Read Online The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery by Alane Ferguson - Free Book Online Page B

contact he pulled out his pad and pen.
    “Now?” Justin snapped. “Why don’t you give her a minute?”
    “No, Deputy, we do it immediately, while it’s still fresh in her mind. Procedure, remember?”
    Slowly, painfully, Cameryn repeated the nightmare conversation. Sheriff Jacobs nodded once, twice, three times, then abruptly turned to Dr. Moore. “Would it be okay if I used your office to make the call? It’ll be more private from there, Doc. If we’ve got any chance of tracing this wacko I need to move now.”
    “Be my guest,” Dr. Moore replied. Suddenly, Cameryn registered the doctor’s hand on the top of her head, patting her as though she were a child. It was the first time he’d ever touched her. When she looked up into his gruff face she saw his eyes glisten with emotion. “I have every confidence that your father, the deputy, and the sheriff will keep you safe,” he told her. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed somewhere beneath the folds of his neck. “Add my name to the list. I’d never let anyone hurt my star protégée.”
    “Thanks, Dr. Moore.”
    “Now go home and get some rest.”
    “But Joseph Stein . . . the autopsy . . .” she protested.
    “We’ll manage.” He turned his gaze to her father, then to Justin. “Keep her safe. I’ve already seen what Kyle O’Neil is capable of. I never want to see his handiwork again.”

    “Mammaw, I’m fine,” Cameryn moaned. “Stop hovering!”
    “You call it hoverin’, do ya?” her grandmother snapped as she paced around the kitchen table where Cameryn sat. “Hoverin’, when there’s a madman out there looking to snatch you away! Hoverin’, when the next time Kyle O’Neil shows up it might be in person, and then what will you do?” Her tone shifted ever so slightly as she added, “Now I’d like you to eat. Today’s been a shock.”
    Sighing, Cameryn propped her head on her hand. Steam from the bowl wafted to her face. Although it smelled delicious, her stomach closed against it. “I’m not hungry.”
    “Of course you are. Take a bite.”
    “Mammaw, not every problem is solved by food.”
    The normally soft Irish lilt her grandmother spoke with, a legacy from her childhood in Ireland, turned crisp as she said, “This trouble circles back to you being around all that death. I’ve said all along forensics is wrong and now my words have come home to roost.” In a red Valentine sweater, her earlobes elongated by heavy plastic heart-shaped earrings, Mammaw looked like the majority of Silverton grandmothers, with her square face crowned by a wreath of short, white hair. But Mammaw was different from the other women. She was an Irish force of nature.
    “Please,” Cameryn begged. “Don’t start.”
    “I’m only saying you should forget this autopsy nonsense and dedicate your life to becoming a real doctor.” As always, her grandmother reminded Cameryn of a chicken hunting grain. Peck, peck, peck—her words nibbled away at Cameryn, a sharp tapping against her skull. Groaning softly, Cameryn dropped her head into her hands.
    “Are you listening, girl? Your career choice is nothing short of crazy.”
    “I’m not crazy. The voices told me I’m supposed to go into forensics.”
    “So it’s sarcasm now, is it? You think my concerns are a joke.”
    Cameryn and her mammaw glared at one another for a moment until her grandmother did an unexpected thing. Dropping back her head, she let out a great guffaw, a deep laugh that shook Cameryn up as much as anything. “I never have to worry how Irish you are, Cameryn Mahoney. You’re as pigheaded as they come. Now do your grandmother a favor and eat. For me.”
    “All right, all right, I give up. No dessert, though.”
    “Whatever you say.”
    Sighing, Cameryn picked up a spoon and took a sip of stew. It burned her mouth but after the third bite she had to admit she felt better, and by the time she took the last swallow the knot inside had loosened. Dr. Moore had been