Alane Ferguson - The Circle of Blood

Her grandmother said, “Patrick’s back up to Ouray. And you’re late.” Although she usually wore slippers, tonight Mammaw was barefoot. Her toes, like her fingers, were as gnarled as ancient trees in miniature, and the soles of her feet made a padding sound as she walked across the linoleum to the sink. Mammaw’s hair must have been recently washed and towel-dried. The white ends stood up in stiff peaks from her head, like meringue, and the skin on her cheeks was flushed from the heat of her bath.

Lifting a plate of Christmas cookies covered in plastic wrap from the counter, she extended it to Cameryn, saying, “I think it’s getting serious with that lady judge in Ouray, and that’s a mighty thing. These cookies are from Amy herself-Pat brought them home yesterday. The frosting’s a bit sweet but the cookies aren’t bad. At least she knows the basics of how to cook.”

“Thanks, but no,” Cameryn said.

“Don’t be stubborn, girl. The judge is trying to do right by you. She’s reaching out and… Cammie, what is it?” Her grandmother’s eyes filled with worry.

“It’s just-they-we-we classified Jane Doe as a homicide. I guess I’m a little wound up. It’s been a hard day.”

Her grandmother’s hand rose to her face. “Another murder in Silverton. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Her eyes were wide as she said, “I thought Patrick said the girl put the bullet in her own head.”

“That’s what we thought at first. But more evidence showed up post mortem. Someone did it to her.”

Setting down the plate, her grandmother narrowed her ice-blue eyes. “Does your father know?”

“Dr. Moore said he would call the sheriff, so I’m assuming so,” Cameryn told her, hoisting her heavy backpack to her shoulder. “My battery died and I couldn’t call. Anyway, I’ve got homework to do.” She felt tired. Boneachingly tired. Her fear, her despair, her anger-all of it had come tumbling out on that ride home. Before, she’d drawn a line: If it’s a murder, then… But she was no longer willing to honor that division. Mentally, she’d moved the mark further. After all, a ring didn’t prove anything-Mariah had left it with Hannah of her own accord. Hannah’s mental illness didn’t prove anything- there were millions of people with bipolar disorder. She wanted to be in her room, alone, so that she could read the articles she’d printed, then stashed, on her mother’s illness. “The Role of Family and Friends in a Bipolar Person’s Life” was neatly tucked between her mattress and box springs.

“Before you go hiding upstairs you should know they think they’ve discovered who she is,” Mammaw said.

The breath sucked back in Cameryn’s throat as she asked, “What are you talking about? For Baby Doe? They’ve got a name?”

“It was an anonymous tip. Someone gave the real name of Baby Doe, told where she lived, and hung up”-Mammaw snapped her fingers-“just like that. The sheriff confirmed it.”

“So who is Baby Doe?” Cameryn demanded.

“I don’t remember. Ask your father. The point is, they found her, and that’s a blessing. My gracious,” she exclaimed. “Someone’s driving up and I’ve got nothing but a robe on. Get the door, Cammie. If I’m not mistaken, the visitor is your Justin Crowley.”

“He’s not my Justin Crowley,” she muttered, but her grandmother had already escaped up the stairs. In spite of herself, Cameryn finger-combed her hair. When she pulled open the door, the plastic lighted wreath rocked on its hook.

“Cameryn, I’m glad you’re home,” Justin told her. He had on boots with heels so thick his head almost touched the top of the doorframe. Although the evening was cold, he wore no hat, and the tips of his ears flamed red. Usually there was an easiness about Justin, but tonight he stood stiffly. His dark brows met in the center, and his eyes were no longer greenish blue but indigo, like the sky before a storm.

“Justin,” she said, “come in.”

“Is anyone else home? ”

“Just my grandmother.”

“Then I’ll stay here.”

“Why?” Apprehension spread through her as she looked at Justin’s face. Whatever he wanted to tell her, it was bad news.

“Can you step outside, just for a minute? It’s important-Cammie, I want to keep this private.”

Shrugging, she said, “Sure.”

“This won’t take long. It’s just two things.”

As he spoke, his breath blew into the air in a warm cloud, dissipating before it reached her. But she could smell it. Peppermint, from a Tic Tac, she guessed, hiding somewhere in the back of his mouth. A shock of dark hair had fallen into his eyes; for once, he left it there.

She stepped onto the cement, pulling the door shut behind her. There was only three feet of space, and Justin had barely moved. They were too close, no more than ten inches apart. The lights on the wreath blinked on and off; she watched him in the flickering glow.

He cleared his throat. “The vic’s real name is Esther Childs.”

“Esther Childs?” Cameryn felt her eyes go wide. “Are you sure that’s right? How do you know that’s her name?”

“We got a tip. A lady from Durango. She called from a phone booth at the Loaf ‘N Jug on Sixth Street. She wouldn’t say who she was. Why do you look so surprised, Cammie? Do you know something you’re not telling me? ”

“Of course not.” Evasive, Cameryn stared at the edge of his collar, trying to keep from returning his gaze. “Why do you think she wanted to stay anonymous?”

“Who knows?” He shrugged. “Some people don’t like to get involved. Anyway, we sent a picture of the vic to a sheriff in Arizona and they ran it down to the Childs family. The family made a positive ID. Cameryn, they’re a wreck-Jacobs told me the family lost it when they found out it was a homicide. The Childses are demanding answers, and so far we don’t have any.” Justin placed his palm on the siding of the house, close to her head.

“Okay,” she said. “Great. Now we know who she is. So what was the other thing?”

Justin hesitated. Cameryn’s spine was pressed against the door, and he wasn’t moving back like she thought he would. She could feel his heat radiating toward her and hers toward him, like two auras bumping into each other, creating an energy all its own. Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she waited.

“What’s the other thing?” she asked again.

“Do you know Willie Wheeler? He’s the man who runs the gift shop on Eleventh.”

“Yeah.” Cameryn nodded. “I know him. If you live in Silverton you end up knowing everybody.”

“Willie Wheeler called the station today. He read the article in the paper and saw the sketch. He had some information.”

“He did?”

“I took the report. Willie said-he said he saw your mother with the decedent. He said he saw Hannah and Esther talking in Hannah’s car the day Esther’s body was found.” Justin narrowed his eyes. “Do you know anything about that?”

Cameryn could not respond. She stood, frozen, her back as cold as the siding on the house.

“This is serious. The case has been bumped up to a homicide investigation. Your mother needs to come forward and say what she knows. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Hannah lately. Did she tell you she met this girl?”

There was nothing Cameryn wanted more than to escape. Hannah, so flighty and distracted, could very well crack under Justin’s questioning. She might tell about the “Keep Sweet” ring. The ring Cameryn carried in her pocket. Or the wallet. The wallet she’d chased and lied about.

“Cameryn, are you listening to me? I’m asking you direct: Did your mother say anything at all to you about meeting Esther?”

Her head, as if on its own accord, shook no.