Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

She pointed to her front door. “Now!”
    “I’m sorry,” Cameryn answered softly. “I can’t.”
    She stayed planted in the wooden chair, the rungs pressing into her back. Looking at the blue plastic bowl and the dried cereal, she tried to make her mind put together the pieces. Something had frightened Ruth deeply, but fear wasn’t anything Cameryn could take to the sheriff. What she needed was proof. If she waited, Ruth could pull herself together and deny the conversation even happened. Cameryn opened her folder and set out a photograph she’d printed from her camera. It was a close-up of Esther’s face. The eyes stared, wide and blank.
    “I work for the coroner’s office,” Cameryn said. She pulled another photograph of Esther and set it next to the first. This one showed the bullet hole in the side of her skull. “Somebody shot her. Shot Esther. In cold blood.”
    Ruth raised her hand to her mouth, and Cameryn heard an angry, muffled groan. Her face had gone scarlet. “Put those away,” she cried. “I can’t look at them!”
    “You have to look,” Cameryn told her, “because the authorities are trying to say my mother did this.” Cameryn pulled another picture from her folder. The boot print in the center of Esther’s back showed up in sharp relief. “Whoever did this cut off Esther’s hair. Fourteen years old and her life was taken. I think you made that call from the pay phone because you know this girl. That’s right, isn’t it?”
    Ruth nodded. “She was my niece,” she said. Tears streamed down her face. “My sister’s child.”
    Cameryn’s heart raced wildly as she formed her next question. “Do you know who killed her?”
    Her mouth moved, but her words were only a whisper. “I do.”
    Cameryn felt elation until she heard what came next: “I know exactly who killed her. But I will never, ever tell.”

Chapter Sixteen
    THEY SAT STARING at each other. Cameryn counted the seconds as they ticked away on the kitchen clock. They baby began to wiggle in Ruth’s arms, but she held her tight. “Just so you understand,” Ruth said, “I’ll deny everything I just told you. I can’t help you, Cameryn. I wish I could but I can’t.” She set the baby down on a brightly quilted blanket that had been tucked inside a playpen. Then she gathered up the photographs of Esther and shoved them into the folder. “I want you to leave my house.”
    “You know who killed this girl and you won’t tell?” Cameryn cried.
    “I know who killed this girl and I can’t tell. Because they said they’d kill me. Me and my family.” The voice edged on panic.
    Cameryn rose to her feet. Her blood rocketed as she cried, “But they’re accusing my mother! ”
    Ruth’s fingernails dug so hard against the edge of the table they looked bloodless. “I converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints years ago. I have a good life now. That nightmare is over for me.”
    “And my mother’s in a jail cell in Silverton! She’s in a nightmare!” Cameryn practically screamed the words, her hands gesticulating wildly. Suddenly, Ruth grabbed Cameryn’s left wrist in her hand. Her grip was like iron as she turned Cameryn’s palm up. “What’s that?” she shrilled, pointing to the digits written on her skin. “That’s the Childses’ number. Did you call them?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you ask them about me?”
    “Yes—I—”
    “Did you mention me by name? Did you mention me by name? ”
    “I might have. I . . . I was trying to figure things out. I said I was with the sheriff’s office and—”
    “When! How long ago?” Ruth jerked Cameryn so hard her feet almost left the floor. She was solid, tall, and deceptively strong. Her nostrils flared as she cried, “When did you make that call?”
    “An hour ago. Maybe an hour and a half . . .”
    “You don’t know what you’ve done!” Ruth released her and Cameryn staggered back. “I have to get out of here!” she cried, her face contorted, her expression frantic, wild. “The drive is only three hours from Placement. I still have time.”
    “If you’re worried, then call the police!” Cameryn told her.
    “No!” Ruth’s pale eyes flashed. “You have no idea who these people are.” She rushed to the refrigerator, yanking out item after item—milk, cheese, fruit, a bag of salad, a jug of orange juice—and shoving them all helter-skelter into a garbage bag. “I can’t do anything until my kids are