09 The Clue at Black Creek Farm by Carolyn Keene Page A

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 pregnantwoman 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!!
    George raised an eyebrow, turned to Holly, and cleared her throat. “That sounds amazing,” she said warmly, “but can you excuse me for a minute? My boss is calling me.”
    Holly nodded and smiled as she took her latte, and George walked back into the kitchen. “What?” she demanded.
    â€œYou have to move the microphone,” I said, pointing urgently out the window. “See? They’re sitting outside.”
    George looked to where I was pointing, then shot me a stunned look. “Julie?” she asked.
    â€œRight,” I replied. “Looks like I had the wrong J person all along.”
    George sighed. “Okay, but how do I move the mic?” she asked. “It’s not exactly a normal motion for me to slip something under a table.”
    â€œIt’s more normal for you than for me,” I pointed out. George