I helped a shaking Amy sit in a kitchen chair. She was pale, and her breathing was shallow and rapid.
“Daisy, this is freaking me out,” she said. “Who would leave that photo and note in my mailbox? And is it true?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we need to find out.”
Whoever left them knows where Amy lives. I was worried about her, but I didn’t want to scare her even worse.
“I’m calling the police,” Amy decided. She picked up her phone.
“You should go downstairs and tell your dad before you call them,” I suggested. “It will scare him if he sees the police coming up here, and he doesn’t know anything about it.”
“You’re right.” Amy gathered the photo and note from the table, and we went downstairs to find Mr. Gray.
He was at the big stove preparing a sauce for a chicken dish that was th
