09 The Clue at Black Creek Farm by Carolyn Keene

the one coffee shop in the area that employed my amazing friend George.
    â€œIt’s not too busy today,” George murmured, sidling up next to me in the crisp white shirt and black apron that served as her uniform. “That’s lucky. It’ll make ‘Dude’ easier to spot.”
    I nodded. “I already have, like, three potential ‘Dudes’ picked out,” I whispered. “The bald guy at table one, the redhead at table eight, and the biker guy sitting at the bar.”
    George surveyed my candidates with interest. “The biker guy ordered a strawberry mocha dream-a-chino,” she whispered back, “just in case that takes him off any kind of ‘potential criminal’ list.”
    I shot her a horrified look. “George, criminals drink all kinds of coffee drinks!”
    â€œThere’s no coffee in that,”George corrected me. “But there is a mountain of whipped cream.”
    I looked back at Biker Dude just in time to watch him put down his mug, revealing a huge whipped-cream mustache. I glanced at George and couldn’t help giggling.
    â€œGeorge, did you wipe down table seven?” George’s boss, Lydia, interrupted our giggle-fest. She leaned over from her desk just inside the kitchen, frowning.
    â€œI’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 almostmissed 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.
    â€œCan I help you?” I heard.
    â€œOmigod, George ! I totally forgot you worked here! Can I get a large soy latte?”
    â€œOf course! How are things going?”
    â€œOh, 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