Chapter 4 - The Story Sloane Told the Sheriff
Deputy Neal Harkins was in his early thirties, polite, and already half embarrassed before he reached the porch.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I’m here because Mrs. Mercer reported that you may have taken legal documents from the family residence while leaving yesterday.”
Sloane stood behind him in sunglasses and a camel coat, looking like she had driven up for a property survey instead of a raid.
I gripped the porch railing to steady my leg. The previous night’s fear had settled into a cold clarity.
“I took my suitcase and my son’s photograph,” I said.
Sloane gave a soft laugh.
“You were upset. I understand that. I only need the leather file case Nathan kept in his office. It contains business records.”
My son’s legal name was Nathaniel Mercer, though only she had ever called him Nathan. Hearing it then felt like an act of theft by itself.
Deputy Harkins asked whether he could look inside the cabin.
I asked whether he had a warrant.
He did not.
Then I said the sentence that made Sloane’s mouth tighten for the first time.
“My son left legal instructions for me. If you have questions about the estate, speak to attorney James Holloway in Denver.”
The deputy glanced at her.
Sloane recovered quickly.
“Eulalia is grieving and confused,” she said. “Nathan was very worried about her memory near the end.”
That was the line, then.
Not violent.
Not vulgar.
Softly medical.
If she could make me seem unreliable, then anything I said about the trust, the money, the cabin, or her brother became an old woman’s confusion.
Deputy Harkins asked whether I would come into town voluntarily to discuss the matter after I had rested.
“I will come to town today,” I said. “And I will make my own report about elder abuse, unlawful eviction, and the assault your ‘worried’ widow committed on me.”
Sloane took a step toward me before she caught herself.
The deputy noticed.
So did Asa, whose truck appeared at the turn in the road that exact moment like an answered prayer disguised as a mechanic.
He parked, climbed out, and sized up the scene without greeting anyone first.
“Problem?” he asked.
“No,” Sloane said sharply.
“Yes,” I said at the same time.
Asa’s eyes flicked to the bruise under my cardigan collar and then to the deputy.
“I can take Mrs. Mercer to town now if she needs it.”
Sloane spoke too fast.
“She’s not going anywhere until we sort out what she removed.”
I met Deputy Harkins’s gaze.
“Is she detaining me?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
Sloane’s control cracked.
“You have no idea what you’re carrying,” she snapped.
That one sentence told me more than the whole sheriff’s visit.
The case was not just embarrassing.
It was dangerous to her.
I rode to Elk River in Asa’s truck with the leather case hidden inside a quilt on my lap. At the general store, the owner let me use the back office phone.
I dialed James Holloway’s number from Nate’s letter.
His receptionist answered.
I said only two words.
“Cabin case.”
There was a long pause.
May you like
Then a man came on the line himself.
“Mrs. Mercer,” he said quietly, “where are you, and are you safe enough to stay there until I arrive?”
