It was three fifteen p.m, old man Stone's house was a rustic, weathered abode that seemed to blend seamlessly into the surrounding landscape. The exterior walls were made of rough-hewn sandstone. The roof was a patchwork of curved terracotta tiles. The front door itself was a sturdy oak affair.
Sheriff Ned Barker and his deputies, Matt Langley and Frank Higgins, approached the house with caution, their guns drawn. Ned himself knocked on the door and waited.
Old man Stone stepped outside and narrowed his eyes at them. "Ned, what in tarnation is going on here?" He demanded, his face red with fury, as the Sheriff and deputies stormed into his living room.
"Cornelius, we have reason to believe you've been involved in some shady dealings," Ned explained, his voice firm but calm. "We need to take you in for questioning."
Stone's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about? I haven't done anything wrong!"
