Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

face was flushed with two red spots, one on each cheek, as if they’d been painted with watercolor. Instead of a nightgown she wore a T-shirt with long sleeves.
    Rubbing her eyes with her palms, Hannah tried to smile, raising herself into a sitting position. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come,” she said weakly, patting the mattress with her hand. Crumpled wads of Kleenex dotted the comforter like balls of snow. “But shouldn’t you be in church?”
    “I skipped it.”
    “Today is a bad day,” Hannah said, her voice quivering. “I’ve read about . . . what happened.” A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face. “I can’t believe it. That child put a bullet into her head. I hope . . . your running after her—didn’t put her over the edge!”
    Awkward, Cameryn reached out and patted her mother’s forearm. “It’s okay,” she told her. “If someone wants to kill themselves, they’ll pretty much do it. I don’t think my chasing her had any effect on her decision.” A newspaper was clutched in her mother’s hand; gently, Cameryn removed it and placed it on the nightstand.
    “Cammie, did you—did you see her?”
    “Yes, and I went to Durango last night. Dr. Moore did the autopsy.”
    “I thought the police would call me, but they never did. I waited and waited for the sheriff to come to my door. Then I knew you didn’t tell.” When she looked at Cameryn, her eyes filmed with tears.
    “I didn’t say anything about your wallet. You caught a break, because it wasn’t found on Mariah. She must have ditched it.”
    “I’m scared, Cammie.”
    Cameryn stood absolutely still. “Scared of what?”
    But her mother closed her eyes.
    “Scared of what ? Hannah, open your eyes and look at me.”
    Like a child, her mother shook her head. “Please, don’t tell. I’m so glad you didn’t tell.” Then she did open her eyes, so wide Cameryn could see the white all around. “There’s a . . . stigma . . . attached to people like me. They never forget. Your father is going to say I’m still crazy and they’ll start to talk and I don’t want them to talk. I can’t stand it when people talk about me.”
    Pricks of electricity burned beneath Cameryn’s skin. The boom-boom-boom of her heart beating against her ribs was physical. Then she saw it, a flash, like a fish scale beneath water. “Han—Mom—what do you have in your hand?” Her mother was worrying something between her fingers. Cameryn could see silver metal flash against the light.
    At first Hannah pushed her fist beneath the covers, but then gradually, she held out her hand. Slowly, twisting her fingers toward the ceiling, she opened her hand palm-up.
    “It’s a ring,” Cameryn breathed. “Is that yours?”
    No answer.
    “Mom, where did you get that ring? If it’s not yours, whose is it?”
    “Mariah left it in the cup holder of my car. She said she didn’t want it anymore.”
    Plucking it from her mother’s extended palm, Cameryn peered at the ring’s design. The words Keep Sweet had been carved into the silver, but not the way a jeweler would do it. The words were rough, etched with block letters.
    “Mariah left this in your car? When?”
    “After she climbed in. She dropped it in the cup holder and said, ‘I don’t need this anymore. I don’t want to keep sweet.’” Hannah pulled her legs up to her chest so that the quilt made a tent. Hugging her knees, she rested her forehead into the fabric; her face was hidden behind quilt and hair.
    “Mom, this is evidence.”
    She shrugged. “You can give it to the police. I don’t want it.”
    Cameryn felt a stab of fear. She began to pace, back and forth, trying to get her thoughts in a row. “How? How can I say I found it? We did a complete sweep of that alleyway. Pictures were taken. If I tell them the truth, the trail will lead straight back to you.”
    “What happens now?” Hannah asked, her voice trusting.
    Cameryn’s mind moved in fits and starts as she sifted through the data, for a moment not realizing that her own hand had drifted to her mouth, pressing her lips as if that could keep her thoughts sealed inside.
    “I want to keep this ring,” she said finally. As she stood and looked down on her mother’s bent head, at the wavy hair, she reached out to touch it. “I’ve got to keep the ring,” Cameryn said again, louder this time.
    Her mother’s tear-streaked face looked up at her. “I don’t care. I don’t want it.”
    “Okay,” Cameryn said,