09 The Clue at Black Creek Farm

CHAPTER ONE
Food for Thought

CHAPTER TWO
Dangerous Vegetables

CHAPTER THREE
Occam's Razor

CHAPTER FOUR
Lay of the Land

CHAPTER FIVE
Revelations

CHAPTER SIX
One Man's Dream

CHAPTER SEVEN
Trouble in the Barn

CHAPTER EIGHT
Fresh Blood

CHAPTER NINE
Caught in the Act

CHAPTER TEN
A Clear Message

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Coffee Stakeout

CHAPTER TWELVE
Things Fall Apart

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Into the Woods

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harvest Time

A Script for Danger
Excerpt

About Carolyn Keene

Dear Diary,

WHO WOULD SABOTAGE AN ORGANIC
farm? Especially one that's run by someone as kind as Sam Heyworth, owner of Black Creek Farm and CSA.

That's the question I'm facing after someone became seriously ill from Sam's produce—which turned out to be crawling with deadly bacteria. Sam swears his farm is clean, and I, for one, believe him. I'm usually not one to freak out over organic fruits and veggies, but I need to figure this one out—before another person is poisoned!

“I'M JUST
SAYING
,” MY FRIEND
Bess Marvin said as we pushed open the door of the River Heights Community Center, “I don't see how you can get this excited about
vegetables.
”

She was talking to George Fayne, her cousin and my other best friend, who was following behind with an expression like she'd just sucked on a lemon. Ned Nickerson, my boyfriend, was right behind George with an amused look on his face.

“They're not just
vegetables
,” George said, in the frustrated tone of someone who'd been arguing with
the same person nearly since birth. “They're organic, sustainable,
locally grown
vegetables. And fruits too!”

“I just think it's all a little silly,” Bess said as we entered the community center gymnasium, which was set up like a banquet hall, filled with round tables covered with red tablecloths and enticing combinations of fresh harvest products. A banner welcomed us:
FIRST ANNUAL BLACK CREEK FARM CSA BANQUET AND HARVEST CELEBRATION
.

George glared at her cousin. “How is organic farming
silly
?” she demanded.

Ned spoke up. “I might see what Bess is getting at,” he said, giving George a disarming grin. “Not that any farming is silly, but . . . you know, scientists have been trying for years to prove that organically grown produce is better for you, and they've found very little evidence.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Science,” George grumbled.

I was saved from further arguing by the interruption
of a grinning blond woman with a purple streak in her hair.

I held up my hands in the gesture for truce. “All right, all right,” I said.

“OMG, Bess and George!” the woman cried, appearing out of nowhere to pull the two cousins into a big hug. “You guys are so
big
now! The last time I saw you, you were kids . . . now you're
young ladies
, as my grandmother would say!”

George and Bess exchanged glances and smiled as she slowly let them go.

“Holly,” George said, “we're so excited that you invited us to this!” She paused to introduce Ned and me to Holly. “Guys, this is Holly Sinclair. She was Bess's and my
awesome
Girl Scouts leader and now she's assistant manager at the community center.”

Holly shook each of our hands excitedly. “I'm so happy you could come!” she said, her cheeks flushed. “Black Creek Farm CSA is doing some
really
good work, trying to change the way our food gets grown,” she continued, growing serious. “They just need some more support from the community. So I convinced them to throw this dinner so people can taste their food!”

“
Holly, I told you,” Bess said teasingly, “I like organic farms and all, but we're not exactly the culinary decision makers in our families. And my mom
really
likes the Stop-N-Go,” she added. “Especially since they put in that Starbucks.”

Holly shook her head, her dark eyes shining. “Your mom probably wouldn't like it so much if she knew where all that mass-produced food was coming from, or what it's doing to the environment,” she said. “Come on, guys, have a seat with me.”

Holly led our small group to a nearby table, where we all pulled out chairs.

“Soooo,” Holly began, sliding into a seat next to George, “you must know that the produce you buy in a grocery store isn't all from around here, right?”

“Of course,” Ned said. “But that goes without saying. Not every climate will be able to produce every fruit or vegetable there's demand for.”

“That's true,” Holly agreed, “but do you think people really consider where their food comes from, when it's so shiny and easy to buy at the supermarket?
Maybe that orange was picked before it was ripe and flown in on a cargo jet, or else trucked around the country using tons of fossil fuels and releasing all kinds of toxins into the environment. But if people stopped and thought about eating locally, maybe they'd select an apple that was grown down the road—perfectly ripe and much easier to transport.”

Ned sighed. “Right,” he said.

“Local food usually tastes better too,” George pointed out. “Because local farmers don't pick their produce until it's ready. Produce that's trucked in has to be picked much earlier, and that affects the flavor.”

Holly smiled at her. “Exactly,” she said. “And we haven't even touched on organic versus conventional produce, and how many toxins are released into the ecosystem by conventional fertilizers and pesticides.”

Ned spoke up. “But scientists haven't found much of a
nutritional
difference between organic and conventionally grown food,” he said.

Holly shrugged. “That's true,” she said, “but we don't
have to look very hard to find the damage that conventional farming does to the environment.”

Bess thought a moment. “Even if I can see the logic in what you're saying,” she said, “I don't do the grocery shopping, Holly. My mom does it, and she's big on bargains.”

Holly nodded slowly. “Bess, all I ask is that you listen to the presentation tonight, and if you're impressed, if you like the quality of the food we serve, you
mention
us to your mom. Or pass on some flyers I'd be happy to give you.” Holly turned from Bess to look at George, Ned, and me. “That goes for all of you,” she said.

I glanced from George to Ned. George was nodding enthusiastically, and even skeptical Ned gave Holly a small smile. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Sure,” I agreed. While I didn't always eat organic, I definitely believed in being environmentally responsible. And everything Holly had said made sense.

“Oh, look!” Holly pointed behind my head at a tall, gray-haired, and bearded man. She stood up and
waved, and the man turned to her and nodded. “That's Sam Heyworth, the man of the hour.”

“Who?” asked Ned.

Holly smiled. “Sam's the founder and owner of the Black Creek Organic Farm and CSA.”

“So what is a CSA, exactly?” I asked. The term was familiar, but I wasn't totally sure what it meant.

Holly's eyes sparkled. “I'm
so
glad you asked! CSA stands for ‘community-supported agriculture.' Do you know how a CSA works?”

I shook my head.

“It's basically a way to help keep small farms in business, and help people who live in the suburbs get access to fresh, local, in-season produce,” she explained. “If your family joined, for example, Nancy, they would pay an up-front fee for the whole growing season—June through November. And every week during that season—or every other week if you bought a half share—you'd come to this community center to pick up the freshest, most in-season veggies and fruits that grew on the farm that week.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Picked that
week
?” I asked. “That's pretty fresh.”

Holly nodded. “Right off the farm, my friend. It's as fresh as it gets.”

I glanced up to see the bearded man Holly had identified as Sam Heyworth headed our way, followed by a woman about his age with short blond hair. Holly looked up at them and smiled.

“Sam can tell you everything you want to know about the CSA,” she said cheerfully. “Black Creek Farm means a lot to him, doesn't it, Sam?”

Sam walked up to the table and smiled down at Holly. “You know it does,” he said, looking around at me and my friends. “Hello. Friends of Holly's, I assume?”

George's eyes twinkled. “Holly was our Girl Scouts leader,” she said. “She won't stop talking about your farm and CSA.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, I'm flattered,” he said. “Running Black Creek Farm is a dream of mine. I gave up a partnership at my law firm to build it.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “So you were a lawyer, and now you're a farmer?” he asked.

“Right,” Sam replied. “And I was a stressed-out, unhappy man, frankly, but now I'm”—he stopped and turned to look at the blond woman, who'd come to a stop beside him—“very content,” he finished. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce my wife, Abby. She's given up a lot to support me in pursuing this dream.”

The woman turned to me and my friends with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hello, everyone,” she said. “I hope you're hungry!”

“We're starving,” Bess promised.

Abby and Sam laughed. Sam glanced up, catching the eye of a thirtysomething man with short brown hair and boxy black glasses. He raised his hand, waving the man over. The man nodded, then gestured for a very pregnant woman with long red hair to follow him.

“This is our son, Jack, and his wife, Julie,” Abby explained. “They're from Chicago, but they've been
visiting us while they house-hunt in the area.”

“Hi,” said Jack, stopping a few feet away and looking from face to face with a quizzical look.