The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

frowned. “You know what your problem is, Cameryn Mahoney?”
    “Having a friend who seeks divine guidance from transparent minerals?”
    “You’re hilarious today. No, it’s the fact that you’re too much into facts. You need to expand your mind beyond the constraints of science. So, to get back to the point, I’ve always known how you felt about Justin even when you were in deep denial. Quit throwing up roadblocks and go after the guy. You might as well do it because I see it in your future anyway.”
    Cameryn snorted. It was an old argument between them, one that would never be resolved. Like two puppies tugging on a rope, they chewed on philosophy and religion from different ends in a never-ending battle. Picking up a carrot stick, she took a bite and wagged it in Lyric’s face. “See, this is why I question your psychic powers—the ‘information’”—Cameryn made quotes in the air with her fingers—“provided by your ‘feelings’ is never actually useful. I don’t need your ‘inner eye’ blinking over Justin. It’s Kyle I’m worried about. Tell me where he is, and I’ll buy some tarot cards.”
    “It doesn’t work that way and you know it.” Lyric rolled her eyes. “God, you’re such a skeptic.”
    “And this would be the part where you refuse to admit you are wrong—”
    A voice, smoky yet smooth, cut into their conversation. “Ladies, ladies, this isn’t a time to fight.” The voice belonged to Adam, Lyric’s boyfriend. Long and sharp boned, Adam looked even more angular next to Lyric’s curvy figure as he slid onto the bench beside her. He wore, as always, his usual black, although today his tee shirt sported a pirate’s skull with an eye patch that glowed in the dark. Adam’s fish-white skin looked even paler next to his hair, which, dyed the color of ink, hung in sheets to his shoulders. His fingernails, tipping long fingers, had been painted a metallic green. He put a thin arm around Lyric as he shot a look at Cameryn. “Now is the time for peace.”
    “Exactly.” Lyric nodded, looking smug. Crossing her arms, she leaned into Adam’s shoulders, saying, “Okay, so check this out. Justin has finally made his move, which I was trying to talk about, but Cameryn being Cameryn of course changed the subject and is instead belittling my psychic powers. I think it’s her way of avoiding emotional subjects. Cameryn tends to repress instead of express. Not a healthy way to be.”
    “Lyric,” Cameryn said, narrowing her eyes.
    “What?”
    “Shut up.”
    Adam looked nervously from one to the other, but Lyric and Cameryn each threw a fry at the other, snickering as they dodged their bad throws. It was hard for an outsider to understand how Cameryn and Lyric worked. Their squabbling was a way to anchor Cameryn to life, because Lyric knew Cameryn almost as well as she knew herself. It had been Lyric who’d shown up in her bedroom that morning. After Kyle’s note, Cameryn had thought of staying home, but Lyric had insisted that Cameryn get up and come to school. “Come on, slacker. Rise and shine.”
    “No,” Cameryn had murmured, clutching her pillow over her head. “Mammaw says I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.” This had been a first: her grandmother, called Mammaw after the Irish way, had told Cameryn that under the circumstances she could stay home for the rest of the year if she wanted. But Lyric would hear none of it.
    “What are you going to do,” Lyric had demanded, “hide underneath your sheets forever? Screw that! If Kyle keeps you afraid, he wins. Besides, nothing’s going to happen on my watch.” Yanking the bed covers onto the floor, Lyric, with her large frame, had loomed over Cameryn, who had curled herself into a protective ball. “Don’t forget I’m bigger than he is. At least my curves are good for something. Get up ! We’re going to be late.”
    Now, sitting in the cafeteria, surrounded by the familiar rhythms of life, Cameryn realized that Lyric had been right. The smell of the rubbery burgers, the safe, institutional walls, all made the fear fade back to a place where she could manage it. Kyle couldn’t get her in school, not in this solid building where people milled around her like cattle in a stockyard. No one could.
    Adam rubbed his chin with his long fingers, his green polish flashing like scales. “Since talking about you and Justin is more of a girly thing, I would like to switch the subject back to the murder of Leather