09 The Clue at Black Creek Farm (14 page)

“OOH, IT'S REALLY GETTING CHILLY,”
said Bess, pulling her wool cardigan tighter around her as we moved through the buffet line in the outdoor tent. “The growing season's almost over.”

“And thanks to Nancy,” Abby said with a smile as she spooned some eggplant curry onto our plates, “Black Creek Farm has had a very successful year after all.”

We were back at Black Creek a few months after all the excitement. Sam had invited George, Bess, Ned, and me for an end-of-harvest dinner and celebration.
The farm looked incredibly beautiful, covered in all its fall foliage. Pumpkins were growing in half the fields now, and Abby said they were having great luck selling them at the farm stand and at local farmers' markets.

“How is Jack doing?” I asked Abby.

“He's right behind you,” she said with a wink. “You can ask him yourself.”

I turned around and found—sure enough—a tired-looking but cheerful Jack, holding a baby boy in a carrier.

“Nancy!” he greeted me. “Have you met Owen?”

“This is Owen?” I asked, leaning in and gently touching the baby's tiny curled-up fist.

Jack nodded, smiling. “He
almost
slept six hours straight last night.”

I laughed. “Is that good or bad?”

“It's good!” Jack said. “For his age? It's very, very good. But anyway, thank goodness for my parents. If they weren't here, if they hadn't offered to let us move in, I don't know what I'd be doing.”

After the dust had settled in the case against Julie, it had become clear that Julie had been lying about Jack sitting outside my house with the gun. Jack really hadn't known anything about her plan to convince Sam to close Black Creek Farm. Julie had the baby shortly after being placed in custody and was still in jail, awaiting trial, along with Holly. Things didn't look good for Julie, but Abby had told me that Jack still brought baby Owen to visit her every other week. Their marriage was over, but Jack wanted Owen to know his mother.

“I'm so glad it's working out for you,” I said honestly. “You look—happy!”

Jack smiled. “You know what? I
am
happy,” he said. “This isn't how I pictured this happening at
all
, but the whole experience has brought me a lot closer to my family. And it's made me realize—all the silly, petty things I was worried about before Owen was born? Complaining about my inheritance, which Julie clearly took a lot more seriously than I thought? None of that matters. The more I learn about the farm, the more I like it. I'm
just enjoying getting to live here with my parents.”

“It sounds like you've really come around to Black Creek,” I said, smiling.

“I have,” Jack admitted. “It's a great place. And I'm excited for this little guy to grow up here.”

Just then I spotted someone I really wanted to see out of the corner of my eye. I asked Jack if he could excuse me, put my plate down on a table, and ran over.

“Sam!”

The gray-haired, rosy-cheeked farmer turned and faced me with a big smile. “Nancy! I'm so glad you and your friends could come.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I'm
great
,” said Sam. “Not completely cured. But it looks like the first round of chemo is working, and my doctors seem optimistic.”

“That's fantastic!” I cried.

“It is!” Sam agreed. “Plus, the farm is thriving. I mean, look at all the people here. This is only about half of our CSA members. It's weird, but the publicity
we got from the whole Julie debacle has really driven a lot of customers our way. We're breaking even for this year, and if this continues, it looks like we'll do much better next year.”

“I'm really happy for you,” I said sincerely. I'd grown fond of Sam in the short time we'd worked together. It was great to see how his life had turned around in just a few short months.

“Well, we have you to thank, Nancy,” Sam said, patting my shoulder. “Meeting you at that buffet was the best thing that could have happened to me. I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you've done for our family.”

I shrugged. “Give me a hug, and we'll be square.”

So he did—and we were.

I went back to pick up my plate and move through the rest of the buffet. Then I joined George, Bess, and Ned at a small table at the edge of the tent. They had already dug into their dinner, which they all agreed was delicious. I took a bite and let out a little sigh of pleasure.

“
This tastes amazing,” I said.

George smiled. “So, Nancy,” she said with a mischievous look, “has working on this case made you want to get more involved in the growing of your food?”

I poked a carrot with my fork. “Actually,” I admitted, “I think I'm done with farms for a while—though I
did
sign my family up for the Black Creek CSA next year!”

Dear Diary,

THOUGH IT'S FAR FROM AN IDEAL SITUATION
, I'm happy that Jack is making the most of it at Black Creek Farm. And who knows—maybe little Owen will grow up to follow in his grandfather's footsteps? I'm just relieved that Sam can continue to follow his dream, with his family supporting him every step of the way.

And luckily for my dad and me, Hannah has already started planning healthy menus around our Black Creek Farm CSA share. For now, though, I have to run—Ned's picking me up for a decidedly
un
organic burger-and-fries date.

Dear Diary,

A FEW MONTHS AGO, THE
RIVER HEIGHTS
Tribune
announced that Alex Burgess, an exciting new director, was shooting a film in River Heights—starring Brian Newsome! Since then, everyone has been buzzing about how exciting it is to have one of Hollywood's biggest stars in our little Midwestern town (especially Bess, of course).

I've always thought it would be thrilling to visit a movie set—the actors, the costumes, and watching a story come to life. I never imagined that most of the drama would be behind the camera…

“I THINK I'M GOING TO FAINT.”

Bess Marvin, my best friend, lifted up her sunglasses and surveyed the scene in front of us. It was nine a.m. and we had just arrived at the River Heights train station, which was filled with giant trucks, trailers, and a few dozen spectators, all waiting as anxiously as we were.

“He's just a person!” snorted George Fayne, my
other
best friend and Bess's cousin. Although she and Bess are related, they are complete opposites. Take their outfits this morning: Bess was dressed in an
elegant blue wrap dress with intricate embroidery along the neckline. Her hair curled softly around her face, and she was wearing just the right amount of mascara to make her lashes look “natural but flirty,” according to her. George, on the other hand, was not pleased about getting up so early, and could barely be bothered to throw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a faded T-shirt that had been through one too many spin cycles.

“Ned texted me to say that he saved us a good spot,” I said, shepherding my friends through the small but eager crowd in the parking lot. Many people were holding signs that read
BRIAN, I LOVE YOU!
and
RIVER HEIGHTS WELCOMES BRIAN NEWSOME!

Although I wasn't as star-struck as Bess, I certainly felt like this was a special moment—a real film crew was about to start shooting a movie in River Heights. The director, Alex Burgess, had worked in my dad's law office before pursuing his dream of directing films. Neither my dad nor I were surprised when Alex made the move to Los Angeles. Although
he had been a diligent paralegal, he'd always been obsessed with movies.

Alex had struggled at first, working in a diner while writing the screenplay for his film,
The Hamilton Inn
. His sacrifices had paid off though, and now here he was, ready to bring his story to the silver screen.

But it wasn't Alex the crowd had come to see; it was the star of his film, Brian Newsome, who played a handsome doctor on the hit television drama
Hospital Tales
. As my friends and I made our way through the shrieking fans, I noticed that many of the girls in the crowd were dressed as nicely as Bess was.

“Nancy! Over here!”

My boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, stood at the front of the crowd with a camera around his neck; he freelances as a part-time photographer for the
River Heights Tribune
.

Bess barely said hello to Ned, craning her neck toward the side of the parking lot. “Have you seen him yet?”

Ned smiled. “Brian should be here in about fifteen minutes, Bess.”

I caught George rolling her eyes and grinned. George usually has little patience for Bess's celebrity crushes.

“Nancy, I cannot believe you know the director of an actual movie! This is so cool!” Bess continued.

I nodded, adding, “It's really generous of Alex to invite us here to see the set!”

George yawned. “Why is the coffee cart closed?” she grumbled. Besides not being a morning person, she also hated being hungry. The combination of the two had turned her into a full-on grouch.

“Several businesses in and around the train station had to shut down for the day to accommodate the shoot,” I explained, “so Alex wanted to do something special for the business owners and employees to thank them. Especially because he's from River Heights.”

“So they lose a whole day of business and all they have to show for it is a photograph with some fake doctor?” George snorted.

“Um,
Hospital Tales
is one of the most watched
shows on television,” Bess snapped, “and Brian Newsome happens to be an amazing actor,
Georgia
.”

Everyone knows that the best way to ruffle George's feathers is to call her by her real name, but I jumped in before George could unleash a snarky comeback. “The movie is paying all the businesses too,” I said. “And Alex invited a few old River Heights friends to come to today's photo op, like my father and me. He thinks it will be helpful to have familiar faces here.”

“We're lucky,” Ned agreed, looking up from his camera. “I've heard that most movie sets are closed to the public because of issues with security and sound and—”

“Psycho fans?” George smirked, elbowing Bess, who ignored her.

“They're going to ask everyone to leave the set before they start shooting,” I announced.

“Leave where?” Bess asked hopefully. “Where does the set end?”

“Technically ‘the set' refers to the area that will be on camera,” Ned replied, “but I'm guessing they'll
clear out the whole train station and the parking lot because it's filled with their trucks and trailers. Sorry, Bess.”

“So what's this movie about, anyway?” George asked, yawning again.

“All I know is what I read in the
Tribune
,” I said. “It's a mystery about a brother and sister who move back to their hometown to run their family's old, run-down hotel . . . which might be haunted.”

Bess added, “Brian Newsome will be playing Dylan Hamilton, and Zoë French is going to be playing his sister, Malika. Zoe's done some television as well as theater and commercials, but
The Hollywood Times
thinks that
The Hamilton Inn
could be her big break.”

“I guess those are for the actors, then.” I pointed toward the parking lot entrance, where three long, white trailers were lined up. One of the trailers had two doors labeled “Dylan” and “Malika.” The door to an especially tall trailer was cracked open slightly, and I could see racks of clothes lining the walls. I figured that was the costume trailer.

It was impressive, really: the vehicles, the bright lights, the crew members wheeling crates and trunks of equipment around, the tangle of wires running all over the ground.

“Wow,” I said. “Making a movie is a lot more complicated than pointing a camera and yelling, ‘action!' ”

“No kidding,” George muttered. “I just wonder how they
feed
all the actors.”

Ned grinned. “There are pots of coffee and pastries, George.” He pointed to a table covered in breakfast goodies that was set up near the entrance to the train station.

“For
us
?” George's eyes widened with joy.

“That's what I heard!” Ned laughed. “Plus, isn't that Mayor Scarlett chowing down on a bagel over there? She isn't part of the crew.”

“If you say so, Ned!” George trotted off happily.

I smiled at Bess. We both knew that the best way to improve George's mood was by promising free food.