The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

were holding its breath. The trees, stripped of leaves, were still, and the branches cut sharp shadows against the snow. Few cars drove by. Once she saw her neighbor’s face framed in an upstairs window before she vanished, snapping the curtains shut.
    All day long Cameryn had been on full alert, edgy, and yet . . . nothing had happened. The chat room remained silent, even when she’d tried to contact Kyle exactly the way Andrew told her to. She placed her foot on the rung of her chair and watched her BlackBerry for any sign of life. It seemed to stare back with a blank face. Cameryn chewed on the edge of her finger as she checked into the chat room once again, nodding for Lyric in what she hoped were the right places.
    “. . . your grandmother said to cheer you up and I told her I was the master of ‘fun shui.’ I know I’m great for giggles and grins but it’s a little crazy being locked up in a room like this. Maybe we should get out of here.”
    “I’m not supposed to. Oh, but I get to go see Dr. Moore tomorrow,” Cameryn said, suddenly excited. “My dad’s taking me—well, my dad plus a police escort. Moore wants me to go over the jelly-in-the-lungs report, so I’ll be free, at least for a little while. I’m glad the media’s all over Brent Safer and Joseph Stein. I’d hate it if they caught wind of my little drama. That’s the last thing I’d want.” She shuddered as she looked at her screen. Still nothing.
    “This waiting thing is kind of nuts.” Lyric’s feet now hung off the edge of the bed like two anchors. They started to jiggle so that the heels of her boots clacked together, a sure sign, Cameryn knew, that she was nervous. “What are you going to do about classes? I mean, are you coming back?”
    “My dad’s talking to the principal right now. If they catch Kyle today . . .” She didn’t finish the thought. Outside, she watched Justin’s squad car drift by. It slowed, then moved on, like a shark circling its prey.
    “And there he goes again,” Cameryn said. “I don’t believe this.”
    “Who?”
    “Justin. He just made, like, his fiftieth pass by my house. He’s going to burn up the entire Silverton police gas budget if he keeps it up and—wait a second.” She squinted, then stood, pulling back the gauzy inner curtain. “Oh, no. He’s backing up. A-a-a-n-d he’s parking, which means he’s coming in. This just gets better and better.”
    Lyric struggled halfway up, leaning on her elbows. The red swaths in her hair looked not so much like rubies as bloodstains, and from this angle Cameryn could see the blonde margin of her roots. “I thought Justin coming here would be a good thing.”
    “Normally, yes. It’s just he—well, Justin isn’t happy about the plan. About me helping with the sting. Upset might be the best word. Or maybe freaked out .”
    “Big surprise. I’m not happy about the plan, either, but you’re not exactly listening to me. So, should I come back another time?”
    Through the window, Cameryn tried to read the expression on Justin’s face. His jaw was set in a way that made her nervous, as did the erect way he held himself, as though he’d been filled with some kind of energy. His head swiveled to look up one side of the street, then down the other. Hooking his thumbs in the loopholes of his jeans, he began to walk toward her house with a furious step. His green aviator-style jacket, the one with the gold star embroidered over his heart, was hitched up beneath the palms of his hands. His head, as always, was bare, and his dark hair swirled in the wind.
    “Um . . . maybe you should,” Cameryn murmured. “He looks pissed.”
    “Wow. Your very first fight. I want details!” She gave a bounce on the bed. “This is better than trash TV!”
    “We are not going to fight.”
    “Wanna bet?”
    “Why should we? I’ve got more security than the president, and it’s no big deal. Besides, helping the police is my decision.” Cameryn turned to her, defensive, raising her chin and crossing her arms in a way she hoped conveyed confidence. “Andrew said I was being brave.”
    “That’s one word for it.” Lyric held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’ll get out of here, since I know when I’m not wanted. Text me later so I can find out what happened. It’s so comforting to know I’ll be a part of your permanent government file. If I can text you back something creepy, I might do it, just to keep them on their toes.”
    “Yeah,