The Clue at Black Creek Farm (Nancy Drew Diaries #9)(16)

The Heyworths’ house was quiet when we got back. I knocked gently on the front door, and Abby answered, holding her finger in front of her mouth in the universal be quiet gesture. “Sam’s napping,” she said quietly. “Or as he puts it, ‘lying down.’ He’d never admit that he needs a nap in the afternoon these days.”

I glanced at Bess. Because he’s sick, I wanted to say. But now seemed like the wrong time to bring it up. Bess nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, you girls must be starving!” Abby said suddenly. “I just realized the time. Won’t you come into the kitchen with me? I can make you sandwiches.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen, then paused and said over her shoulder, “All store-bought ingredients, I promise.”

Bess and I chuckled awkwardly.

“I actually wish we could eat some of the produce from the farm,” I said as we filed into the kitchen and took seats at the old farmhouse table. “It all looks delicious.”

“It is,” a new voice said, and we turned to see Julie entering from the same door we’d just come in, holding a paperback. “Sorry to startle you! I was just reading on the porch and heard voices. I thought I’d come in and see if I might get a cup of tea.”

Abby turned to her with a warm smile. “Julie, you know you don’t have to ask,” she said. “If I can’t get my daughter-in-law and the future mother of my grandchild a cup of tea, then I’m not good for much, am I?”

Julie smiled and walked over, giving Abby a quick hug. “Thanks, Mom,” she said.

Julie came over to the table and settled down in a chair at the end. “How are you girls?” she asked, brushing her long hair behind her ear and placing her book down on the table. “Did Sam take you to see the greenhouse?”

“He did,” I said with a nod. “It’s—terrible.”

Julie snorted. “I can’t imagine what would inspire someone to do that,” she said. “An organic farm? This whole thing is just so weird.”

“Very weird,” Bess said with a nod. “And . . .”

She came to a sudden, awkward stop. I met her eye and could tell that she’d been about to say something along the lines of, And with Sam sick . . .

I cleared my throat, looking from Julie to Abby. “Um, listen . . . I don’t know whether we’re supposed to know this or not. . . .”

I trailed off, and Abby turned around from the counter where she’d been making cold-cut sandwiches. Julie looked at me curiously.

I took a deep breath. “. . . but Lori mentioned that Sam has cancer,” I finished.

Abby’s eyes dimmed. Julie looked down at her hands.

“It’s true,” Abby said quietly. “I’m sorry—we weren’t trying to keep it from you. Sam doesn’t like to tell anyone he doesn’t have to.” She paused, then snorted. “He doesn’t want anyone to treat him with pity, he says. He wants to be treated like he’s totally capable until he . . . isn’t, anymore.”

Bess and I exchanged sad glances. “We’re very sorry to hear it,” said Bess.

“It was a big blow to the family,” Julie said, nervously twirling her hair around her finger. “Coming right after Sam opened his dream farm, and with the first grandchild on the way . . .”

“It’s dreadful timing,” Abby said with a rueful laugh, leaning over to place plates holding turkey-and-swiss sandwiches in front of me and Bess. “But from what I gather, cancer is known for its terrible timing.”

I nodded slowly. “I—will he—” Will he be okay? was what I wanted to ask. But I realized halfway through the question that it was insensitive. What if the answer was no?

Abby looked at me with understanding. “He starts chemo in July,” she said gently. “It has a good chance of shrinking or eradicating the cancer. But of course, no one can say for sure.”

I picked up my sandwich and took a tiny nibble. I wasn’t feeling terribly hungry, actually. I glanced at Bess and saw that she was taking the same small, polite bites that I was. Funny how bad news can destroy your appetite.

Abby sat down at the table, putting on an enthusiastic expression. “Did you find out anything today, girls?” she asked hopefully. “Do you have any theories about the vegetables?”

I put down my sandwich, chewing and swallowing carefully as I parsed my words. “We’ve made some good progress,” I said. “George took some vegetables from the farm to be tested for E. coli. We’ll know more when we hear from her.”

Abby nodded. The teakettle whistled, and she started to get up, but Julie jumped up and headed to the stove before her mother-in-law could push back her seat. “Stay where you are,” Julie said. “I can get my own tea.”

Abby let out a sigh. She looked tired suddenly and placed her elbows on the table, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. “We have to catch this person,” she said. “This farm is Sam’s dream. I don’t want anyone to keep him from enjoying it for . . . for whatever time he has left,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word.

I watched her sympathetically. “Sam told me the farm was losing money?” I said, remembering what Lori had mentioned about the strange tension with Jack.

Abby pulled her hands away and looked me in the eye. “We’ve been losing money since the farm opened,” she said. “But you know what? I don’t care about money. I’d rather have a farm that loses money but makes Sam happy than have him working a job that makes us lots of money, but he hates.”