Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

Cameryn, that was his obvious plan. But how could it be the other way around?
    “Before you came to Silverton, you told me everything about my life was a lie.”
    “Not now, Cammie.”
    “But if you won’t tell me what happened, then you’re lying to me, too.” Her words rushed into her throat so that she almost choked on them. “I thought I could trust you.”
    Her mother was silent.
    Large slashes of purple, from deep plum to lavender, had been topped with a shining bright center, a gold-yellow, like a ray from the sun. These she covered with a brushstroke. Her movements were harder now as the bristles made a thwacking sound on the canvas.
    "Hannah?”
    “I’m not ready.”
    “This morning Dad and I had a . . . disagreement. It was about you. He told me secrets were put in place to protect me. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant.” Cameryn hesitated. Although she wasn’t as good at reading people as Lyric, she sensed she was on sensitive ground. “Dad said that you’ve changed the rules, and that if you don’t come clean, the deal is off.” She waited a beat. “What is he talking about? What deal?”
    The paintbrush stopped an inch from the canvas as Hannah held her arm unmoving, like a maestro waiting to begin. Then . . . nothing. Not a movement, not a sound. Cameryn’s heart beat so loud she could hear it pulse in her ears, could feel her carotid artery flutter in her neck. Outside, someone laughed. She focused on that sound until it died away. “I didn’t know I even had a sister until you sent me that painting and the letter. Dad and Mammaw lied to me.”
    “I never deceived you.”
    “But you’re keeping secrets and that’s the same. Father John says you can tell a lie without saying a word.”
    Her mother’s hand hovered in the air as if it were a masthead pointing the way to another land. Why wouldn’t Hannah speak again? Behind her, through the window, the mountain filled the frame all the way into the sky. Pure white snow had hidden everything, leaving the mountain featureless. It seemed as though, in the same way, her mother had been somehow erased. She’d gone away somewhere deep inside.
    “Hannah?”
    Her mother did not respond. In one last, desperate effort, Cameryn murmured, “I remember this dream I had, when I was little. It was about another girl. We were sitting in the gutter and I had a pretty pony named Cotton Candy and hers was blue and—somebody must have been hosing their driveway because there was a lot of water. And we were laughing, except then her pony floated away. Then the girl tried to take Cotton Candy, but I wouldn’t let her.”
    The arm holding the brush drifted down into Hannah’s lap, leaving a paint stain on the leg of her jeans. It spread like a bruise.
    “Was that Jayne? Did that really happen?” Cameryn asked. And then, when her mother refused to answer, she demanded, “Say something! ”
    “I killed your sister.”
    The words hung in the air. Killed. Your sister. Cameryn couldn’t take it in. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
    “I killed Jayne. I’m sure Patrick will be happy you know the truth at last.”
    Cameryn registered her mother’s answer, but the wheels of her mind seized up.
    “What . . . happened?” she finally whispered.
    Her mother turned, her hair wrapped around her neck like a scarf. Everything was dead except the eyes. She fixed them on Cameryn, her expression embalmed. In a flat, emotionless voice she said, “I backed out of the driveway. You two were always playing in the gutter, but that day I didn’t see her. I felt the bump. I didn’t stop. The tire left a tread mark on her dress—the yellow one with daisies. When I got out of the car, I saw her head in the water. Your father called me a murderer.”
    Cameryn didn’t want to hear any more. Shutting her eyes, she commanded her mother to stop, screaming the word inside where Hannah couldn’t hear.
    “I’ve looked for girls ever since, trying to connect so I could remember. I’d see your faces everywhere—any girl with long hair, anyone who looked like they might need a mother. But even with all those strangers it was never the same. They can never be Jayne.”
    Cameryn had thought she’d prepared herself for every possibility—but not this. Never this.
    Slowly, Hannah stood, peeling off the smock, releasing it to the floor in a crumpled heap. She went to the bed. Squatting, she searched under it for a pair of cowboy boots, which she tugged on over