Three weeks ago, however, Lorraine fractured her hip in a fall.
I took a week off to help her recover. Brennan knew my whereabouts and half-jokingly advised caution.
“Pell County isn’t Atlanta, Amara,” he said. “Be careful.”
On my fourth day there, I left Lorraine dozing beside her physical therapist on the porch, collected prescriptions at Pruitt’s Pharmacy in Halvorsen Springs, and stopped at the Magnolia Diner for its excellent catfish.
Nothing I wore suggested my profession. I neither announced me nor displayed credentials; I ordered lunch.
Twenty-two minutes later, Voss arrested me. FindPolice Jobs
The station was six minutes away. Voss drove one-handed, humming to country music. He occasionally smiled at me in the mirror.
The young deputy sat in the passenger seat holding my purse in his lap. His name tag said MILLER. He looked no older than twenty-five. He repeatedly glanced back, visibly wanting to speak but afraid.
“Run her name when we get in,” Voss told him. “And find out what she was doing in my county.”
“Yes, sir.”
