Blackmail (4 page)

No, he wouldn't even start trying to analyze why he kept thinking about Sadie Thompson. He had a job to do and as he crossed the lobby to the parking lot, he was determined to do just that—his job and nothing more.

Two hours and four visits later, Jon pulled into the café for a quick salad. A blast of frigid air hit his face as he opened the door. Ah, the pricelessness of air-conditioning on a sweltering July day.

He nodded to a couple of the townspeople as he made his way to the swivel stools against the bar counter. No one greeted him or even tossed him a welcoming smile. He'd lived in Lagniappe over a year—when would the locals warm up to him?

After placing his order, Jon sipped his water and studied the people around him. Most were on their lunch breaks, as well, wearing the fashions of their jobs. Uniforms for the minimum-wagers, dirty jeans and T-shirts for the manual laborers and suits for the numerous professionals hanging out their shingles in the small town. Jon felt out of place in his khaki slacks and polo-style shirt.

“Man, Deacon Wynn's gonna be outta business soon,” one of the men in a dirt-streaked shirt mumbled to his lunch partner.

“Would serve him right. That family's got delusions they're above all the rest of us.” The other worker splashed ketchup over his mountain of fries.

“Yeah, but didn't stop his son from getting into trouble, did it?”

“Heard he'd gotten into drugs and gone into rehab. Shows that money can buy trouble, that's for sure.”

Jon tightened his grip on his water glass. That's where he recognized the name
Vermilion Oil.
One of his probationers was the son of Deacon Wynn. Rehab? No, the boy had been in juvie, turning eighteen less than a week after his release.

Lance Wynn was a good kid, basically. Raised in a family with too much money and not enough attention. He'd dabbled in drugs, gotten caught and sent to juvie. He only had another month of probation, then that record would be closed and sealed. A past swept under the carpet, unlike the less wealthy juvies.

It never ceased to amaze Jon what having money could do.

 

Today had been the day to beat all days.

Sadie grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and headed to the front porch. That draining press conference had set the tone for her entire day, followed by Caleb missing the bus and having to walk to school, arriving for class late, which explained the call from the principal this morning. The only thing good about today was no new facility had been damaged. She yearned for a hot bath and an early bedtime.

Unfortunately, she had to cook something for supper so Caleb could eat. Not that he'd appreciate her efforts—he hadn't since he'd come home.

Home. As if Caleb would ever consider her house home. In spite of her numerous attempts the previous day, he'd made it perfectly clear he had no desire to seek out any type of relationship with her. Period. Stony silence and simple yes-and-no answers were the extent of their rapport.

Sadie sighed and grabbed the mail before reaching for the front door. Caleb couldn't be bothered to bring in the mail. She turned the knob. Or lock the door, apparently. She nearly tripped over his size-twelve sneakers lying just inside the foyer.

“Caleb!”

“Yo.” The grunt came from the living room.

As if she didn't know where to find him. The television blared screeching guitars from some music station. For the millionth time in barely forty-eight hours, she considered canceling her satellite service. The constant rock video after rock video would drive her insane.

“You need to keep your shoes out from in front of the door.”

“Whatever.”

She clenched her jaw and headed to the kitchen. No matter what she did, nothing reached him. Caleb just didn't care.

Tossing her purse onto the buffet, she sifted through the mail. Sale papers and envelopes addressed to resident found their way into the trash. Oh, yippee, an insurance premium notice—how lucky could she be?

She stopped at the last envelope. Plain white, no return address. Closer inspection revealed no stamp or postmark, either. Just her name and address in bold, block letters in black on the front. Odd.

Sadie slit open the back and withdrew the contents.

A Polaroid fell facedown on the counter. She turned over the picture and gasped. A man with lifeless eyes stared into the camera. What in the world? She dropped the photograph and reached for the newspaper clipping.

Not just a clipping—an obituary with today's date. A Harold Daniels. She stared at the man's grainy picture in the paper. She didn't recognize him.

Wait a minute, she knew that name…he worked for her company, but she'd never met him before. Why would someone send her an obituary of someone she didn't know?

She grabbed the Polaroid and compared the photographs.

Same man!

Icy fingers trailed her back.

She set the clipping on the counter and unfolded the piece of paper. Her hands trembled so badly, she almost couldn't read the letter.

Same bold, black, block letters as on the envelope. Sadie pressed her lips together, holding her breath as she read.

The paper drifted from her slack fingers.

Dear Lord, help me.

T
he sun crested to midsky, shining down on the little town of Lagniappe. Midweek. Not that Sadie took the time to notice.

The letter, obituary and photograph invaded her mind this Wednesday morning, just as it had tormented her all night.

Sadie sat at her desk on the third floor. Drilling production reports littered her in-box, but she couldn't concentrate. Couldn't even think.

Georgia dropped a folder onto the desk. “That's the info on the laid-off workers you wanted. I couldn't see anything important in there.”

“Merci.”
She opened the file and scrolled through the names. Most were men she'd known for years, some intimately. Reaching for her pen, she crossed off the names of those who'd already found alternate work. When she'd finished, she marked off those who had officially retired. That left a total of twenty-nine names. She shoved the list into her purse.

But Sadie couldn't concentrate on the next step in the investigation. Her mind couldn't focus on Vermilion Oil and its problems. Instead, her mind filled with words from the letter.

What could they want? She didn't have any money, that much was for sure. Especially since taking in Caleb.

And what about the timing? Caleb had been with her for only two days and now a blackmail letter? It didn't make sense.

She'd hidden the envelope with the revolting contents in her
purse last night, then went about her evening as if the evil wasn't there. Caleb hadn't bothered to thank her for the stir-fry she'd thrown together nor had he offered to help load the dishwasher.

Sleep had eluded her. She'd opened the envelope and read the letter again and again. Sadie could recite it from memory.

Who knew Caleb lived with her? She didn't have any friends outside of her church. Even her coworkers didn't get too close, except Georgia. Trying to live down a bad reputation was like trying to cover up the stench of the bayou—not easily accomplished. She'd shared only with Pastor Spencer Bertrand her decision to step up as Caleb's guardian, but he wouldn't have said anything to anyone.

Would he?

What kind of instructions? Frustration sat in her temples. She rubbed her forehead, attempting to ward off the approaching migraine to no avail.

Instructions for what? What did they want from her? She had nothing. She barely made her mortgage and utilities every month. Maybe she'd been stupid in trying to buy a house, but she was sick of throwing away money in rent every month. She'd cleaned out her savings for the down payment.

“I need to see Mr. Wynn. The receptionist said his office was up here on the third floor. Can you direct me to him?”

Sadie jerked her attention to the sheriff standing in her office doorway. She'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed him standing there.

She pasted on a smile. “May I ask what about?”

“One of his employees was murdered last night. I need to ask him a few questions.”

Her stomach cramped, just knowing the blackmail letter was in her purse. “Certainly.” She nodded. “Take a left down the hall and he's the second office on the right. His secretary shouldn't have left for lunch yet.”

“Merci.”

Sabotage and now murdered employees…what could be next? Watching the sheriff leave, a sense of loneliness washed over Sadie that she hadn't felt in several months. No one to turn to. No one to share with. No one to ease the burdens of life. The emotions clogged her throat.

Hear from them how? When?

Brring! Brring!

Sadie jumped and stared at the phone sitting on the desk. Would they call her?

The light blinked, indicating someone had answered the line. She let out the long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Scared of a ringing phone? Enough was enough!

Sadie snatched her purse, slung the strap over her shoulder and headed out the door. No one stopped her to ask where she was going. It didn't matter, she could take lunch whenever she felt like it.

Summer had blazed into Lagniappe with the wilting of the tulips. Temperatures hovered in the upper nineties. Flowers burst forth through the greenery. All seemed a promise of better things to come.

Except just when she'd made strides in her new life, here she was, being blackmailed.

She drove the short distance to the café. Not that she was
hungry, but she needed to eat. She'd managed to shove down only some of the vegetables from the stir-fry last night.

The hostess sat her at a table next to a window. She ordered the shrimp salad and iced tea from the waitress, then stared out the window.

As if. She'd spent too many years avoiding them and old habits died hard. But she needed to tell someone. Who? Pastor? No, she wouldn't drag him into this. He'd be obligated, at least morally if not legally, to tell the police. Georgia? No, she couldn't drag her only friend into this mess. The loneliness threatened to suffocate Sadie.

“Ms. 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.”

“How are you today?”

“F-Fine.” Why was she stuttering like an imbecile?

“How's Caleb?”

“Good. 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.

“That'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?”

“Hey, there. Are you feeling better?” Georgia asked.

“A little.” She grabbed the paper half in/half out of her purse.

“Good. 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.”

“Oh, 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?”

“Three. I've already requested reports on fishing and hunting, as well as wildlife population numbers on the bayou areas we have wells in.”

“You're a lifesaver, Georgia. Thanks.” She fingered the edge of the list of names she'd taken from the office.

“No 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 blared at full volume.

Caleb had come home from school.

Quickly dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, she stuffed the blackmail letter into her pocket and headed down the hall. Even if her brother wasn't responding to her attempts to bond with him, he was involved with what tormented her mind. It was time to seek his input. She couldn't do this alone.

She entered the living room to find Caleb watching yet another music video channel. “How was your day?”

He grunted, his attention focused on the flashing lights on the television.

She withdrew the envelope from her pocket just as the video spewed out a tirade of profanity.

Gritting her teeth, Sadie fought to disguise her annoyance. “Caleb, you know the house rules—nothing with profanity.”

“Fine. I'm going to my room. At least there I can listen to what I want.” Caleb pressed the remote and moved to stomp down the hall.

“Wait.” Her voice echoed loud against the sudden silence. “I need to show you something. Talk to you about it.”

Caleb let out a heavy sigh and faced her. “What now?” Belligerence creeped into those two words like a bar's neon sign.

With a trembling hand, she passed him the envelope. “I received this yesterday.”

He scanned the letter, the obituary, and stared at the picture. “Who is this?”

“A guy who worked for my company, but I didn't know him personally.”

What felt like an eternity later, he lifted his gaze to hers. The indifference he normally wore like a shield had morphed into something else. Hurt? Shock? “Where'd you get this?”

Little pinpricks dotted Sadie's arms. “It was in the mailbox yesterday.” She swallowed hard. “But I don't understand. You just got here. No one knew you were coming to live with me.”

He tossed the envelope's contents onto the coffee table and ran a hand over his face. “I sure didn't tell anybody and I don't know anyone in this nothing town.”

She eased to perch on the arm of the chair. “Then who knew you were here? What do they want?”

He shrugged.

“I'm open to any ideas.” Sadie clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Sorry, don't have a clue.”

“Caleb, we're in this together.”

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

What could she do? She gave him a shaky smile and rested her hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch away. “Don't worry about it. I'll handle it.”

“Can I go to my room now?”

Tears burning her eyes, she nodded. He ambled down the hall. Moments later, his door slammed shut and earsplitting music once again filled the house.

Sadie hauled in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Dear Lord, I sure could use some help.

Nothing but the thumping beat of Caleb's music answered her, but she knew she wasn't alone, and that knowledge comforted her. With a sigh, she shoved the letter, picture and clipping back into the envelope. She worried the corner with her thumbnail as she considered her options.

She had no choice but to wait and be contacted again.

A sensation of helplessness washed over her. Waiting. That particular virtue had never been her strong point. Now she had no choice but to wait and see what happened next.

Wandering into the kitchen, she tossed the envelope on the counter and began to prepare supper. Caleb's attitude about the letter gave her some hope—at least he talked
to
her instead of at her. Maybe they could create a normal sibling relationship after all. Hadn't Pastor Bertrand told her to look for the blessings in every situation?

A pounding on the front door rose over the beat of the music.

Her heart quickened. Were the blackmailers here with their demands?