The responding deputy took her statement.
He didn't promise the note was proof of a crime.
He asked whether she'd recently had disputes with anyone.
Eliza explained the water investigation, the land offer, and the anonymous message.
The deputy documented the information.
Then advised her to preserve any further evidence and report suspicious activity promptly.
Eliza nodded.
But after he left, she sat on the porch feeling more frightened than she wanted to admit.
The farm was isolated.
The nearest neighboring house stood nearly half a mile away.
And although Calvin came through the area frequently, he couldn't watch her property every hour.
For the first time, Eliza wondered whether searching for the water was putting her in danger.
The next evening, she received an unexpected visit from Raymond Bell.
He arrived driving an old green pickup and carrying a thermos of coffee.
Eliza met him beside the barn.
Raymond looked uncomfortable.
"Calvin says somebody's been giving you trouble."
She nodded.
"A note."
He removed his cap.
For a moment, he seemed thoughtful.
Then said, "I heard you found the old junction."
"Yes."
Raymond looked toward the cotton.
"That makes sense."
Eliza frowned.
"What does?"
He hesitated.
Then leaned against the fence.
"Years back, my uncle used to maintain pumps for the eastern farms."
She waited.
Raymond continued.
"He said the old South Lateral wasn't really dry. The water was being sent through another route."
Eliza felt her heart begin racing.
"When did he say that?"
"Late nineties. Maybe early two-thousands."
She stared.
"Did he ever explain how?"
Raymond shook his head.
"Not much. He wasn't the kind to talk about work."
For several seconds, he looked toward the distant tree line.
Then continued.
"But he had some disagreements with the new management."
Eliza took a slow breath.
"Over the water?"
Raymond nodded.
"He thought they were using more than the old arrangements allowed."
She felt a wave of frustration.
Another person who had known something.
Another warning that never reached Samuel clearly enough to help.
"Why didn't anyone tell my father?"
Raymond lowered his eyes.
"Some did. But there wasn't much he could prove, and the company said everything was approved."
For a moment, she wanted to shout.
Then she looked toward Raymond.
He seemed genuinely ashamed.
She took a breath.
"Is your uncle still alive?"
Raymond nodded.
"He's eighty-one. Lives with my sister in Tupelo."
Eliza looked up.
"Would he talk to me?"
Raymond hesitated.
Then said.
"I can ask."
The retired pump mechanic was named Walter Bell.
He had spent forty-seven years repairing agricultural pumping systems, irrigation gates, and related equipment across northern Mississippi.
He was eighty-one, with white hair, thick glasses, and hands permanently marked by old cuts and calluses.
Eliza met him at Raymond's sister's home on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Walter sat in a recliner beside a window.
He looked frail.
But when Eliza mentioned Junction J-14, his eyes became sharp.