Free The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery by Alane Ferguson

right—home was the place she needed to be, wrapped up in its tacky, snug security, with pink and red carnations on a round kitchen table in a vase shaped like a heart. Today the walls were laced with cutouts featuring cherubs floating on ridiculously small wings. Handmade Valentines from Cameryn’s preschool days had been stuck to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like lips. Her grandmother bustled about, trying to look busy, but Cameryn could sense there was more she wanted to say. After wiping a spot on the counter for a third time, Mammaw drew in a sharp breath and said, “Lyric came by earlier—she wanted to know about the case. While she was here she told me some interesting news about you and Justin. That Lyric is a talkative girl.”
    “News?” Cameryn felt her internal alarm register at full alert.
    “News.” Her grandmother tossed the dishcloth onto the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, obscuring a large embroidered heart. “And don’t be going after your friend just because she was kind enough to bring me up to speed on the goings-on in your life. She claims to have known all along you and the deputy were going to be together through some kind of spirit mumbo jumbo, but even I can see you and Justin have been eyeing each other for months. Is he thinking of you as his girlfriend?”
    “Not exactly,” she replied, making a mental note to throttle Lyric the next time she saw her.
    “What does ‘not exactly’ mean? Exactly.”
    Shrugging, Cameryn chewed on the edge of her lip. “He said he liked me. It’s no big deal.”
    She knew how her grandmother felt about Justin, that she was fond of him but he was almost twenty-two and twenty-two-year-old men were not to be trusted.
    “And your father? What does he have to say?”
    “Dad’s been cool with Justin for a while. Um, you know, maybe I will have some dessert after all,” Cameryn said in a desperate attempt to deflect her grandmother’s steely gaze. “Even though I’m a disaster in the kitchen I think I might give cooking another shot. Since Irish is my heritage and all.” Her voice trailed off. She could see by her grandmother’s expression it was useless.
    “Although I still feel he’s too old, the fact that you’re in danger means it might be a good time to have a more mature person offering you protection. But if you do enter these waters you must be cautious, Cameryn. Things can happen.”
    “Mammaw!”
    “There are certain pitfalls that can come with dating someone older. What I’m trying to say . . .” Mammaw hesitated and then, clearly uncomfortable, said, “You do understand the position of the church in these matters.” Red flamed at the tips of her ears. She was actually blushing.
    “All he said was that he liked me,” Cameryn cried. “I’m not getting married or anything!”
    “These days marriage and—the rest—don’t necessarily go together.”
    “Mammaw!”
    “The older one in the relationship always has the power.”
    “Will you stop! We—he’s not like that. I cannot believe we’re having this conversation. I’d rather talk about Kyle killing me.”
    “What you have with Justin poses a different kind of danger, girl.”
    Now it was Cameryn whose skin flushed. She could feel the warmth spread from her cheeks down her neck until it touched the skin on her chest. “Look, I’m not planning to do anything Father Pat wouldn’t approve of, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Good,” Mammaw said, her voice once again crisp. “Now, here’s your Irish raisin cake, which I made without the whiskey. I’m glad of it since I hear a truck in the driveway. The deputy’s truck, if I’m not mistaken.”
    Cameryn jumped out of her seat as she registered the familiar sound of Justin’s engine. “He’s here?”
    “It appears so.”
    “What if he heard us? I will die if he heard what you were saying.”
    “Don’t be silly, girl, no one has ears that good. Besides, he should know that I’ll be