Pamela Hearon - Out of the Depths

When they’d first arrived at the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department, a teenage girl had been in the first cell. She was crying softly when the sheriff opened the door leading from his office into the narrow corridor that gave access to the cells. He stopped Kyndal in front of the girl.

“Melody,” he barked like a drill sergeant. “You know this woman?”

The girl shook her head and started to bawl. “N-No, sir. Isn’t my mom here yet? My stepdad’s gonna kill me.”

Sheriff Blaine’s grip tightened on Kyndal’s arm. He marched her past the empty second cell and into the last.

The girl’s incessant wailing had frayed Kyndal’s nerves to the point where she’d wanted to cry, too, but she’d fought the urge. Tears wouldn’t help. From what she’d seen, showing any sign of weakness to Sheriff Blaine was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Later, after the sheriff came and removed Melody, things got eerily quiet for a few short moments. Suddenly, a burst of shouting ensued from the next room, and a man’s voice bellowed obscenities Kyndal never knew existed along with “smart-ass bitch,” “slut” and “little whore.”

Kyndal cringed at the abusive verbal attack. It reminded her of her second stepdad, Hal. Melody’s fears of her stepfather’s reaction were obviously well-grounded.

A couple of other male voices—Sheriff Blaine’s and a deeper one, perhaps a deputy’s—tried to calm him down.

Nothing had any effect until the sheriff threatened him with arrest. “We’ll be seeing a lot of Melody, and don’t think I won’t be checking out her condition.” Sheriff Blaine’s voice had an edge that would slide through metal. “So don’t go thinking you’re safe to tie into her when you get home. Now go on out front and let’s get these papers signed. I’m ready to get the hell finished with you.”

The door to the cell block opened. Sheriff Blaine’s heavy breathing preceded him down the narrow passage to Kyndal’s cell. He glared at her, red-faced, through the bars. “Made that phone call yet?”

She shook her head, momentarily losing her voice.

“Make it quick.”

He turned and stalked back down the hall, slamming the door behind him so hard it bounced back open a sliver. Kyndal heard the shuffle of papers and the sound of another door opening and closing. Then silence.

She took a deep breath and dialed Jaci’s number. She’d need a ride back to her car. With Mom who-knows-where with the jerk-of-the-month, it would have to be Jaci. If Jaci wasn’t home, she’d take her chance walking before she’d get back in the car with Sheriff Blaine. One ride in the sheriff’s car was enough for a lifetime.

“Hello?” Thank God.

“Jaci, it’s Kyn.”

“Hey, Kyn. Bart and I were just talking about you. Thought we’d give you a call and see if you wanted—”

“Jaci, listen.” In his present mood, Sheriff Blaine might come jerk the phone out of her hand if she took too long. “I’m at the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office in Benton. I’ve been arrested.”

Jaci’s voice exploded over the line. “You’ve what? What in the corn bread hell happened? What’d you do to get arrested?”

“I trespassed.” Kyndal kept her voice level, not giving in to her emotions now that she heard a sympathizing voice. “I needed some shots of a cave, so I went to the one…you know. There were no-trespassing signs, but I thought—” Her voice broke, and she stopped to gain control. “Can you come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way.” The phone went dead.

The drive from Paducah to Benton would take thirty to forty-five minutes. Kyndal paced the cell and waited, the minutes creeping by.

Twelve forty-three. Seven hours ago, she’d gotten up with the hope of a new job and a world of possibilities. Now she sat in a jail cell, facing a huge fine, at best.

She wouldn’t allow herself to ponder the worst-case scenario. What if it hit the newspapers and her name got linked back to the True Tennessee debacle? She might end up photographing kids the rest of her life.

And how much would a fine cost her? Probably more than the fifty-seven dollars left in her checking account. She was loath to dip into the savings she’d put back while working for the website. She’d already had to do it a few times to help out her mom. But a fine—or bail—wouldn’t leave her with any choice.

She lambasted herself. How could she have even considered such a prank? Now Old Man Turner—Mr. Turner, she corrected herself—would never allow her to go back to shoot the amazing crystal cavern, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask about the shots she’d already taken. She’d have to kiss this job goodbye.

As if the money part wasn’t bad enough, facing the old codger and confessing her crime still lay ahead of her. They wouldn’t let him bring the shotgun, would they? Her face burned, remembering the baleful look in the old guy’s eyes.

Would Sheriff Blaine consider a plea bargain? Maybe she could work off the fine in family photographs. Or staff pictures. A holiday calendar, maybe. With the office number to call in case of emergency. The knot in her stomach loosened a smidgen.

Or would he consider the suggestion a bribe and run the cost up even higher? The knot yanked tighter than ever.

While she debated the wisdom of this tactic, male voices and chuckles filtered through the cracked door. Sheriff Blaine and the deputy came back into the office. Evidently, Melody was on her way home.

Kyndal brushed at the dirt on her jeans, trying to make herself as presentable as possible. Climbing the cave wall had left streaks down the front and sides of her clothes. Running her hands down her hair, she could feel how the humidity had wreaked havoc on it.

Maybe the sheriff would feel sorry for her or think her slightly deranged.

The voices moved closer to the door.

“We questioned the kids. They swear they don’t know her. The bags turned up nothing. No pot. Not even a trace. She’s not who we’re looking for.”

Kyndal’s breath came out in a rush. They thought she’d been making a drug drop!

“Even so, she was trespassing in a clearly marked area.” The voice was smooth and deep, and Kyndal’s stomach fluttered at the sound of it. She imagined the tall, dark and handsome deputy it might belong to. “Professional photographers know better than to go on someone’s property without permission. I mean, she’s not the paparazzi, right?”

The words stung.

They laughed together, and Kyndal’s eyes burned with indignation. She’d always prided herself on her professionalism. They knew nothing about her or her work. Hadn’t they ever had an occasional lapse in judgment for an exciting opportunity? Everybody did. It wasn’t a crime. It was part of being human.

Of course, trespassing was a crime.

Anger came on the heels of the other emotions. Anger at the sheriff who had the audacity to think she might be connected with drugs.

Anger at the deputy who obviously considered her an amateur.

But mostly, anger at herself, for getting into this asinine situation.

The door to the office opened wide. The sheriff took his time, stopping to peer into the vacant cells before he finally unlocked hers.

“Go on out into my office. We have some questions we want to ask you. Made your call yet?”

Kyndal nodded and handed him the telephone. She took deep, calming breaths as she made her way down the narrow hall and through the door into the sun-brightened office. She squinted at the figure standing by the window.

Not a deputy, unless he was dressed for undercover work. Jeans and a cashmere crewneck? Expensive taste. Her eyes moved up his frame. Tall. Dark. And, from what she could see of his profile, handsome, indeed.