The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

ed, the doors slid open, and she made her way into the lobby of the third floor.
    “Oh, those are nice,” said the nurse at the station, whose name tag read Betty . “Who are you visiting?”
    “Dr. Moore,” she answered. “But these balloons aren’t for him. Can I leave them here with you?”
    “Certainly, dear. They’re lovely. So nice and cheerful!”
    “Thanks.” Cameryn smiled back. “Dr. Moore’s present is in my backpack,” she said, twisting around as though the nurse could see.
    Betty said, “So you’re here delivering two presents. Aren’t you an angel.” The woman was in her sixties, with crepey skin that held too much rouge and hair dyed the color of a Halloween pumpkin. But her tone was sweet, and as Cameryn walked down the hallway she heard the balloons gently tapping each other.
    The room wasn’t far away. Knocking softly, Cameryn stepped inside the small enclosure. A striped curtain had been pulled back, and she saw the doctor, propped on a hospital bed that was nearly flat. Tufts of white hair encircled his head like a fallen halo. His nose looked swollen, his skin pale. She was about to back out of the room so she wouldn’t disturb him when she saw his eyes flutter open.
    “Miss Mahoney,” he said, his voice weak. “My protégée.”
    “Hi, Dr. Moore. How are you feeling today?”
    “Sore.” He pressed a button that raised the bed until he was almost sitting. “A bit fuzzy from the meds. But grateful the cancer was contained, which I think I told you when you came by yesterday. You were here yesterday, correct? Or was I dreaming?”
    She set the backpack just inside the door. “Yes, I was here. This is my third day visiting.”
    “Uh-huh, that’s right.” He nodded. “If all goes well I’ll be up and running in a little over six weeks, which means we’ll be back on deck, with me at the helm. I’d like to hire you to work for me while you’re at Fort Lewis College. Did I ask you that already?”
    “You did,” she answered, smiling. “And I said yes.”
    “Good! You’ll be right up the street from me in the dorms. Are you amenable to working for a cantankerous old coot instead of a nice, calm coroner like your father?”
    “It depends on how much you’re willing to pay me,” Cameryn said, laughing, relieved that the fog seemed to be lifting from the doctor’s mind. “I’d like to confirm a number while you’re under the influence of narcotics,” she told him. “To take full advantage of the situation.”
    He waved her words away as though he were fanning gnats. “My point is there’s still a lot I need to teach you, Miss Mahoney. Sit.”
    “I can only stay a minute, Dr. Moore. I have someone else I need to see.”
    “This will only take a minute. Take that chair. Yes, pull it closer.”
    Cameryn dragged a green fabric chair with metal legs close to the side of his bed, the legs screeching against the linoleum floor, and sat down.
    The doctor picked up his glasses from the bedside table and peered at her, his eyes too large behind the lenses. Reaching for a glass, he sipped water from a straw, then carefully set it down again. His fingers trembled as he adjusted the folds of his sheets, pressing them into furrows until they looked like a miniature field ready for planting. Clearing his throat, he began, “I’m a sick old man who wants to give you some advice. Will you listen?”
    Cameryn hesitated. Even though he didn’t seem to remember her visit the day before, this conversation threatened to take essentially the same form. She braced herself for what she knew was coming.
    “Miss Mahoney, it’s easy at your age to get side-tracked by love.”
    “Dr. Moore—” she began to protest, but the doctor talked right over her.
    “I know, you think I’m too ancient to remember what it’s like to be young. But my great age brings wisdom, and that wisdom compels me to remind you that what you have is a gift.” He winced as he adjusted himself to face her. “No matter what, you need to stay the course with your career in medicine. Listen to an old sage. I’ve been around a long time—maybe too long—but I have been privileged to meet the best future forensic pathologist the field will produce. You!”
    “I think that’s just the drugs talking,” she answered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
    “This isn’t codeine, Miss Mahoney—I’m on half the meds I was yesterday because I want to get my mind clear.”
    “You do sound better,”