Chapter 6 - The Deputy Who Checked The Records
Sheriff Walker walked to his car, pulled out a pair of steel cuffs, and gestured to Deputy Miller.
“David Mitchell, Eleanor Mitchell, put your hands behind your backs,” Walker said.
“On what grounds?” my father shouted, backing away. “This is a domestic matter! She’s our daughter!”
“Filing a false 911 report claiming an armed felon was trespassing,” Walker stated clearly. “Filing fraudulent court documents regarding a living heir, and theft by deception concerning church charity funds. Pastor Glenn, are you willing to sign a formal complaint regarding the fifteen thousand dollars?”
“I will sign it at the station tonight,” Pastor Glenn answered instantly, his face tight with righteous anger. “The deacon board will convene within the hour.”
The handcuffs clicked around my father’s wrists with a clean, sharp snap.
The sound seemed to suck all the air out of the street. For twenty-eight years, David Mitchell had ruled that neighborhood with a booming voice, a posture of strict morality, and an iron fist. Now, his shoulders slumped as Miller turned him around and guided his head into the back of the cruiser.
Eleanor sat on the bottom porch step, sobbing loudly into her apron, but none of the women from her book club or church choir moved an inch to comfort her.
“Sarah,” she wept, looking up through mascara streaks. “We’re your family. We took care of you when you were little. You can’t let them put us in jail!”
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I looked down at her from the foot of the walk. I didn't feel rage anymore. I only felt the clean, cold clarity that comes after surviving a firefight and seeing the smoke clear away.
“You buried me alive for four years so you could cash checks,” I said quietly. “You told the whole town I was a criminal so nobody would ask where your new car came from. You made your choice.”
