Page 66 of All Yours

“Sloane Thompkins,” a deep male voice said.

“We have no comment.”

“This is Sheriff Keith Hammonds,” the voice said. “We need to speak with you. Please open the gate.”

What on earth did the Sheriff want?

“Hang on. I need to verify with the camera,” I said, pulling the security camera video up on my phone. Sure enough, a sheriff’s office car was at the gate. His arm was out the open window and he held up a badge. I pressed the button, and the gate began its slow open.

I grabbed a sweatshirt and waited at the door.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I asked, opening the door to find him and two men in suits.

“Sloane Thompkins,” the Sheriff asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Sheriff Hammonds, and these are agents Sanders and Mosley from the TBI.” Both men in suits nodded. “May we have a word?”

“Sure,” I said, but didn’t move or invite them inside.

“Where were you on September third?”

“I have no idea,” I said, shifting my weight. “I’m a writer, so most of the time I’m here working.”

“Is that your Nissan parked out here?” One suit said.

“It is.”

“Did you go anywhere with two other friends, perhaps?” the Sheriff asked.

“We went to the Halloween party at Lou’s.”

“No, this was early September. In Chattanooga. Does that ring any bells?” the Sheriff asked.

“It really doesn’t.”

“Well, you’re going to need to come with us and answer a few questions,” the suit said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

“Wait,” the Sheriff looked taken aback. “There’s no need for handcuffs.”

“She’s not being cooperative,” he said.

“Lawyer,” I said, as he slapped a cold cuff around my wrist. I knew two things from my experience with law enforcement during my mental breakdowns: that if you’re ever on the business end of handcuffs—shut up and get a lawyer.

Jonah’s truck appeared barreling down the gravel drive. He pulled up next to the sheriff’s car and another black sedan.

“Keith, what the hell is going on here?” he called, opening the door.

“Stay back, sir,” one of the other suits called.

“We’re needing to question her on an incident in Chattanooga from back in September,” the Sheriff said.

“But handcuffs?” Jonah called. “There’s no need to handcuff her.”

“It’s not my call, man,” he said.

“Come on,” the suit said, and pulled me forward so that I stepped over the threshold. “Maybe you’ll change your tune and be more cooperative at the station.”

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