scanning the shelves. “Always bring ’em home, but never eat ’em.”

She wrapped her arms around him from behind and leaned over so she could see past him.

“Eggs are good. I make a pretty good omelet. Cheese in there?”

He nodded and fished around in the refrigerator.

“So while I whisk, you tell me what’s going on at McCormick Woods.”

Josh sat down at the kitchen bar. “We’re not really sure,” he said. “ Kendall went out there on the call. One of the neighbors, a real busybody, wanted to give the resident in question the ‘what for’ for not maintaining her yard and made, as you reporters like to write, a ‘grisly discovery.’”

Serenity turned on the blue flame of the range. A pat of butter hit the skillet and started to melt.

“Yes, we do love grisly.”

The pan started to smoke a little, and she lowered the flame.

“What did she find? I mean, if it was the homeowner, you’d have sent out a press release.”

Josh nodded. “A dead dog.”

“A dog.”

“Not just. Even worse. A decapitated dog.”

Serenity poured the yellow egg mixture into the hot pan. “You’re kidding? That’s awful. What happened?”

“We don’t know. Some freak, I guess. Maybe the dog barked too much and another McCormick resident decided to shut Rover up permanently.”

As the eggs began to set up, she sprinkled from a pouch of pre-shredded Tillamook cheddar. “What did the owner say?”

“Can’t find her.”

“How come?”

“ Kendall ’s on it. The woman was supposedly going to California or somewhere to visit friends. Apparently she never made it.”

Serenity ran a spatula along the inside edge of the skillet. “Did she live alone?”

“Divorced.”

She folded the omelet and slid it onto a sage-green Fiesta-ware plate. “What’s the woman’s name again?”

Josh popped some semi-stale bread into a toaster. “Carol Godding.”

“This isn’t some satanic animal mutilation like those horses in Enumclaw a few years back, is it?”

Josh took a bite and murmured his approval. “No. Just a nut job from the neighborhood. People in neighborhoods like that would rather poison a dog than confront the person next door about his barking all day. That’s my guess.”

The next morning, Serenity Hutchins moved her latest article to a folder on the server so that Charlie Keller could edit it. There wasn’t much to it. Serenity knew that sometimes the story that leads to another is as important as a bylined feature above the fold.

Dog Mutilated in McCormick Woods

Kitsap County sheriff’s detectives were called out to investigate the mutilation of a family pet on Wednesday in the McCormick Woods neighborhood.

“It was the vilest thing I’ve ever seen,” said the woman who made the grisly discovery. “The dog-a Doberman, I think-was in the garage. Blood was everywhere. It made me sick.”

Calls to the owner’s phone have gone unanswered. The owner, neighbors say, is on vacation.

Brandi Jones was in tears as she read the article in the Lighthouse while she waited for her brother, Nate, to finish his swimming lessons the following afternoon. The Jones family lived two doors down from the Goddings. Whenever the Goddings were out of town, she took care of Dolly. She was probably the only one who really knew Carol and what a wonderful person she was.

Brandi wasn’t sure who to call, the reporter who’d written the story or the Sheriff’s Office.

She called 911 and was patched through to Kendall Stark. Brandi began sobbing again before she could even get her name out.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I just called to tell you that I babysit Dolly when Carol is away.”

Kendall didn’t have to ask the distraught girl to explain what she was referring to. The names Dolly and Carol were fresh on her mind.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Kendall said.

Heaving with emotion, the girl was unable to speak. Kendall waited patiently for her to regain her composure.

“Take your time. We’re in no hurry,” Kendall said. “Slow down.”

Brandi’s sobs finally subsided and she took a deep breath.

“I’m worried about Carol,” she said.

“We understand she’s on vacation. We’re trying to track her down.”

The girl started to cry again. Each word was like a fist to her throat.

“That’s just it. She’s not on vacation. I’m scheduled to take care of Dolly next week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. My mom put it on the calendar. There’s no way she would have put it there if it wasn’t correct. My mom’s like that… Something happened to Carol. I just know it.”

Kendall made a few notes and took down Brandi’s information, promising to let her know if she tracked down Carol Godding.

“Detective Stark,” Brandi said, “Carol really loved Dolly. She really loved her dog.”

Kendall thought of the dog toys and the food dishes she’d seen.

“I’m sure she did,” she said, her mind beginning to race.

Celesta, Skye, Marissa, and now Carol.

The Fun House was a dump in most ways, but Melody found herself spending more and more time there. Sam had told her that as long as she “watered the bitch” and “fed her some table scraps,” so she’d be in good condition when he got home from work, he didn’t care what Melody did.

She looked at her watch and knew she had about a half hour before Max came home from school and she’d have no more time for herself. She sat in the red-plastic-covered recliner and turned on the TV.

A moan came from the back bedroom, but she turned the sound up.

Seattle Now was on, and she enjoyed the soap opera updates provided by a perky woman with a chatty style that made her enjoy the plot points on the shows she didn’t even watch.

A louder moan from the room…

“Shut up!” Melody called out. “You want me to shut you up? Don’t make me!”

The host started previewing the next day’s show, and an electric charge went through Melody’s body.

Oh God, it’s happening! People are talking on TV about us.

Melody heard a ping and looked at her laptop. As quickly as she could, she clicked on the space to enter her bid on the online auction site. She was going after a pair of Depression-glass salt and pepper shakers that she considered especially lovely. She no longer knew why she collected such things, but it was an old habit. She had filled the log home’s kitchen with old eggbeaters, ceramic juicers, rolling pins, and salt and pepper shakers, and other kitchenware. Sam had his collection, and she had hers.

She looked at the photo on the screen.

I’m going to get you, she thought. I don’t know what I’ll do with you or where I’ll put you, but I’m going to get you.

Her smile faded at the sound of more moaning.

“Goddamn you! I’m trying to get things done, and you won’t shut up!”