“Oh my gosh,” George whispered in a hiss, and I pulled my eyes from the buffet to follow her concerned glance.
“Ohhh. . . .”
I felt my stomach clench again, this time with concern, as I spotted Julie, Jack’s pregnant wife, stumbling from the kitchen. Her face was slick with perspiration, and she grabbed the door frame to steady herself.
Holly was just coming out of the kitchen with a big basket of bread, and she looked, stunned, at Julie. “Are you okay?” she cried, putting the basket on the floor and leaning closer.
“I don’t think so,” Julie whispered, her words slurring. “I feel . . .”
But before she could finish her sentence, she lost her grip on the door frame and went down—tumbling to the ground and splaying on the floor.
“Oh no!” Holly cried, kneeling and turning Julie over. “Jack! Where are you?!”
I heard running and turned to see Jack sprinting over from a table near the edge of the room. “What’s happened to her?” he yelled. “Call an ambulance!”
Holly dug into her pocket for her phone, and in the confusion, the young girl who’d been helping set up the food ran out of the kitchen and surveyed the scene, her face paling in horror. She turned toward the buffet, where people were eagerly grabbing plates and piling them with vegetables.
“DON’T EAT THE FOOD!” she cried, running over and grabbing the spoons out of people’s hands. “IT’S NOT SAFE!”
CHAPTER TWO
Dangerous Vegetables
“NOT SAFE TO EAT?” GEORGE asked out loud, her brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
The girl was pulling the food back, out of the reach of the people who already surrounded the buffet table.
“Julie just finished eating,” she said quickly, shooting Holly a concerned look. “It seems like she’s having a reaction to the food.”
“Oh no,” Holly whispered, her gaze going blank. But then she seemed to shake herself and ran behind the table. “Yes, EVERYONE BACK UP! We won’t be serving dinner until we get this figured out.”
Together, Holly and the other girl, who was wearing a handwritten name tag that read LORI, packed up the food that had been placed out and carried it back to the kitchen. The people gathered around the buffet table made little murmurs of disappointment, but most everyone’s eyes were on Julie, still sprawled on the floor, now with her head in her husband’s lap. He fanned her with a folded napkin, but she remained unconscious.
I looked from Julie to Ned, standing next to me. He looked as worried as I felt. “A bad vegetable can make you that sick?” he hissed to me under his breath. I shrugged; I’d been wondering the same thing.
It was only minutes before the paramedics arrived—running into the community center with a stretcher and heading right to Julie’s side—though it seemed like hours. They used smelling salts to revive Julie, who blinked at them, confused.
“How are you doing?” the female paramedic, whose name tag read ERICA, asked her.
Julie frowned. “Not so good,” she murmured. “I feel like—I—”
Erica seemed to read her thoughts as she raised Julie’s head and turned it to the side. I heard the sounds of vomiting and glanced uncomfortably at Bess and George, who looked horrified.
“There, there,” said Erica, looking back at her colleague and making a gesture that looked like a shot. “Get it out, and then we’ll give you something to stop the vomiting.”
The male paramedic—his name tag read JAMES—produced a small vial and injection needle. He swiftly injected the needle into the vial, sucking up the clear liquid, then pulled it out and stuck the needle into Julie’s arm. “This will make you feel much better,” he said, “so we can get you to the emergency room.”
Jack looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin. “Will she be all right?” he demanded as the paramedics worked together to load Julie onto the stretcher. “Will the baby?”
“This looks like a pretty intense case of food poisoning,” Erica said seriously. “Since she’s pregnant, we need to be careful to keep her hydrated, or it can make things difficult for the baby.”
She and James strapped Julie in. “We’re going to get her the best of care, sir,” James said. “Once we stop the vomiting and get her hydrated, she’ll feel much better.”
Sam and Abby were standing close by, watching the action with concerned faces. “You said ‘food poisoning,’ ” Sam said, a questioning look on his face.
Erica nodded. “Of course we won’t know for sure until we can get her to the hospital and run some tests. But to me, this looks like salmonella, listeria, or E. coli. The effects are more intense on pregnant women.”
Sam still looked confused. “But all Julie’s eaten today is food from my farm,” he said. “We’re a small-scale, organic facility. You’re telling me she got food poisoning from my vegetables?”
Erica looked from Sam to Julie, one eyebrow raised. “Sir, we won’t know anything for sure for a few hours,” she said. “But in the meantime, I wouldn’t serve those vegetables to anyone else.”
Sam’s face fell as Erica and James worked together to hoist the stretcher into the air and carry Julie toward the door. Jack followed his wife but stopped short as he passed his father.
“This is just what I’ve been saying,” he hissed, so low that I could barely make out the words. “You’re a lawyer, not a farmer! And now Julie’s paying the price.”
He shook his head and stomped off, leaving Sam looking crestfallen. “There’s nothing wrong with my vegetables,” he muttered after a moment, but Jack was already out the door, helping the paramedics load Julie into the ambulance.
A murmur went through the crowd, and Holly approached Sam and Abby. I watched the three of them huddle together and whisper for a moment before Abby split off and yelled, “Attention, please!”
All eyes turned to Abby, who was shaking her head and looking disbelievingly toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, and when Holly made a speak up! gesture, raised her voice enough to be heard over the crowd. “We’re so sorry! There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding, a concern about the safety of the food tonight. Our daughter-in-law, Julie, got quite ill after eating an early dinner.”
The noise from the crowd intensified as people expressed their surprise. I could hear snatches of conversation all around me:
“. . . produce made her sick?”
“Poor girl was pregnant . . .”
“. . . What are they up to on that farm?”
Abby seemed to hear the chatter too and shook her head defiantly. “I know our growing practices are safe. I hope we have the opportunity to prove that to you soon! But for now, I’m afraid . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Sam, who’d been in the corner, stepped up behind her.
“The dinner is canceled,” he said in a deep, matter-of-fact voice.
A blip of nervous laughter went through the crowd, followed by the dull roar of surprised conversation. I looked around at the other audience members, who were shaking their heads and walking back to their tables to collect their things.
“Guess we won’t be joining this CSA!” I heard one middle-aged blond woman say to the man I assumed was her husband.
Nervously, I looked back at Sam. From his disappointed face, I knew he had heard the woman too.
It wasn’t long before the community center had nearly emptied out. Soon my friends and I were standing alone with Sam, Abby, Holly, and Lori.
Sam was staring at the floor. Abby took his hand and squeezed it, and he looked up at her and gave a deep sigh. Then he turned to Holly and Lori.
“Holly, Lori,” he said, “how did this happen?”
Holly shook her head. “It beats me,” she replied, looking truly mystified. “Lori and I handled all the food prep ourselves. I personally made sure that everything was properly washed and cooked.”
Lori nodded, pushing her long, dark hair behind her ears. “Everything was scrubbed and cooked, or just
scrubbed. I really don’t understand how there could have been anything on those vegetables that could make a person sick—much less salmonella or E. coli.”
“Where do salmonella and E. coli come from?” I spoke up. Sam, Abby, and Holly all turned to face me, surprised, as though they’d forgotten I was there.
“They both come from animals,” Sam replied, shrugging. “Which makes it very strange they were found on my vegetables. We don’t have any animals on the farm except for a coop full of egg-laying chickens, and they’re way over on the other side of the property from the vegetables.”
I frowned. “So how could—”
But Holly spoke at the same time, throwing up her hands. “What do we do now?” she asked, looking at Sam and Abby. “This dinner was our last-ditch attempt to get new CSA members. And now it’s ruined! How can we keep Black Creek Farm going?”
I saw Sam wince at the words “last-ditch.”
“We just do,” he said, “because I’m never giving up on this farm.”
Abby put her hands on his shoulders. “We have to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “There must be some mistake. There’s no way our produce would make someone sick.”
Holly shook her head. “How could this be a mistake? You all saw Julie go down.”
George tapped her lip. “Well, either the salmonella or E. coli was on the vegetables in the kitchen,” she pointed out, “or else someone put it there.”
Holly turned to her former Girl Scout in surprise. “Yeesh, George,” she muttered. “That’s quite the conspiracy theory you’ve got there. And who put the E. coli on the veggies? Colonel Mustard with the infected cow bile?”
George smiled. “Maybe I am being overly suspicious,” she said, “but only because I happen to hang out with the World’s Best Teenage Detective!” As I tried to blend in with the carpeting, my friend turned and pointed an indigo-painted fingernail in my direction. “Nancy, can’t you help them out?”
I looked up into the circle of bewildered faces and cleared my throat. “Um, George may be overstating things. . . .”
But Bess was shaking her head wildly. “She’s not at all,” she insisted. “Nancy is amazing at catching crooks. It’s like it’s in her blood.”
Abby glanced at Sam, tilting her head to the side in a questioning way.
Sam laughed. “Well, the World’s Best Teenage Detective is someone I want on my side,” he said. “Nancy, might you have the time to help us?”
I looked from George’s and Bess’s eager faces (I’ll get you two for this later, I thought) to the skeptical face of Holly, to the open, hopeful faces of Sam and Abby. Seeing the farmers’ expressions, I sighed. I can’t turn them down, I thought. But also, my heart was pounding at the thought of these nice people being potentially tricked. And if someone is setting them up, I thought, I can’t let that crook get away.
Bess had been right. The need for justice was in my blood.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
An hour later Bess, George, and Lori were heading home, Holly and Abby had made their way to the hospital to check on Julie (who was now resting comfortably, per a call from Jack), and I was walking out with Sam as Ned went to get the car.
Sam’s phone pinged and he pulled it out, checking a text and sighing deeply. “This is a disaster,” he said. “Until we get to the bottom of what’s going on with our vegetables, we have to put all sales and CSA orders on hold. That’s thousands of dollars. This could sink us.”
I frowned sympathetically. “That’s awful. I hope Ned’s friend can help us figure out what’s on the vegetables.” Ned’s a student at River Heights University, and he’d offered to take some samples of the food Julie had eaten back to the campus with him. He had a biology major friend, Rashid, who might be able to test them for contaminants. “How do you think the E. coli, or whatever it is, is getting on your vegetables?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “That’s the honest truth.”
I tilted my head. “How does it normally happen? Like when there’s an outbreak, and produce is recalled?”
“Well, it’s usually on a big factory farm, and what they typically find is that it was transferred by contaminated farming or processing equipment,” Sam explained. “You know, it gets on a tractor or a picker. Then it gets on all the veggies. But we don’t use any fancy tools at Black Creek. Unless these count.” He held up his hands.
I nodded. “Could someone be transferring it? Someone doesn’t wash their hands before picking the vegetables, and . . .”
“It’s possible, but not very likely,” Sam said. “The thing is, E. coli comes from inside a cow. Literally, from inside their digestive system. It’s not the sort of thing you might just be walking around with on your hands.”
I tapped my chin, thinking. I was stumped. “Do you fertilize your crops with cow manure?” I asked.
Sam shook his head. “Nope. We only use plant-based fertilizers.”
I heard something behind me and turned to find Ned pulling up in the car.
Sam glanced at Ned and held up his hand in a small wave. “Listen, we really appreciate your looking into this, Nancy. You’ve gone above and beyond already, staying this late, getting your boyfriend to bring the samples to his friend. Go home and get some sleep. Maybe we can talk later.”
I was still thinking, trying to reason out how an animal-based virus had gotten itself onto Black Creek Farm’s organic produce. “Can I come take a look at the farm?” I asked.
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Of course you can!” he said happily. “I’d love to show you around. I’m proud of what we’re doing there.”
I smiled. “Great,” I said. “I’ll call you and set up a time.” I reached into my pocket and fingered the business card Sam had given me earlier. BLACK CREEK FARM—WE RAISE HAPPY FRUITS AND VEGETABLES!
Sam reached out and clasped my shoulder. “Thank you, Nancy,” he said passionately. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. This farm, this CSA—it’s my dream.” He paused, clearing his throat. “And this is my last chance to save it.”
I gently put my hand on top of his. “I’ll do everything I can,” I said. “You have my word. If someone is sabotaging Black Creek Farm, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Occam’s Razor
NED RAISED HIS HANDS TO his face, pretending to blush as he opened the door to his dorm room to find me.
“Oh, gosh!” he said. “A visit from my always-busy girlfriend. Did you come to help me study for midterms? Maybe you brought me some chocolate-chip cookies to fuel my late nights?” He batted his eyelashes goofily.
I shoved him. “You know why I’m here,” I chided. “And sadly, no, I didn’t bake any chocolate-chip cookies.”
Ned made a horrified face. “I didn’t mean you had baked them,” he teased. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your house down. I meant maybe you’d brought over some that Hannah made.”
I groaned. “Just for that, I’m not giving you these oatmeal raisin cookies from Hannah! I’m going to eat them all myself!” I held up the plastic bag containing five cookies, which my dad’s and my longtime housekeeper and cook had insisted I bring over to Ned. Hannah was famous (in River Heights, at least) for her oatmeal raisin cookies. She’d once tried to teach me how to make them, and yes, I admit, there had been fire involved.
Ned grabbed the cookies out of my hand and ran over to his desk, tearing the bag open and devouring one. “Uhhhmmmm,” he moaned through a mouthful of crumbs. “Why only five?”
I smiled. “Because Hannah said she knew you’d be sitting around studying all day,” I replied. “She didn’t want you to get ‘a potbelly.’ Her words, not mine.”
Ned turned to look at me over his shoulder, surprise in his eyes. “I could go run around the yard between cram sessions, if it would mean more cookies,” he said. “You tell Hannah that.”
“I think we’re getting off track here,” I reminded him.
/> Ned inhaled another cookie. “I dithagwee,” he muttered, spewing crumbs.
I stepped closer, tapping his shoulder. “I came over here to check on the Black Creek Farm test results.”
Ned sighed, drawing his fingers over the plastic lock on the bag. “That reminds me,” he said sadly. “I should save some of these for Rashid. To say thank you, y’know?”
“Don’t bother.” I pulled another plastic bag from my other pocket. “I’ve got you covered. Now, the results?”
Ned put down the bag of cookies and turned to look me in the face. My skin prickled with nerves. I had a feeling, from his very serious brown eyes, that I wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.
“Rashid said the cooked dishes were all clean,” he said. “But . . .”
“But?” I prodded, knowing that the important info lay beyond that word.
“But the cold dishes, the salads, were crawling with E. coli,” Ned finished.
As I nodded slowly, taking this in, Ned reached for the bag and scarfed another cookie.
“Clearly this hasn’t affected your appetite,” I observed with amusement.
Ned shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just starving. I was so busy cramming I sort of forgot to go to the dining hall for breakfast. And then for lunch.” He popped another cookie in his mouth.
“Ned, is that all you’ve eaten today?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I also had a bag of Skittles and an energy drink.”
I put my hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go over to the snack bar and get you something real to eat.”
A few minutes later we sat at a wrought-iron table in the shade just outside the university café. Ned was chomping happily on an enormous chicken burrito, and I sipped an iced tea.
I was trying not to obsess about Rashid’s findings. At least, not while Ned was eating. But “not obsessing” about a case I was working on felt like “not breathing” to me. Finally I let out a sigh and leaned forward.