Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

see . . .” Once again her grandmother reached out for Cameryn’s hand, cradled it between the two of hers. “Do you understand now? Your father—I—we could never forgive Hannah for what she did. The wastefulness of an angel lost. All because of stubbornness and stupidity.”
    “Mammaw, I know it was wrong,” Cameryn pleaded, “but—it was still an accident.”
    Mammaw fired up once again. “Is it an accident when someone’s deliberate actions cause a tragedy? No, no, no—back then, even Hannah realized the truth. The guilt made her try to end her own life, another sin before God to add to the first. And still your father wanted her back, until . . .”
    “Until what?”
    There was a beat. Slowly, her grandmother shook her head. “No, that part of the story is for your father to share.”
    Cameryn felt every muscle tense. “Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.
    The frown lines deepened. “Because a long time ago, your father lost himself to that woman. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.” Reaching up, she stroked Cameryn’s cheek. “I’m just telling you to be careful. You’ve got a big heart. You need to guard it.”
    “And you’ve got a big heart,” Cameryn answered softly. “You need to use it.”
    Her grandmother’s eyes widened as she pulled away. The chair creaked as she stood, her snowman earrings trembling indignantly. A crispness had returned to her voice as she said, “When I began this conversation I didn’t expect to get your cheek, Cameryn.”
    “No, that’s not the way I meant it. Really, Mammaw. It’s just, everyone makes mistakes. Hannah was sorry, wasn’t she? We’re supposed to forgive, aren’t we? I mean, we’ve been going to church all my life and that’s what I learned from you. That’s all I was trying to say. Honest.”
    Cameryn could tell Mammaw was wavering. Finally, with a slight nod, she said, “So you’ve been listening to the sermons, after all. Well, I suppose you’ve given me something to pray about. Speaking of which, look at the time! Since I’m needing to say a rosary for the both of us, I’d better go.” She plucked her coat off the coat rack and shrugged it on. “Mind you don’t stay at the Wingate all day.”
    “I won’t. Thanks, Mammaw. For understanding,” Cameryn said, and meant it.
    “I’ll tell Father John you’ll be there next week, no excuses.” With that she grabbed her oversized purse and slung in onto her shoulder as she hurried out the kitchen. The door slammed, and Mammaw was gone.
    Hannah used marijuana as a kind of self-medication. . . . The guilt made her try to end her own life, another sin before God to add to the first. . . . A long time ago, your father lost himself. . . . I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you. The words ran through Cameryn’s mind as she let herself into the Wingate, using a brass key her mother had given her. She had thought of nothing else on the drive over. It was clear that her grandmother believed the revelation of Hannah’s past would drive some sort of wedge between Cameryn and her mother, and yet, just the opposite had occurred. Cameryn now realized that her mother had not been well. Trying to make herself better, Hannah had paid for her bad choices in the cruelest of ways: with the loss of her child. No wonder she’d attempted to take her own life. The story explained so much—her mammaw’s and her father’s animosity and Hannah’s ice-cold fear. But they had all miscalculated Cameryn’s loyalty. Cameryn would stick, no matter what. Some kids at school smoked pot, and she knew the signs, knew the smell, and she was positive Hannah was clean. Since there was no way to undo the past, they all needed to let it go. It was as dead as her sister.
    The hexagonal stairs rose up before her and she climbed them quickly. She wouldn’t get lost. It was the other way around. It was Hannah who might drift away, somewhere inside her own head. It was Cameryn’s job to make sure that didn’t happen. Knocking against the door with her knuckle, she could hear a choking sound and someone softly blowing her nose.
    “Mom, it’s me,” she said, and tapped again.
    “It’s open,” came floating through the door. Hinges squeaked as Cameryn pushed inside. It looked as though Hannah had been crying. She was half-sitting, half-lying on her bed beneath a comforter, her long hair falling around her like a dark waterfall, rippling and wild. The skin on her