Page 48 of Long Way Down

“And I’ve got backup. Loads of it. And not a single alphabet agency’s been able to take down a chapter of the Dogs.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on the value of working with others.”

Pongo shot him finger guns, and earned a sneer. “Okay, so now that we’re friends–”

“We’re not friends.”

“–how about you give me the long version of this story?” He pulled the matchbook out of his pocket and waved it.

Kat stood and settled his cap back on his head. “How about you do your own legwork with all that backup you were bragging about?”

“Hey, now,” Pongo said, as he walked to the door. “That’s not how being friends works!” he called, suppressing a chuckle when he got an over-the-head bird before the door swung shut.

Ten

Ivy’s daddy, Melissa’s Uncle Earl, had, according to the adults in both their lives, “run off,” because he was, in Mama’s words, “a no-account piece of garbage.” Ivy’s mama, Melissa’s Aunt Macy, worked two jobs to make up for it. She waited tables during the day and ironed laundry on the weekends, spending Saturdays and Sunday in front of the TV with her ironing board and two big baskets, one for clean, one for folded and ready, the whole house smelling of hot, clean linen. Occasionally, Melissa and Ivy played there, but mostly, Ivy wanted out of the house, and with Daddy asleep, and Granddad busy jawing over the fence with the neighbors, the Dixon house was the preferred spot for those endless summer days of childhood dreams and boredom.

Also, the swamp was there.

If their last trip out into its steamy clutches had scared Melissa off from it, it had done nothing but encourage Ivy.

“Let’s go back,” she said, thumping Melissa’s knee with the toe of her jelly shoe.

“I wanna go to the swamp.” Said hanging upside down off the couch, hair puddled on the carpet like poured-out corn oil.

“Come with me,” over PB&J sandwiches.

“What are you so afraid of, you baby?” Said huffily, with a flick to her ear that left her flinching away.

“You’re a pussy.” Hissed right in her ear, the fat of her arm pinched tight until she yelped. “A stupid little pussy who’s too scared to go into the woods.”

Melissa didn’t know what a pussy was, but she didn’t think it meant the same thing if you left “cat” off the end. Shedidknow that she was angry – face heated, teeth clenched, boiling mad at her cousin. For pestering her, for pinching her, for trying to get them in trouble out in the swamp again. The place had lost none of its wonder – she wanted to walk its dappled paths and peer into its hidden pools more than ever, wanted to see if there was a true gingerbread house beyond the shack full of bottles – but every time the wanting became acute, she recalled Pastor’s Keith’s smile. Remembered the sun glinting off his glasses and the curve of his mouth when he whispered in Ivy’s ear, too soft for Melissa to hear.

“Stop it,” she said, rubbing her arm. “We can’t go.”

“Says who?”

“Says everybody! If Pastor Keith catches us again, he’ll tell Mama and Daddy!” And then, she didn’t say, but knew with certainty, there would be no Little Debbie cakes after church on Sunday. Even warm, half-melted and smudged from Mama’s purse, they were a treat not to be trifled with.

“Baby,” Ivy said, stomping her foot, tossing her hair. “You’re such a fucking baby.”

Melissa gasped at the sound of the worst curse word she knew.

Ivy grinned nastily. “Baby, baby, just afuckingbaby. Sofuckingstupid. Afraid of your ownfuckingshadow.”

“Ivy, stop!”

“Stay here, then, Pissy Missy. Stay here and suck yourfuckingthumb like the baby you are.”

The door rattled in the frame when she slammed it, the screen door slapping a beat later, loud like a gunshot.

It was the last time Melissa saw her cousin alive.

~*~

There’s a magic word in policing. No matter the division, no matter the crime committed, there’s one word that has the whole department sitting up like dogs with ears pricked, half-eager, half-fearful. A word that can turn them into stars…or land them on Cold Cases indefinitely. A word that’s a career maker or breaker.

Serial.