The Clue at Black Creek Farm (Nancy Drew Diaries #9)(3)

Jack shook his head and walked off in the direction of the kitchen, and Sam looked down at us with an awkward smile.

“I should go check with the kitchen,” he said. “Maybe we’re nearly ready to eat.”

He and Abby strode off, and I looked at my friends. George was frowning at Holly.

“That was weird,” she said.

“What?” Holly asked, crinkling her brow like she had no idea what George was referring to.

“You didn’t see that?” Bess asked, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “Jack just got pretty snarky with his dad.”

“Oh, Jack.” Holly rolled her eyes, waving her hand like Jack wasn’t worth worrying about. “He’s just . . . high-strung. He gets like that with everyone.”

Ned shrugged. “Maybe he was just worried about his wife,” he suggested.

“How do you know Julie and Jack?” I asked Holly.

“Oh, we went to high school together,” she replied. “The two of them ended up going to the same college and then settling in Chicago after they got married. It’s great having them back here in River Heights.”

I smiled. “Must be nice to reconnect with old high school friends.”

Holly nodded, then looked over to what I assumed was the kitchen door, where Sam was striding out. “Ooh,” she said, “it looks like Sam is going to speak now. That must mean dinner’s ready.”

I looked toward the podium that had been set up at the front of the room. Sam strode up to it and gently tapped the mic.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, leaning in with a smile. “Welcome to the first annual Black Creek Farm showcase and buffet dinner! I’m so delighted that all of you could be with us tonight, and I can’t wait for you to taste the produce we’re growing organically and sustainably on the farm. I hope many of you will consider joining our CSA. You can grab a brochure with our membership and price info, or just come grab me later! I’d be happy to give you details.”

Then his face became more serious. “Ladies and gentlemen, Black Creek Farm is a dream of mine, but it’s also something I feel very passionate about. A little over a year ago, I was working as a lawyer at a high-powered firm in Chicago. I took on the case of a young man whose wife had died of salmonella poisoning. Do you know what killed her?” He paused, looking around at the crowd. “Spinach,” he said finally.

“That’s right—packaged, washed spinach. You know those salad mixes you see at the grocery store. All this woman had done—she was only twenty-five—was buy and eat some salad. But that salad was poisoned with salmonella, because our food system in this country is broken.”

I glanced at Ned. I expected him to be wearing his detached, skeptical look, but instead he looked stunned and totally absorbed in what Sam was saying. Bess and George seemed enthralled too. And Holly was glancing around at the crowd’s reaction, smiling.

As we watched, Sam went on to recount where salmonella comes from (meat), and how produce becomes tainted with salmonella (through contaminated processing equipment). I had to admit that it was shocking how easily these poisons could make their way into packaged food and how damaging they could be once they were there. But Sam went on to talk about larger problems with big corporate farms: the damage they could do to the environment, and the lack of oversight.

“Not to mention,” he added, “the food doesn’t taste that good. Why would you want to eat a tomato that was picked two weeks ago, barely orange? It’s never going to beat a tomato that ripened in the sun on my farm.”

He paused, clearing his throat. I noticed that there were tears in his eyes. He really cares about what he’s saying, I thought.

“These are issues that affect me deeply,” Sam finished. “So deeply that I gave up my six-figure income and the career I’d worked decades to build, and spent my life’s savings on a little farm just half an hour from here, in Idaville.” He looked up, his gaze moving from table to table. “I can promise you this,” he said. “The food from my farm has been lovingly grown and is delicious and safe for your family to eat.” He smiled. “I hope you all will join me on my quest to make food safer, environmentally responsible—and delicious!”

Sam stepped back from the podium, and the audience erupted into applause. I clapped loudly, glancing at Ned, and saw that he was applauding heartily too. In fact, everyone at our table seemed moved by the speech—even Bess.

When the applause died down, Sam moved back from the podium and Abby scooted in, leaning toward the mic to announce, “You’ll all be happy to know that the food is ready! We’re going to start lining people up to move through the buffet line along the right wall, near the kitchen. Tables one through four, would you like to head over?”

I looked at the number posted in the center of our table: four.

“That’s us!” Bess said, jumping up excitedly. “And not a moment too soon! I could eat a horse.”

Holly laughed. “Um, I don’t think that’s on the menu here, Bess. It’s all vegetarian.”

Bess shrugged. “Then I guess a really big eggplant will have to do.”

My friends and I moved toward the line that was forming near the buffet table, as Holly ran into the kitchen to help a slim Asian girl around my age bring out dishes of food. I felt my stomach growling as I spotted something that looked like pasta pomodoro, some kind of vegetable curry, and . . .