I warred with myself for about five minutes before I decided to ditch class. I had no other choice. I had to alert the authorities in fear that someone might tamper with the crime scene.
Less than twenty minutes later, I was rolling up to the Sheriff’s Department. I rushed past the glass doors and marched up to the front desk.
A scruffy-looking deputy behind the counter approached me. His badge read, Bob. “Yes, ma’am, what can I do fer you,” he drawled with a thick Southern accent.
“Yes, I’d like to report an attempted murder?” I checked my pocket for the cloth and phone. All the evidence needed, I smiled to myself.
He pulled his toothpick out of his mouth and gruffly asked, “Did I hear you correctly?” Dark snappy eyes glanced up at me under thick grayed brows.
“Yes, sir, you did.”
T
