“Do you think I’ve lost my forensic touch?” she asked.

“Hardly.” Opening the binder, he clicked his pen, signaling they were done. “Everyone knows you’re a prodigy.” He peered at the form, muttering, “Cameryn Mahoney, Angel of Death. You’ve got quite a reputation around town.” After scribbling a few lines, he held out the binder. “Okay, you’re up.”

But she refused to extend her hand. Crossing her arms, she hugged her sides. Her father’s exasperation was etched in every line on his face. “Take it,” he commanded.

“If you’re going to shut me out, you can at least tell me why.”

“For Pete’s sake, you don’t need to see a severed head.” Jabbing the folder toward her, he said, “The face holds the soul, Cammie. Just-do the inventory.”

“What’s the real reason?”

Her father sighed. Slowly, the folder dropped to his side. Another truck crept by, its engine clattering like an old sewing machine, but this time they ignored the rubberneckers. “For one thing,” he finally said, “I promised your grandmother.”

This didn’t surprise her. Her mammaw was convinced that cutting into the dead was the devil’s business. Her father, though, had always been on her side. “Why did you make that promise?”

“Because the last case we worked on put you in danger. For now, at least, she wants you to stop.” He grinned, trying to soften her up. “You know how she can be when her Irish dander’s up. Just humor her, all right? Humor me.”

Inside, Cameryn groaned. This again.

“But this job,” she argued, “is the reason I’m being courted by a top forensic school. Besides, this case is not a homicide-it’s a car wreck. Please, both of you, quit worrying about me. You said ‘for one thing.’ So, what’s the other thing?”