Oh, great, she said to herself. Her hair was impossible, mostly because she’d given it only a cursory brushing that morning and now it sprung from her head like tree roots. It wasn’t just her hair that was out of control. Her skin was pale, and dark smudges shadowed the area beneath her eyes. She looked . . . haunted. For a fleeting moment she thought of pinching her cheeks, a fast way, her grandmother once told her, to “bring back the roses,” but decided against it.
A small shelf beneath the mirror contained knickknacks. Among the various keys and paper clips she found a cinnamon ChapStick, an elastic, and a peppermint wrapped in cellophane. As fast as she could, Cameryn pulled up her hair and yanked it through the elastic at the base of her neck, applied a thin coat of ChapStick, and popped the mint into her mouth. Well, it was something, she told herself, and the best she could do.
“Hey, are you coming, Cammie?” Justin called from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” she said, zipping her coat to her chin and digging her gloves from the pockets. She, at least, was aware of how cold February air could get high in the mountains. When she stepped into their kitchen she drank in the vanilla smell. Her grandmother was squeezing a pastry bag filled with red frosting.
“These look like they were made in a bakery.”
Mammaw, who had a smudge of flour on her face, glanced up at Justin and smiled like a schoolgirl. “There’re just cookies, plain and simple. Off with you now,” she said, shooing both of them through the door. “And don’t stay out too long, it’s about to get dark. A hat, Cammie,” her grandmother called out after them, a dictum Cameryn chose not to hear. She looked at the large thermometer that had been nailed to the outside wall of their house. The temperature read seventeen degrees.
“Your mammaw really gets into the holidays,” Justin said, gingerly holding two heart-shaped cookies on a napkin balanced on the palm of his hand. The paving stones that led to the glider were buried beneath a layer of snow, but her father had shoveled a path that led to the back of the house. The snow on either side of them was three feet high, so they had to walk single file. Justin led the way.
“Unfortunately, we have decorations for every occasion. You should see what she does for St. Patrick’s Day—green pancakes, green beer. Personally, I think the whole ‘holiday cheer’ thing can get a bit cheesy.”
“We had too many kids in my family for my mom to have time to decorate or bake or do any of that kind of thing. Everything came from a box. For a while there I thought Sara Lee was my aunt.”
“Well, I can’t cook, so don’t get your hopes up. The cooking gene is one I did not inherit. No baking, no nothing. Nada.”
“I’m a big boy. I know how to open a can.”
They stopped in front of the glider. Behind it, a clutch of aspen stretched out bare arms, their tissuelike bark studded with knotholes. “By the way,” Cameryn said, suddenly serious, “am I being watched? Right now, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Justin nodded. “They’re out there.”
“I guess I’m glad. I mean, I want to be safe. But it feels kind of . . . weird. I hate being spied on. I’ll be so happy when this is all over.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” His tone had shifted and there was something new in his voice that made her nervous. He cocked his head as he looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. She could tell he was searching for the right words for what he’d come to say. “Maybe we should sit,” he suggested. With his bare hand Justin began to brush off the glider, still carefully holding the cookies in the other.
“I’ve got gloves on—let me do that. I’m not helpless,” Cameryn told him as she scooped an armful of powder onto the cement below.
“No. You’re not.” She heard it again, the flint in his voice.
“So what’s the big secret that you’re sure I’ll say no to?” she asked, facing him once more. His thick-heeled boots made him even taller so that he loomed above her. His eyes had darkened to the color of water before a storm. He hesitated.
“Justin—what is it?”
“All right, I’ll just say it. I don’t want you to be a part of the investigation.” He set the cookies on the edge of the glider, then placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “It’s not safe for you and I think—no, I’m sure—it’s wrong for you to be involved. I know you’re doing this because Kyle threatened me, but he can’t hurt me. Look, I’m asking you to drop the case. I’m asking you to drop it for me.”
She raised her chin just a little, making sure her eyes stayed locked on his. Well, she’d guessed this was coming. “Tempting, but no,” she said.
“Cammie! Just listen for once. You don’t understand—”
“I do understand and the answer is no. No!”
“But you can’t say no before you hear me out.”
“I just did. No, no, and no.”
“Talking with Kyle, egging him on in any way—it’s just dangerous.” There was a new heat to his voice, but Cameryn shook her head with every word he spoke.
“My dad says I can do it. Andrew thinks I can help—”
“Your father is a coroner, not a lawman, and the agent’s main concern is catching Kyle, not protecting you. My number one priority is keeping you safe. There’s a difference.” He squeezed her shoulders but she pulled away. A thousand feelings were crowding inside her and she wasn’t sure she could sort them all out, not with him looking at her the way he was, guilty and sure of himself all at once.
Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to keep me safe and I want to keep you safe. We’re both stubborn, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“I guess there’s a lot we need to learn about each other. Here’s something you should know about me: I will do whatever it takes. So you might as well hear the worst of it.”
“There’s more?” She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back. She did not like this conversation. “What did you do?”
He seemed to waver a moment. “I went to Durango and talked to Dr. Moore.” A breath, and then he exhaled slowly, creating a frosty plume. “I told him what was going on and . . . I asked him to help me talk you out of this crazy scheme.”
Cameryn stared at him, for a moment too stunned to speak. Finally, she managed to ask, “Why?”
“Because you respect the guy and I figured he’s the only one you might listen to. You’re still a minor, Cammie, even if it’s just for a few days. The feds should not have asked you to do this. The doc understands exactly who these FBI goons are asking you to play with and how high the stakes are—”
“You did what?” There was a feeling rising above the rest. It was anger. It shot up her spine and exploded in her head and she could feel her nostrils flare as she cried, “How could you—Dr. Moore is my mentor and—you, what did you say, that I’m just some little kid who couldn’t handle it? He’s going to think . . . you had no right, Justin!” Her words tumbled out of her mouth before she could line them up properly so that they made sense. But even though her thoughts were fragmented, Justin seemed to be able to follow her intent well enough.
“Calm down, Cammie!”
“I hate it when people tell me to calm down. Since we’re learning new things about each other you ought to know that. And by the way, if I’m old enough for you to date, I’m certainly old enough to make my own decisions. Why did you talk to Dr. Moore?”
“I already told you.”
She almost stomped her foot. “That is so bloody patronizing. This is my decision, not yours.”
“I thought it could be ours!” he said, matching her heat. “This is what I do. Could you give me just a little credit here? I understand the law. I know the criminal mind. And I’m asking you to respect that and walk away from this case. Cameryn, don’t let Kyle’s threat against me get into your head. He can’t hurt me but he can hurt you. I’m asking you to do this one thing for me.” He was pleading now.
“I already told you. No.”
“Cammie, come on!”
She swore under her breath and turned away, but his hand was on her arm and he pulled her around to face him again. He seemed to be straining to keep his voice even. She had never seen him angry like this, at least not with anger directed her way. Or was it fear? She couldn’t tell and she didn’t care. A gust of wind blew against her back, causing the bare twigs of aspen to shiver overhead. The wind wound its way up Justin’s arms and into his hair, lifting the locks gently before setting them down again, and beyond that she saw a spray of ice crystals that blew over the cookies, blotting out the pink frosting her mammaw had carefully written in scroll.
“For the record, Dr. Moore agreed with me. He thinks the FBI is way out of line.”
“Oh, so you got him on your side. Good for you.” Her heart was pumping so hard she didn’t feel the need for her coat. One single idea beat through her: just because he’d kissed her, Justin Crowley thought he was entitled to run her life. Did he really think that four years’ seniority allowed him to make choices for her? Was that what her grandmother had tried to warn her about—that the one who was older had more power? So, he got Dr. Moore on his side. Checkmate. Only what Justin failed to understand was he’d just lost the game.
“Stop staring at me and say something,” Justin demanded.
“I have one question. Did you screw things up between me and Dr. Moore?”
He looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Stop. Just . . . stop.” She peeled his hand from her elbow and took a step back. She could not believe how cold she sounded. “Dr. Moore asked me to come to Durango and look over the Safer case. Does he still want me to help him, or did you convince him I’m just a ‘minor’ who can’t even think?”
“One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”
“Just answer my question. Please.”
“Fine.” His voice had turned as cold as the air. “Dr. Moore still wants you to come down tomorrow, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I’m asking. You screwed me over to make a point. I don’t like people going behind my back, Justin.” She was mad enough that the next words came out of her mouth before she had time to think them through. “For me that’s a deal breaker.”
Justin’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit melodramatic? Using words like deal breaker when we’ve just barely gotten started.”
Raising her chin, she said, “You should never have involved Dr. Moore. Stay out of my business.”
Justin jerked his fingers through his hair and spun to the side. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Okay. You won’t listen to me because at seventeen you have all the answers. You know what? Maybe you are too young.”
The wind had polished the top crust of snow so that it looked crystalline, as though diamond powder had been tossed across, pale blue in the waning light. Were the police out there, listening? Well, if they were, she didn’t care, because there was nothing more to say.
Maybe you are too young.
Each word was a slap. He’d pushed her and she’d pushed back hard, and now their words were out there, curling up in the winter air like smoke. She waited for him to take it back but he just looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read, and then she could feel tears threatening to spill into her eyes. There was no way she would let him see those. Without another word she turned, threading her way back down the shoveled path. She heard Justin follow her, his boots scuffing, his breath coming in short bursts, and then he walked past her. There was the slam of his car door and a muted squeal as his tires spun out against the snow.
Swallowing back her emotion, she opened the back door. The inside warmth seemed strangely oppressive.
“Cammie, what has happened?” her mammaw cried, brushing her hands against her Valentine apron.
“Nothing,” Cameryn answered, hurrying by. Mammaw, reading Cameryn’s expression, knew enough to leave her alone.
She jerked off her coat. How had it all gone so wrong? She had overreacted; she had always had a temper that she tried to keep under wraps, but this time it had all bubbled up, and now she’d made a mess of things. And yet, Justin had been wrong, too. His male ego made him think Kyle couldn’t touch him, but she knew better. She’d weighed the risks and made a decision and Justin didn’t honor it. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Cameryn threw her boots into the closet. Her BlackBerry hummed in her pocket and she rubbed her face with the palm of her hand. Was it Justin calling to apologize? Or worse.
The number, though, was one she recognized. It belonged to Dr. Moore.
“Hello?” she said. Clearing her throat, she tried to take the waver out. “Dr. Moore?”
“Hello, Miss Mahoney,” Dr. Moore said. “I trust things are going well for you?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. You remember I asked you to come down tomorrow? I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans.”
Cameryn’s heart fell. So, Justin had ruined it for her, after all. But before she could begin to form her argument, Dr. Moore said, “If you’re up for it, I’d like you to come down right now. I wouldn’t ask but it’s important.”
“Is this about Brent Safer and Joseph Stein? About the jelly in the lungs?”
“Yes, and no. There is something I need you to see.”
“I—I don’t understand,” Cameryn stammered.
“I don’t want to say more over the phone,” he said, and she immediately understood he was being vague for the benefit of the police. “But let me say this: the case just got a lot bigger.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the game has changed.”
It took her a moment to form the words. “What’s this about?”
“You. I’ll expect you and your father within the hour.”
Chapter Ten
“CAMMIE, HONEY, IT’S time to wake up. We’re here.”
“What?” Cameryn struggled to sit up from the front seat of the station wagon. “Dad, why did you let me sleep?”
“It’s good for you—you were up all night.”
“But—what time is it?”
“Five thirty. I have to admit I’m feeling robbed. I was fully prepared for a father-daughter chat, but you were so quiet at first I thought I should leave you be. Then I realized you were out. Well, sleep’s the best thing, anyway.”
She remembered only a little—the trees whizzing by, dark green against the snow, until it had all blurred as she’d given in to sleep. “Yeah, well, I seem to be zoning out a lot lately. Sorry.” Stretching her arms over her head as far as she could, Cameryn quickly realized they were already stopped outside the plain red brick Medical Examiner’s Building. The station wagon’s engine clacked and wheezed as they waited in front of the metal garage door. The building’s flat roof supported a thick layer of snow. Icicles hung off the gutter in a row that looked like jagged glass. Her father tapped the horn, a signal for Ben to open up.
The side of her cheek felt numb and there was a kink in her neck. As she shook off the grogginess of sleep she felt the sensation of her heart dropping through her, resting like a stone in the bottom of her belly. Justin. The fight.
Her father tapped the horn again and a moment later the door began to roll into the ceiling, revealing Ben’s legs dressed in blood-splattered green scrubs. He waved them in.
“Man, your engine sounds bad,” Ben said as Cameryn and her father got out of the station wagon. “You better get your hearse in for a tune-up.”
“I know, I know, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder to find parts for a car this old.” Patrick patted the car’s hood fondly. “But it just keeps on going. And you can’t fit a body into any old car—these station wagons were almost made for the job. So where are we heading, Ben, to the office or the morgue?”
Ben looked uncomfortable. His hand tugged at his collar as he said, “Well, here’s the thing. You know how I do all the dirty work around h
ere? Moore asked me to ask you if it’s okay if he talks to your girl all by himself—just for a minute. He wants her to go to his office.”
Her father looked stunned. “Why would he want to do that? I’m the coroner.”
Ben shrugged. “Moore says it’s a personal matter between him and Cammie. Hey, don’t shoot me, I’m only the messenger.”
She could tell that her father was about to say no. Leaning back on his heels, he hooked his thumbs into his jacket pockets and frowned, but Ben said in his pleasing, mellow voice, “Dr. Moore wants you and me to go on to Histology. It’s just for a little while.”
Cameryn tried to tamp down the irritation that surged inside her. It was happening all over again. Other people, male people, were talking about her and making decisions for her. “I’ll go talk to Dr. Moore,” she said to her father. Then she turned to Ben. “By the way, I’m old enough to answer for myself. Eighteen in just a few days, remember? I’ll meet up with you guys in Histology.”
Her words seemed to balloon out into the very corners of the garage. Ben looked nervously from Cameryn to Patrick, then back again. Finally, her father said, “I guess it’s been decided.”
“All right then, Miss Almost-Legal,” Ben answered, looking relieved. “You know the way, right?”
“First door past the autopsy suite.”
She could feel their eyes on her as she walked up the concrete ramp. They didn’t follow right away. As she opened the door she stole a quick glimpse and saw her father’s hands moving through the air, although he spoke so softly she couldn’t make out the words. Ben merely shook his head from side to side.
Down the hallways she went, stopping only briefly to let Amber know she was there to see Dr. Moore. Eyeing her up and down, Amber waved Cameryn through, and soon Cameryn found herself knocking on a gray metal door that had a plastic nameplate stamped DR. JOSEPH MOORE, FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST.
The Dying Breath Page 9
