Angel of Death

by Ferguson, Alane

  “Some other time.”

  As she headed for the kitchen, she felt a heaviness press against the tiny shoots of feeling she had for Justin. She couldn’t allow it. The best way to survive was to not feel anything at all beyond what was demanded by the reemergence of her mother. People couldn’t hurt her if she turned her soul to granite. For now, at least, she wanted to be as dead inside as Mr. Oakes. Kill two birds with one stone. “You can be the birds,” she murmured, wanting him to fly away. “I’m the stone.”

  Chapter Five

  “WAIT—WHAT ARE you talking about?” Justin demanded, but by then Cameryn had already made her way to the kitchen, her pale blue booties muffling her footsteps as she rounded the corner.

  The first thing she noticed was that this room was as clean as the rest of the house, only more so. Afternoon sun streamed from the window over the sink to reflect off the chrome, creating pinpoint stars, and the countertops, made of inlaid cobalt tile, shimmered in pools of blue. There were plants in here, too. But these weren’t fresh cut, but rather pots of mums that gave off a spicy smell, like pumpkin pie mixed with cinnamon tea. Then she saw him. At the table, his hands clasped in front, his face obscured by the window’s backlight, sat Kyle O’Neil. His posture, as always, was ramrod straight, and his blond hair caught the light like a halo. He was tall—over six feet—and muscular in a way other boys in her class were not. When she saw him, Cameryn took in an involuntary breath, one that she made herself exhale softly. Don’t be stupid, she chided herself. Act professional.

  Because the truth was, Kyle made her nervous. He always had. Not that he’d ever really noticed her, at school or anywhere else. Kyle was at the top of the school’s food chain, and ever since she could remember, he’d treated Cameryn with nothing more than polite detachment. But that didn’t matter now, she reminded herself. Just as she had with Justin, she hardened her feelings. Just do the job and be done.

  “Hi, Kyle,” she said, slipping onto a chrome chair. She crossed her legs and pulled out a small notebook and a pen from her bag. Still wearing her gloves, she clicked the end of the pen and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He looked at her and blinked. “Hey, Cameryn. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m helping out. I work for my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  “He’s the coroner. Did you know that? Right now he’s back with . . . the remains. Justin told me you found him earlier today—found Mr. Oakes, I mean. I’m so sorry, Kyle. That must have been awful for you.”

  Kyle nodded absently. He looked out the window, the invisible membrane apparently still in place over his eyes. Then Justin sat down in one of the chairs opposite Kyle, leaning back so far that the top of the chair touched the wall. Arms folded, chin lifted, Justin gave Cameryn a slight nod. Since he seemed impatient for her to begin, she cleared her throat and said, “Sheriff Jacobs has officially declared this house a crime scene, Kyle, so he asked me to ask you a couple of questions. It’ll only take a minute. Is that okay?”

  Kyle’s eyes flicked over at Cameryn. “Are you saying the sheriff thinks this is foul play?”

  “No, he’s not sure—nobody’s sure of anything at this point. Any time there’s a question, it’s procedure to go ahead and declare the place where a body is found as a crime scene. It’s kind of a better-safe-than-sorry thing.”

  It took a moment before Kyle spoke again. “So what happens now?”

  “When we’re done in there, my dad and I will take the body down to Durango for autopsy.”

  “That’s where you’ll cut him up.” A flush crept up Kyle’s neck and into the fringe of his hair. For a moment Cameryn thought he might cry, but then he took a deep breath, which seemed to steady him. “You’ll go in and slice and dice his body like he’s a chunk of meat. I don’t want that for Brad. He—he was a great man.”

  “There isn’t a choice,” she told him. “We’ve got to get answers.”

  “Isn’t there a way to find answers without turning him inside out?”

  “It’s science, Kyle. At this point it’s the best we’ve got.”

  Kyle stared at her, and for the first time the invisible membrane seemed to slide away. She noticed his eyes were brown, but pale, the color of autumn fields after harvest, with thick lashes and straight brows. Kyle was examining her, too; his gaze took in her face, ran down the drape of her hair, then dropped to where her hand disappeared into her lap before drifting up to her face again.

  “You had Oakes for English,” he said. “Last year. You were in my class.”

  “Right. You sat way in the back and I was in front.”

  Justin’s chair, which he’d been leaning back on, came down with a sudden bang. “Okay, can we get on with it?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice that surprised Cameryn. She’d almost forgotten Justin was in the room.

  Cautiously, Kyle asked, “Get on with what?”

  “I’ll be straight with you,” Justin replied. “The sheriff thinks maybe you’ll open up more if Cammie here is asking the questions instead of me. Like how a couple of your classmates have already heard about Oakes’s death. Would you happen to know how the story got out?”

  “I thought Cameryn was the one who was supposed to do the asking.”

  Justin swept his arm toward Cameryn, palm-up. “Of course. Be my guest.”

  Flipping open the notebook, Cameryn clicked her pen. “Um . . . Justin already told you that the sheriff’s most concerned about who knew what when. Did you call anyone about what you found here?”

  “Just the other scoutmaster, Dwayne Reynolds. I phoned him right after I called 911.”

  Cameryn wrote down Dwayne Reynolds’s name. She knew the man. He owned an old-fashioned Western photography studio, the kind where customers dressed up in turn-of-the-century gear and had their pictures printed in sepia tones. Dwayne himself sported an impressive handlebar mustache that reached all the way past his chin, and he wore a turn-of-the-century derby hat, even indoors.

  “Then what happened?” she asked.

  “After that I waited here, in the kitchen, exactly like dispatch told me to,” Kyle went on, speaking only to Cameryn now. “The fireman came, then the sheriff, then you guys. That’s it.” He took a breath. “Can I go now? There’s a bunch of Scouts at the Congregational Church who are losing it right now. I need to be there for them.”

  “Not so fast,” Justin objected. “I’ve asked you this once, but I need to be sure: You’re positive the door was locked when you arrived?”

  “Yeah. Like I said, I tried it.”

  “And I checked out the back door and windows, and everything’s sealed tight as a drum,” Justin said, mostly to himself.

  Puzzled, Cameryn frowned as she asked Kyle, “If the door was locked, then how did you get in?”

  Kyle held up a silver key, turning it between his fingers. “Dwayne pulled it off his key ring and gave it to me when Brad didn’t show.”

  “Why did Dwayne have Mr. Oakes’s key?” Cameryn asked.

  Kyle shrugged. “They’re really good friends, I guess. Anyway, there was no way he could leave all those Scouts, so he sent me instead. He told me to throw water on Brad if I had to, just get him up. I drove over, knocked, rang the bell, took out the key, and then . . .” Kyle’s voice drifted off. Cameryn knew what happened next. Kyle had walked into the bedroom and found his scoutmaster lying in bed with his eyes missing. It must have been like a scene in a horror movie.

  “Wait a second, I’ll take that,” Justin said, holding out his hand for the key. Shrugging, Kyle dropped it into his palm and Justin slipped it into a small envelope, announcing, “This may or may not be a crime scene, but we’ve got to start treating it like one. People can’t just come and go anymore, not until we’ve processed it.”

  As if on cue the doorbell chimed. Turning toward the doorway, Justin dropped his head back and groaned. “That’ll be Lyric and company—they must have gone right under the DO NOT CROSS tape. I was just thinki
ng the doorbell needs to be dusted for prints, and they go and ring it.”

  “She didn’t know. Sheriff Jacobs told her to come right over,” Cameryn protested.

  “You’re right, it’s my fault. I should have been watching for them.” Justin stood and pointed to Kyle. “Stay right there,” he commanded. “We’re not done yet.”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed as they observed Justin’s retreating figure. Then he leaned toward Cameryn, his weight resting on his elbows. His features were angular, his jaw square and his nose sharp. An Adam’s apple protruded from his neck. “The deputy doesn’t seem to like me,” he said.

  Shrugging, Cameryn said, “Justin’s okay. You’ve just got to get to know him.”

  “He’s new in town, right?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s from New York. He’s only been in town a few months.”

  “New York? Well, that explains it.” Kyle sighed and ran his fingers across his scalp, disturbing his manicured hair. “Look, no offense, but I really want to get out of here. This hasn’t been one of my better days, and the deputy’s not improving my mood.”

  “I don’t think it will be much longer.”

  “It’s just—it feels like I’m the one getting grilled.” Kyle pushed back his chair and stood. He walked over to the sink and was about to get some water when Cameryn warned him not to touch anything. A black, long-sleeved T-shirt, snug around his shoulders but loose at his waist, hung past his narrow hips. On his feet he wore running shoes that appeared expensive, yet his jeans were worn. An army-green parka had been slung over the back of a chair. Cameryn hadn’t noticed it while he was sitting.

  She could hear Justin’s voice rumble in the background and Lyric’s booming in reply. Adam’s quieter tones wound in between, like notes from an instrument. She felt awkward, sitting there, so she said, “Do you know Lyric?”

  “I haven’t really talked to her. I know who she is, though. And Adam’s that strange kid, the one always dressed in black.”

  “They’re both really great,” Cameryn said, feeling the need to defend them just as Kyle surprised her by saying they seemed like cool kids.

  “You, too, actually,” he added. He came back to the table and slid into his seat, facing her, closer than he’d been before. She noticed his hair shimmered, like golden metal shavings, and his eyes, too, had flecks of gold. “You know, I’m sorry I’ve never connected with you too much before this. You’re easy to talk to.”

  Cameryn swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Thanks. You, too,” she mumbled.

  “And I was just thinking that in a way, you’re the only one who can really understand what’s happened here. I could tell my friends, but they’d never be able to even imagine what we saw in that room.” He leaned back into the chair and shook his head. “I mean, man, this whole thing has been so freaking weird! It’s mind-blowing. You’re in the business—have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “Never.”

  “But you’ve seen some really bad stuff, right?” His eyes searched hers, and she looked at the table top, tracing her finger along the edge. She drew a plus sign, then a minus, her fingertip barely grazing the surface.

  “Yeah, I have,” she admitted. “I’ve seen accidents and a murder victim and . . . it’s hard. Harder than I thought it would be.”

  “So how do you deal with it? With the gross stuff and the death and all the pain? How do you do it?”

  “That’s the thing, Kyle. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes, not dealing is the only way. It’s like I just . . . separate. Like I become this other person. It’s as if I’m watching myself and somehow I’m not the one zipping the corpse into the bag, but it’s just my hands doing it. I mean, it’s me, but it’s not.” She flushed, because she suddenly heard how stupid she sounded, but when she raised her eyes, he was nodding, thinking.

  “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded again. It seemed as though he was about to say more, but suddenly, Justin appeared in the kitchen. This time the deputy crooked his finger at Cameryn, announcing, “I found the leak—it was Dwayne Reynolds. I guess once he heard the news the story spread like wildfire. It just shows you how fast gossip travels in a small town. Anyway, Lyric and Adam want to talk to you before they go. I told her you were working, but Lyric, dramatic as ever, says it’s really important. They’re waiting for you outside. ” He glanced from Cameryn to Kyle, then back to Cameryn, frowning, his eyebrows creasing together, his lips pressed hard. “So, Cameryn, I guess you’re done in here.”

  “Okay, then.” She shut the notebook, useless since it had only two words written inside, and said, “Good luck, Kyle. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah.” Kyle gave her a halfhearted wave. “See ya.” At that moment the sheriff’s voice thundered down the hallway, like a sonic boom. “Deputy Crowley—could you come back here? Now! ”

  “I’ll be right there, sir! ” Justin called back. For the briefest moment, Justin stared at Kyle. Then he said, “Stay here, Kyle. Cameryn, you need to hurry. Your dad is waiting.”

  “All right, all right, I’m going,” she said to Justin’s disappearing back. She stood, but before she could leave, Kyle touched her hand.

  “Wait,” he said, his voice tentative. “I was wondering . . .” He straightened himself, his eyes locking onto hers. White commas indented the edge of his mouth, and with a start Cameryn realized he actually looked nervous. “I was thinking that later, maybe—would it be all right if I called you? I mean, so we could talk. About Mr. Oakes and what happened.”

  Cameryn considered the possibility. Kyle O’Neil. Calling her. Last year the thought would have been elating. But as quickly as she entertained the thought, she dismissed it. She was barely keeping her inner life together as it was—one more thing added to the emotional levee, and everything would spill over. Now was not the time to hang with Kyle O’Neil any more than with Justin. What she’d decided before had been right. Sometimes it was better not to feel at all.

  She pulled her hand away, but it was as if his fingertip left a trace of energy, as if it had left its own electrical current on her skin. “You know, I’m actually not the best company right now,” she answered slowly. “There’s a lot going on in my life, apart from Mr. Oakes and all of this.

  Actually, I’m kind of on overload. I wouldn’t be much help.”

  He managed a half-smile. “I’m good with overload. Maybe what’s supposed to happen here is that we talk. Maybe I’m the one who’s supposed to help you.”

  She shook her head, saying, “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s just a timing thing. I’m sorry, Kyle.”

  Although he looked disappointed, he answered, “Not a big deal. If you change your mind, give me a call. I’m the only O’Neil in town.”

  “I will. And Kyle, don’t let Justin get to you. The way the body looked has got everyone rattled.”

  “I know it. This whole thing has definitely been surreal. ”

  “Definitely,” she echoed.

  She tried to untangle her thoughts as she left the house, but Cameryn had barely stepped outside into the pale November sun when she heard Lyric call out her name with such anguish it drove everything else from her mind.

  “Cammie—I can’t even believe our teacher’s dead! ” she cried. “I just talked to him last week and—what happened in there?”

  Hovering beyond the tape, no doubt exactly where Justin had ordered her to stay, stood Lyric, her plump cheeks red with emotion. Next to her slouched Adam.

  He’d already lit a cigarette, a habit that both Cameryn and Lyric had tried to discourage. Inhaling deeply, Adam took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked his ash into some rocks lining the driveway. His black hair, dyed and parted in the middle, made him appear paler than he already was.