The Clue at Black Creek Farm (Nancy Drew Diaries #9)(25)

“I’ll get right on it,” George replied, shooting me a sorry, but she pays me look. Lydia hadn’t exactly been thrilled when we’d explained that we wanted to turn the Coffee Cabin into a recording studio. She’d nixed Bess having any part in it, so Bess had headed downtown to get her much-craved manicure—but not before we promised to keep her updated via text. Meanwhile, Lydia had been staring daggers at my back since I’d arrived, sarcastically asking how our “little detective game” was going.

When George left to wipe the table, I looked to the doorway as the bell jingled, indicating a new customer. When an older woman walked in, I felt myself deflate a little.

I looked out the window, across the street, where a River Heights police cruiser idled. I’d had quite a hard time getting the River Heights Police Department to take me seriously when I’d gone into the station to tell them everything I knew about the Black Creek case. They told me the only crimes actually committed (the vandalism and contamination of the crops) had been outside their jurisdiction, and that a meeting of two potential culprits didn’t warrant sending an officer to the scene. It took a gentle reminder that the noted attorney Carson Drew would be very upset if anything were to happen to his darling daughter to get them to agree to send Officer Bailey over to wait outside the café in his squad car, “monitoring the situation.” He still looked pretty unhappy about it, with his folded arms and grim expression. He glanced over at the coffee shop, and I waved brightly. I swear he rolled his eyes before giving an exaggerated yawn.

I was so busy watching Officer Bailey that I almost missed the door opening again, setting off the jingling bells. George was nearly back to the kitchen and turned to look too. When I saw who was entering, though, I frowned. It was Holly, George’s old Girl Scouts leader. If she saw us here, she’d want to know what was going on with the Black Creek Farm case, and I didn’t want to get into a long conversation with her that would distract me from Jack and “Dude.” I ducked into the kitchen just before Holly could spot me and waved to George to wait on her. George nodded and walked out to the register.

“Can I help you?” I heard.

“Omigod, George! I totally forgot you worked here! Can I get a large soy latte?”

“Of course! How are things going?”

“Oh, you know, I can’t complain. I just started teaching this new yoga class over at the community center—water yoga? Have you heard anything . . .”

I tuned their voices out and turned back to the door.

A familiar car was pulling up outside. Jack’s. I felt my stomach drop.

The driver’s-side door opened, and a figure climbed out. When the door closed again, revealing the driver, I let out a gasp.

It wasn’t Jack—it was Julie!

Julie was “J”?!

My jaw dropped as I quickly ran through all the evidence in my head. The motivation, needing money, wanting Black Creek Farm to fail so there would be a larger inheritance if anything happened to Sam. Check. Julie would benefit from a larger inheritance just as much as Jack. And the computer I’d taken the e-mails from—it could have easily been Julie’s e-mail account, couldn’t it? And the black hoodie on the towel rack . . . it could have been hers!

The only strange thing was that Julie was the one who’d gotten food poisoning at the buffet, setting this whole terrible string of events in motion. Or did she? I thought, and my heart thumped. It was a stroke of genius, in a way—Julie’s getting food poisoning while pregnant was more dramatic and scary than anyone else who could have gotten sick. But would a pregnant woman really knowingly poison herself? Was Julie so desperate that she would endanger the life of her unborn chid?

Then I remembered the night before—when I’d been chased by the figure at the chicken coop. Julie had been sleeping on the couch. Or had she? I just assumed she’d been there all night when I stumbled upon her sleeping on the couch. But I’d gone into the living room in the first place because I’d heard someone moving around, someone I’d later assumed was Jack. But wasn’t it possible that Julie was sneaking back onto the couch after sneaking back into the house?

My heart was racing now, the way it does when I’ve just about solved a case. But I forced myself to take a breath. I knew I wasn’t done. I needed Julie to meet with whomever she was meeting with, and have whatever conversation she planned to have, and get it recorded, before I could talk to Sam about next steps.

Who would believe a pregnant woman poisoned herself and then killed a bunch of chickens, anyway? It sounded ridiculous.

Julie walked purposefully toward the Coffee Cabin, then suddenly stopped and looked around. She walked over to one of the few sidewalk tables and sat down. I gulped; the weather was chilly today, and I’d never considered that “J” and “Dude” might like to sit outside. Our only microphone was inside at table four. And while it had a pretty good range, there was no way it would pick up a conversation from the table where Julie was sitting outside.

Someone has to move the microphone!

But who? It wasn’t like I could casually stroll outside and stick something under Julie’s table without her noticing. I looked desperately at George. She’s my only hope. As if sensing my stare, George turned around and looked at me, and I made a crazy, hysterical sort of gesture that I hoped translated to Come here right now. Please, please, please, I need you!!