The Clue at Black Creek Farm (Nancy Drew Diaries #9)(18)

Bess groaned. “Couldn’t I be invested while we watched the footage from a video camera or something?”

I shook my head. “There’s no way a video camera could cover the same amount of space as two sets of human eyes and ears,” I explained. “Besides, I want to catch whoever is doing this quickly! The sooner we get this figured out, the sooner everything can go back to normal at Black Creek Farm.”

“And with Sam,” Bess added quietly, her face drooping.

“And Sam,” I confirmed. The kindly farmer had seemed sort of embarrassed when he’d learned that Bess and I knew he had cancer. He apologized for not telling us but repeated what Abby had said—he didn’t want anyone to treat him any differently. And he thought it was irrelevant to the case.

But is it? I bit my lip now, remembering how upset Jack had seemed that morning, and even earlier, the night of the buffet. It had been perfectly clear that Jack didn’t support his father’s decision to become a farmer. Could he really care more about his inheritance than his father’s happiness? I wondered. Does he think if he ruins Black Creek’s reputation, Sam will close the farm and stop losing money by chasing his dream?

Bess yawned loudly, cutting off my gloomy train of thought. I turned and found her stretched out on her sleeping bag.

“How are we doing this?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbow.

“We take shifts,” I explained. We’d discussed this over hot dogs, but I was getting the sense that Bess was pretty worn out. I should have been too, but I guessed adrenaline was keeping me going. The thrill of the chase. “Two hours each. I can take the first shift,” I offered. “You go to sleep. It’s ten now—I’ll wake you up at midnight. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bess agreed. But her voice was muffled as she was already climbing into her sleeping bag. Abby had loaned us Tshirts and sweatpants to sleep in. It was slightly cool in the tent; perfect sleeping weather.

“I’ll sit outside,” I said, climbing out the tent’s zippered door. We’d set up the tent on a small hill that overlooked the fields of crops—as close to having a view of the whole farm as I could find.

I settled myself on a rock next to a tree and turned to position an old camping lantern the Heyworths had lent me. I kept the lantern off so our campsite wouldn’t attract any attention; the moon was nearly full, casting plenty of light to see into the fields. It was totally quiet except for the occasional hoot of an owl or chirping of crickets. I glanced over at the house; all the lights were out except one, on the top floor. I watched a figure pass in front of the window: Jack. I shuddered and wasn’t sure why. Jack had finally returned to the farm as we were finishing up our weenie roast on the back porch. He claimed he’d been working in a coffee shop all day—trying to collect his head. No one questioned him, and he asked where Julie was and then disappeared upstairs. Sam had looked after him, pensive, and Abby had put her hand on his arm and told him to “give Jack time.”

Then the conversation had shifted.

The figure disappeared from the window, and soon after, the light went out. Everyone would be going to sleep now—except me.

I cast my eyes out over the fields again. Where are you, little crops poisoner? I thought. Greenhouse destroyer? Dream trampler?

I rested my back against the tree and got ready for a long night.



It was almost midnight. I stared into my phone, watching each minute pass, dying to wake up Bess so I could get some shut-eye. It had been a long day, and adrenaline could only get me so far.

That was when I heard what sounded like a car coming up the road. My heart squeezed. There were only two farms and one or two other houses on this road—what were the chances someone could be coming home this late? I blinked my eyes and shook my head, trying to wake up. Could this be my crops saboteur?

I got to my feet. The car noise died down right in front of the farm. I heard the shuddery sound of an engine turning off, and then a car door opening and slamming.

Gulp. I ran my fingers over the phone in my hand. I’d typed in the farm’s house number as a “favorite.” The plan was, if I saw anything unusual, I would call and wake them up.

Should I call now?

It was unusual to have someone pull up to the house in the middle of the night, wasn’t it?

I swiped my finger across the bottom of the screen to wake up the phone, but before I could enter my pass code, I heard them.

Footsteps.

They were headed from the house . . . this way.

I turned and squinted toward the path that led from the driveway, behind the house, to the foot of the hill where we were camped. There it was: a dark figure. It looked small, like a teenager or petite woman, and it wore a gray sweatshirt and a baseball cap. It was carrying something large and heavy-looking in its arms.

Whoever it was, he or she was close enough that they would be upon me before I could get Sam or Abby out here. My fingers clutched uselessly at my phone. Should I call the police? I thought of the unlit lantern sitting nearby and considered grabbing it.

But it was too late. I heard a twig snap just feet away and realized the person was already climbing the hill. It’s like they know we’re here! I felt my heart start to pound in my chest.

“Bess!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out as a husky whisper. This is like a nightmare! With my last remaining wits, I scrambled back to the tent and reached inside for the item Sam had insisted on loaning us before he went to bed . . .