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to tell the police. Georgia? No, she couldn’t drag her only friend into this mess. The loneliness threatened to suffocate Sadie.
    â€œMs. Thompson.”
    Sadie jumped, nearly spilling tea in her lap. She glanced up to see Jon Garrison silhouetted by the midday sun streaking through the window. Her heart pounded. “Mr. Garrison.”
    â€œHow are you today?”
    â€œF-Fine.” Why was she stuttering like an imbecile?
    â€œHow’s Caleb?”
    â€œGood. In summer school.” Oh, great, she blabbered, too. Nerves bunched in her stomach. She needed to calm down, get a grip. He couldn’t know about the letter.
    But what if he found out? Would they take Caleb away, make him a ward of the state? She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t.
    â€œThat’s good.” He paused as the waitress delivered Sadie’s salad and retreated. “Well, I’ll leave you in peace. Enjoy your lunch.”
    Words wouldn’t form. She nodded and let him walk away.
    She couldn’t tell anyone about the letter. If anyone found out, especially the police, her brother would end up back in the system. Her experience with foster homes didn’t exactly fill her with warm and fuzzy memories. Rather, she recalled the physical and sexual abuse. No, despite her and Caleb’s awkward relationship, she’d never let that happen to him.
    Never.
    She’d handle this on her own, just like she always had. One way or another, she’d figure out what to do. She had to tell Caleb. Maybe he could help her think of who could send her such a letter.
    Whoever sent the letter was a murderer, that much was certain.
    And now he was in Sadie’s life.
    Going back to work was as useless as trying to figure out alone who the blackmailer was and what he wanted.
    Sadie called her office and told Deacon she’d developed an upset stomach at lunch. Wasn’t that the truth? Just having the envelope in her purse made her sick. And running into Jon Garrison…She didn’t need the distraction of the man right now.
    After rushing home, she stood under the hot water spray, letting the steam unclog the cobwebs of her mind. Maybe she’d never hear from the blackmailer again. But then, she’d live her life in fear, wondering when it would come.
    The phone rang, nearly scaring her out of her skin. She grabbed her cell from her purse and tightened the belt of her robe. “Hello?”
    â€œHey, there. Are you feeling better?” Georgia asked.
    â€œA little.” She grabbed the paper half in/half out of her purse.
    â€œGood. I set up your meeting with the local whiners for tomorrow afternoon. Their spokesman showed up on our doorstep this afternoon, demanding the wells be removed from the bayou before we polluted the local wildlife.”
    â€œOh, good gravy.” The marsh wells and facilities occupied less than thirty acres, a small percentage of fishing and hunting area. These local loons were making a stink over nothing, at a time when Vermilion Oil didn’t need any more bad publicity. “What time?”
    â€œThree. I’ve already requested reports on fishing and hunting, as well as wildlife population numbers on the bayou areas we have wells in.”
    â€œYou’re a lifesaver, Georgia. Thanks.” She fingered the edge of the list of names she’d taken from the office.
    â€œNo problemo. You get to feeling better so I don’t have to fill in for you tomorrow. Later, girl.”
    Sadie laughed and hung up the phone, then immediately picked it back up and dialed. So much for not being able to work. She had to act now.
    Twenty-nine names of workers who’d been laid off because of technology. Twenty-nine men who could be sabotaging the facilities.
    And twenty-nine possibilities of blackmailers.
    She’d made it through eight calls—all people whom she’d been able to eliminate as suspects—when a door slammed, then the television