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

looked skeptical. “Listen, just take it with you when you bring the menus, and find some excuse to bend down. Drop something, whatever.”
    â€œYou make it sound so easy,” George muttered.
    I grabbed her shoulder, looking at her pleadingly. “Please, please, please, please . . .”
    George shook me off. “Okay, okay. I’ll try.”
    I watched her walk out into the dining area and carefully untape the mic from under table four. Then, with a final look back at me, she grabbed a few menus, opened the front door, and walked over to the table where Julie was sitting.
    My heart was pounding as George handed Julie a menu, then purposely dropped it on the ground, knocking over the sugar dish in the process. What looked like a hundred little pink and white packets scattered over the terrace, and I watched George shake her head and gesture wildly for Julie not to help. Finally Julie seemed to settle in her seat, and George picked up the sugar and, pretending to duck back down for one more packet, carefully stuck the mic to the underside of the table.
    I let out my breath. Oh, thank you, George. I was still going to be able to record whatever Julie said—and stop her before she could hurt Sam.
    I pulled out my tablet and put on my headphones, adjusting the mic’s sensitivity and volume.
    â€œ. . . didn’t know you worked here,” Julie was saying to George.
    George laughed. “Oh, it’s kind of a new job for me. But I’m getting really good at making little designs in the foam of a cappuccino, so I’m learning marketable skills.”
    Julie took a second to laugh, but when she did, it was a hearty laugh. “Oh, I just discovered this new baby store in downtown River Heights,” she said. “Have you heard of it? It’s called Rattle and Roll.”
    George shook her head. “No, but I’m not really in the baby-stuff market,” she said with a smile. “Did you buy lots of fun things?”
    Julie’s smile faltered, and I remembered what she’d said about their money problems. “Just a few,” she said more quietly. “Can I have a minute to sit with the menu before I decide?”
    â€œOf course. I’ll be back in a few.”
    George walked back inside, shooting me a questioning look. I gave her a thumbs-up.
    But just then, someone from inside the café bumped into George on the way out. Holly!
    â€œIs your latte okay?” George asked.
    Holly looked at her, almost seeming surprised to see George standing there. “Oh . . . oh yes ! It’s great. I’m just heading out to meet a friend.”
    George smiled and nodded, and Holly continued outside.
    Her friend is here? But there was no one outside but . . .
    Julie.
    Holly sat down across from her, and Julie leaned over to hug her.
    I felt my heart thump in my chest. Is it possible?
    J = Julie, and Dude = . . . Holly?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Things Fall Apart
    IT MAKES SENSE , I THOUGHT warily. In Julie’s current state, she would have needed an accomplice. Holly contaminated the food at the buffet after she and Lori had washed it and after Julie ate. Either Julie or Holly or some combination vandalized the greenhouse, and Julie attacked the chickens and shot at me last night. Then she snuck back onto the couch just in time for me to find her there.
    I couldn’t imagine why Holly had joined forces with Julie. She seemed so supportive of Black Creek Farm, and so gung ho about local, organic, sustainablefood in general. Why would she help destroy a farm that’s such a great example of all the things she supposedly stands for? I didn’t know, but I intended to find out.
    Julie leaned over to Holly. She was whispering, but with some quick adjustments to the microphone controls, I could still hear her.
    â€œThere’s a problem,” she was saying, peering inside the dining room. “That girl.” She