Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

herself. Why shouldn’t she relax and let this thing, whatever it was, just . . . happen?
    Before, Kyle had been a distraction when she’d needed it most, when she’d wanted to escape. But knowing the worst thing, the very worst thing about Hannah, was freeing, somehow. Maybe she owed it to herself to take one more chance, to replace the walls inside her with windows.
    She whispered, “It’s okay.”
    “Cammie, the thing is—”
    “Deputy Crowley, this is dispatch,” a voice crackled over the two-way radio. “You’re needed at the Avalanche on a 10-103f. Do you copy?”
    “Oh, man,” Justin sighed. He shook his head apologetically, withdrawing his hand. Picking up the transmitter, he said, “This is Deputy Crowley; 10-65. Over.”
    “What’s all that?” Cameryn asked.
    “A 10-103f means there’s a fight. I bet somebody had a little too much mead and, well, I am on duty. I’ve got to go, Cammie. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have sat in here so long anyway. Well, okay,” she said. She rubbed her palms along her jeans, her nerves still jangling. “I’d better go, then, and let you get to work.”
    Opening the door, she was about to exit when he grabbed her arm. “Can we pick this up later?”
    “Sure,” she said. “I think I’d like that.”
    He smiled. “I’m glad you’re back.”
    Although she wasn’t sure what he meant, a warmth spread from his hand all the way up her arm and into her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”
    She watched the police car pull away, this time the sirens blaring for real. Smiling, she waved as it disappeared down the street. Then, jamming her hands into her pockets, she decided to keep walking, threading her way between tourists and townspeople, past the booths and the man juggling snowballs in the air. There was a new lightness inside her. She craned her neck, looking up into the whitened sky. Above her the clouds broke open. Snow fell onto her face, cleansing her, dotting her skin with flakes that melted into water beads. People had gathered around oil barrels lit from within, their hands dancing above the flames. A dog whined, its gold eyes intent on its master’s chili dog. The man stood deep in conversation with a woman. Cameryn couldn’t help but laugh when the dog, a white husky, reached up to nip off half the chili dog while the man yelled, “Max, no!” How long had it been since she’d felt good ? Too long, she answered herself. One by one she let her problems go, releasing them like helium balloons into the winter air. She continued east on Greene Street, all the way to Fourteenth Street, and there, less than a hundred yards away, sat Hannah, her engine in idle. The blue Pinto was parked away from the crowd.
    Cautious, Cameryn approached the car.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, knocking her knuckle against the driver’s window.
    The noise startled the girl inside, who’d been deep in conversation with Hannah, gesturing as she spoke. Cameryn thought the girl looked no more than fourteen years old. Her strawberry-blonde hair hung in a long braid, and she had on a too-thin blue jacket without a hood. With eyes so pale blue they seemed almost colorless, she gaped at Cameryn.
    Suddenly the window glided down. Hannah cried out, “Cammie, this is Mariah. Mariah, this is my daughter Cameryn.” The storm that had wracked her mother only an hour before had calmed. She was smiling, laughing, her voice almost giddy.
    “Hi,” Cameryn said to Mariah. There was something odd about Hannah—her eyes shone too bright, her voice brimmed with false cheer. “Mom, are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. Wonderful.”
    “After you ran out of the Wingate I was worried,” Cameryn said, remaining vague because of Mariah. “I don’t think you heard me when I said I—I understand.”
    Tears of gratitude welled in Hannah’s eyes. “You do? ”
    “Mom, it was an accident. It doesn’t change anything. All of it happened a long time ago. You should have told me right away.”
    “Say it again.”
    “What?”
    Hannah’s face pinched with emotion. “‘Mom.’ You just called me ‘Mom.’”
    “Mom,” Cameryn said, surprised how easily it flowed. “So—who is this?” Cameryn’s eyes flicked toward Mariah.
    Speckles of paint still clung to the back of her mother’s hands as she clutched the steering wheel tight. “I saw her at the gas station and I thought, That girl needs me .”
    “Do you need help?” Cameryn aimed