“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.
“You’re sure,” Justin pressed. “You’re absolutely sure.”
Cameryn nodded. Now she was lying to Justin. One lie on top of another, like stones, so many, so large they’d turned into a wall.
“I already went to the Wingate but Hannah wasn’t there. I’ve called but she hasn’t picked up. Do you know where she is?”
This she could answer truthfully. “No. I had school and then the brain bucket and I just got home. The battery on my BlackBerry died-if Hannah tried to reach me, I didn’t get the message.” Focus on the lights, the blinking colors on his face. Not on the cracks that were breaking inside her. She could feel them spreading, like a foundation rocked by an earthquake. If she didn’t take control, these fissures would make her crumble.
For an instant Cameryn closed her eyes, aware of the ring in her pocket, small and round. When she opened them, she could see Justin and his look of disbelief. He stared, his eyes dark in the half-light. Cameryn made herself look back.
“All right,” he said at last. “Then we’ll leave it at that.” He dropped his arm and stepped away, freeing her. “If you hear from Hannah, tell her I need to talk to her,” he said, sounding as though he was sorry he came. Well, she was sorry, too. Everything had started to spin out of control, and she didn’t know how to pull it back.
“Good night, Cameryn.” Justin jumped down the last two stairs. Soon his engine roared to life and he was backing out, his headlights sweeping across their lawn as he pulled onto the street. His taillights lit up like angry red eyes, and he was gone.
Numb, she went inside the kitchen. Her grandmother was making small sounds from her room, getting dressed, Cameryn figured. By stepping only on the edges of the stairs where they wouldn’t squeak, Cameryn made her way quietly to her own bedroom, silently, carefully, so as not to alert her mammaw, who might still want to talk. She didn’t turn on the lights as she stepped inside, guided by the glow from her screensaver. Fish swam in the computer screen’s artificial water, moving through the underwater light.
She flopped onto her bed, burying her face into her pillow. Pain, already seeping through her soul, burst through the wall in her heart. There was a witness. The very thing she’d been afraid of had happened. Things had turned even more complicated and would only get worse. It was time, she knew, for her mother to come forward, because the noose was tightening inch by inch. She would have to talk her mother into it.
Pulling her phone from its cradle, Cameryn punched in her mother’s number, but immediately Hannah’s voice message came on. Cameryn hung up, unsure of what to do next. She thought of the articles on bipolar disorder beneath her bed, but was too tired to read them. She was too tired to think, too tired to force her mind to wake up and calculate the worst possible outcome of each choice available. The witness, the brain bucket, and the word murder swirled through her head in a sick kaleidoscope. There was nowhere to turn, nothing to do.
Two notes chimed from her computer telling her an e-mail had arrived. As though she were moving underwater, Cameryn made her way to her desk. It was a message from Jo Ann:
Cameryn,
I called my friend at the bureau and discovered there is quite a history to the words “Keep Sweet.” Keep Sweet is a saying used by Fundamentalist Mormons. These Fundamentalists are an offshoot and