Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

on a spectrum ranging from debilitating depression to unbridled mania. Individuals suffering bipolar disorder generally experience fluid states of mania, hypomania, or what is referred to as a mixed state in concert with clinical depression . . .
    There she stopped. Fear stabbed her as she read the definition a second, then a third time through. Medication promised relief but patients were always subject to relapse. Stressful events, one article stated, were a kind of “kindling” that, when lit, could start a manic fire. Scrolling farther, she read, A diagnosis means treatment and treatment means control. The compassion of family and friends is critical to a patient’s well-being.
    Overhead, chandeliers threw out soft light through glass bells. A stuffed teddy bear looked on from the children’s corner. Cameryn didn’t know whether to retreat or advance, yet she forced herself to read on. In the comments section, a person with the initials A.B. had written: “ Letting someone in on the truth is the most fearful thing I ever do. Some people look at me like I could hurt them, when the reality is the only one I want to harm is myself.” Another wrote, “I’m abandoned to swim against the riptide of prejudice.” A woman from Texas added, “For those of you who choose to love people like me, I promise sweet reward. It is a lonely road we walk. The faithful allow us to go on.”
    Cameryn’s eyes filled, making the print swim. Turning away from the screen, she sat in silence. Is that how Hannah had felt? It’s a lonely road we walk. Was her father counting on Cameryn to turn away when she learned the truth about Hannah? She loved her father, and yet she needed her mother, too. She’d rather have this broken woman than no mother at all. The faithful allow us to go on. Cameryn knew she could help Hannah while remaining her father’s daughter. She could love both her parents, separately, equally. Love meant she didn’t have to divide them in her heart.
    Time dissolved as she sat thinking, feeling protective. The roles of mother/daughter had reversed: Cameryn would protect Hannah. She would help her mother and keep her well. Now that she understood, everything would be all right.
    When her BlackBerry rang she almost didn’t pull it from her pocket. It startled her to see that almost two hours had passed. Outside, unseen, the sky had darkened.
    “Hello,” she whispered.
    “Cammie?” It was her father. His voice sounded strangely tight. “Where are you?”
    “In the library. I was—looking things up. What’s wrong?”
    “We’ve got another one.”
    She didn’t need him to say more. This was an official call. A coroner call.
    “Who?”
    “They don’t know yet. The body’s in a lane off of Greene Street. Listen, I know what I said about your mammaw not wanting you to see any more death, but I think I’m going to need you on this one. The sheriff is really thrown. I guess the victim looks pretty young. Are you up for it?”
    “Of course.”
    He sounded relieved. “Okay, then—I need you to go home and get the station wagon. The gurney’s still in the back, but I put everything else away in the garage. Grab a fresh body bag. The death kit’s right above them on the shelf. The camera is inside on the counter. Gather up everything, then head out as fast as you can.”
    “Where am I going?”
    “The body’s in that passageway between the Carriage House and the Highlander Apartment Building. Jacobs said they need a coroner, pronto. You’ll beat me to the scene.”
    Twisting in her seat, she began to pull on her coat. “It won’t take me long. I left my car at the Grand, but I’m only a few blocks away. I’ll hurry home and load up. Where are you now?”
    “I was going to Ouray. I’ve already turned around.”
    Ouray. That meant her father had been on his way to see Judge Amy Green. But there was no time to entertain thoughts of the other woman in her father’s life. Someone had died, and this time her father had asked for her.
    Sighing, he said, “Two people dead in one day . It’s too much death.”
    “Dad, I’m all right,” she protested. “Don’t worry, I promise, I can take it.”
    “I meant for me.”
    The emotion in her father’s voice surprised her. He was the one who had told her they had to detach in order to be death’s detectives. “The chances of dying are one hundred percent,” he’d say. “The only thing to be determined is where and how. If you find yourself