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  Sunlight glared off the gold belt buckle of the man approaching. She shaded her eyes and stepped away from the car. “We didn’t have time for introductions earlier. I’m Lea Austin.”

  He wiped his hand on his jeans before grasping her outstretched hand. “Archie Turner. The boss said you’d be stopping to ask a few questions,”—his voice hardened—”on your way out.”

  “I’m hoping you have an idea of who might be responsible for the recent food heists.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “If I did, I’d tell my boss, not an outsider.”

  Sunny was right to have warned her about the reception she’d get. She tried a different approach. “You have a big responsibility here. I imagine with a place this size, you watch over a large number of workers.”

  “Not as many as you might imagine.” He used the bandanna from his neck to wipe his brow and the inside of his baseball cap. “Fruits and vegetables need more hands to harvest than nuts. Machines have replaced hundreds of workers. We manage more acres of nut trees with fewer than half the people. If Sunny converts more land, we’ll cut our labor requirements even further.”

  “That must save a lot of money spent on wages.”

  “It’s good for the farm’s bottom line,” he said, in a voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Not so good for migrant workers trying to feed their families.” He spat and kicked dirt on the spittle.

  Lea removed her sunglasses and blinked as her eyes adjusted. “I guess farming is big business like any other.”

  “Yep, it’s all about the profits. There was a time when you made more money growing an orange than an almond. That’s not the case anymore. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not blaming Sunny. I understand his reason for pulling out the fruit trees. Besides, there’s less stress and heartache growing nuts. The labor side of the business is easier, too.”

  She nodded toward a spot where a plume of dust was rising. “I saw the harvesting machines in action. They’re very efficient.”

  “There are more benefits to using machines besides efficiency. A machine doesn’t charge you for worker compensation, medical coverage, or overtime pay. And they don’t need shade to rest in or water to drink.”

  Was Archie cold-hearted or merely sarcastic? “I’ve heard labor laws are frustrating for employers.”

  He fanned his face with his cap. His response was as blunt as the toe of his pointed boot. “You eliminate those headaches when you go with a machine.”

  She pulled two bottles of water from her car and offered him one.

  The cool liquid mellowed his mood. “It’s just as well the growers are finding a way to be less dependent on workers. The number of people willing to do this work has decreased. It hasn’t helped that fewer Hispanic laborers are crossing the border looking for jobs.” He looked at a group of brown skinned men pruning a row of trees. “Mark my words, if the labor shortage continues, we’re going to see more mechanization in farming.”

  “It must be a relief not to deal with those issues on your own land. You can get a good night’s sleep knowing labor shortages, drought, and insects will affect someone else’s bank account, not yours.” She studied his face for a response.

  He picked up a handful of soil and watched it slip slowly throw his fingers. Brushing the dust from his hands, he stared over her head. “It’s not the same when the soil you tend ain’t your own. It’s still my sweat goes into every grape and nut that’s picked, but the pride in the harvest is spoiled by people who take credit, half of whom never dirty their shoes in the orchards.”

  Sunny’s right. Archie feels no gratitude toward the people who bought his farm and gave him a job. Is he bitter enough to pay them back by hijacking those deliveries?

  CHAPTER TEN

  After leaving Archie, Lea retraced her route to the small town she drove through on her way to the farm. Drained from heat and dust, she wanted a break before beginning the drive back to Buena Viaje.

  A faded sign declared the population of Hill Valley to be 7,627. She doubted the population number as much as she questioned the name. Rather than being surrounded by hills or valleys, the terrain was so flat she could see from one end of town to the other.

  She passed an antique store displaying woven baskets and pottery, a hardware store, and a barber shop. A VFW Lodge offered Monday night bingo. A rusty sign propped against the side of a dilapidated auto shop advertised maintenance and repair services obviously no longer available.

  Slowing at the Hill Valley Café, she had second thoughts about trying the food at a local eatery. But I need a place to cool off and collect my thoughts. I can opt for iced tea.

  When she entered, the smell of onions and beef sizzling on a grill convinced her she made the right choice. A glass case beside the register displayed pies oozing with sliced apples and covered with crumb topping. The only customer was a middle-aged man sitting at the counter. Lea slid into a booth beside the window.

  A waitress with blond hair piled on top of her head came through a doorway leading to the kitchen. She wore a white blouse and a black skirt that bunched at her waist. After refilling a cup in front of the other customer, she brought a menu to Lea’s table. “Coffee?”

  Lea read the badge pinned to the woman’s blouse. “I prefer something cold, Mary.”

  “Our lemonade’s squeezed fresh every morning.”

  “That would hit the spot.”

  The man swiveled on his stool and looked at Lea. She avoided his stare by reading a wall poster announcing a harvest festival.

  Mary brought a frosty glass topped with lime. “What else can I get for you?”

  “I wasn’t planning to eat, but those onions are making me drool. I’ll have a cheeseburger, please.”

  “Fries or salad?”

  A picture of Ryan in front of rows of healthy vegetables flashed through Lea’s mind. She shook her head to dissolve the image. “Bring on the fries.”

  The waitress took the menu and disappeared into the kitchen.

  The man leaned back with his elbows on the counter. He wore creased chinos, Italian loafers, and a shirt worn open to display a silver chain and chest hair. Wrinkles nested at the corners of his eyes. “You one of those reporters here to write about the nut farm?”

  “You’re the second person to ask me that.”

  He continued before she said the reason for her visit. “I doubt you learned much from the people at Sunny Orchards. They aren’t forthcoming, but I’d be glad to fill you in.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, he picked up his cup and slid into the booth across from her, a man who didn’t ask permission to sit beside a pretty woman. “Everybody calls me BJ. I didn’t catch your handle.”

  “Lea Austin. I’m—”

  “Not from around here. You don’t have to tell me that. Your car is too clean to have been here for long.” A look of amusement spread across his face as he raised a finger, motioning for a refill. When the waitress brought a pot of coffee, he asked, “How’s your food truck business, Mary?”

  “It’s alright, but you shouldn’t call it the nut farm, BJ. Sunny’s still growing produce over there.”

  “Makes no difference,” he growled. “Since Sunny’s converted so many acres to pistachios and almonds, it’s how I feel about the place.”

  Mary shook her head and left to greet a new customer.

  “What problems have the nut trees created?” Lea asked.

  BJ stared out at the street where several men stood with their hands in their pockets, shuffling their feet. “Half the homes in this little burg used to have at least one family member working at the Orchards. Now that Sunny’s using machinery to process the nuts, he’s let a lot of people go. There aren’t many other jobs in these parts. The workers are sitting at home, unemployed. If the farm went back to growing fruits and vegetables, people could have their jobs back.”

  The waitress returned carrying a plate with a thick beef patty on a toasted bun, crisp lettuce, and the reddest tomato Lea had
ever seen. The fries were so hot she had to blow on them before putting them in her mouth. “There are enough of these for two. Would you like some?”

  “No, thanks.” He patted his belly. “The wife says I need to watch my waist line. I keep telling her I am watching it. I’m watching it spread.”

  He chuckled and slid the ketchup bottle across the table before continuing in a more somber tone. “That’s not the only problem. Almonds require a lot more moisture than traditional crops. The drought was bad enough before those trees soaked up ten percent of the water supply. The government allows sale of water to almond growers at the same time it imposes mandatory cutbacks on cities. Sunny gets all he needs for those thirsty trees of his while this town is on the verge of running out. It’s not right.”

  “What can you do?”

  “We’re up against politicians and big money.” He smoothed the top of his silver, thinning hair. “There’s not much we can do.”

  “Sunny told me their operation is using less water since they’ve turned to drip irrigation and other methods for squeezing more crops from each drop. He says the amount of moisture to produce a pound of almonds has fallen by a third.”

  “That may be true, but increased production has more than offset those gains,” he complained. His flushed complexion reflected anger. “Not to mention the state’s food supply.”

  “How is that affected?”

  “If the shift toward nuts keeps going, it will create a food shortage,” he predicted, “and the price of produce will go up.”

  Lea wiped her mouth and sat back. Half the burger remained on her plate. “The cost of food is high enough already.”

  “To add insult to injury, most of those almonds get exported to foreign countries.” His face hardened. Curvy lines cut grooves in his forehead. “That doesn’t help people here.”

  “What will you do? If people can’t get jobs and the drought continues, Hill Valley may literally dry up.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Don’t think for a moment I’m going to let that happen.”

  Mary approached. “What are you getting worked up about, BJ? Stop bending this lady’s ear and let her enjoy her burger.”

  Lea pushed her plate to the edge of the table. “That’s all I can handle, but everything was delicious. Does anyone ever finish the whole meal?”

  She inclined her head toward BJ. “He does, when his wife’s not around.”

  “Speaking of her, excuse me while I make a call.” He walked outside.

  Mary picked up the plate. “Do you want a doggy bag?”

  “Please. My dogs will love the leftover beef patty.” She folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “BJ knows all about this area.”

  “He should. His family owns the land this town sits on and his construction company built most of the houses. He owns several businesses, including this restaurant, the general store, the gas station, and the pool hall.”

  “It sounds as though he’s doing all right for himself. This town has made him rich.”

  Mary’s face closed as if warding off unfair criticism. “He deserves it. Without him, there might not be a town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Several years back, people here started getting sick. BJ’s own nephew, Charlie, almost died.” Her eyes clouded over. “People got scared. They talked about moving away.”

  “What caused the illness?”

  “Fertilizers and pesticides contaminated the underground well providing drinking water. BJ put up money to have the well replaced with a filtration system that cleaned the water.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to end up owning a ghost town.”

  A defensive quality returned to Mary’s voice. “He’s done more for our community than Sunny Orchards has. With BJ’s money, the town built sidewalks and put in a park with a baseball field. Next year, he’s planning to redo the school’s basketball court.”

  BJ came back to the table and put an arm around the waitress’ shoulder. “You aren’t spinning tales about me are you, Mary?”

  Her laugh was scratchy like someone who lives in a dust bowl or smokes on her breaks. “Telling the lady your version of the American dream. Instead of owning a house, you own a town.”

  He slid his hand up and down her back in a familiar manner. “My better half has beckoned. I’ve got to go.”

  Color rushed to Mary’s face and her eyes pinched. “Could I speak to you a moment?”

  They disappeared through the kitchen doors. Lea’s skin tingled feeling tension in the air. She wavered between embarrassment at overhearing an argument and curiosity about what was being said. I’m not as bad as Maddy. If she were here, she’d be holding a glass to the door.

  When they returned, BJ’s hand was on Mary’s back but a shadow crossed her face. She moved away from his touch. “I’ll bring the check.”

  “Bring me the tab. I’ll cover it.” He winked at Lea. “Maybe you’ll write an article discouraging any more conversion to nut trees.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to explain. I’m not a reporter here to write a story.”

  One eyebrow arched. “Well, you’re not here for recreation or sight-seeing. So what’s your interest in Sunny’s place?”

  “Sunny’s cousin manages a health food store in Buena Viaje. Deliveries from Sunny Orchards have been hijacked in the last several weeks. He asked me to look into it.”

  “You’re a private investigator?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “More like an interested friend.”

  He took the ticket from Mary and pulled some bills from his pocket. “Can you imagine! One of those thefts happened in broad daylight in the parking lot. The driver stopped for lunch. When he went back to his truck, all he found was a busted lock and a few spilled nuts.”

  “Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”

  For the first time, he failed to make eye contact. “Nope.”

  Lea stood to go. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you both.”

  “Will we be seeing you again?” BJ asked.

  “You might. I find Hill Valley an interesting place.”

  She dropped money in the tip jar and walked out. She heard them whispering as the screen door closed behind her.

  A large truck pulled into the parking lot, blocking her exit. The driver backed the truck onto the street and approached at a different angle. The young man behind the wheel leaned out the window and tipped his hat as she drove by. Her attention was drawn to the words on the side of his truck. Charlie’s Moving & Hauling Services.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning, Lea walked through the open door of the small beach cottage. “I’m here. Put on the coffee.” The sweet, gooey smell of cinnamon rolls floated from the kitchen. “You made those on purpose, knowing I was coming.”

  “Stop counting calories.” Maddy entered the room carrying a pan of buns dripping with frosting. She set the pastries on a wooden table. “You can take some home to Paul and Jon. That should put us back in Paul’s good graces.”

  Lea’s mouth watered as she took a seat. “What makes you think we need to get in Paul’s good graces?”

  “You’ve come to discuss the case, haven’t you? If I know your husband, he must be bristling.” She made another trip to the kitchen.

  “I admit Paul is less than thrilled I told Ida I’d figure out what’s causing her scary noises.”

  Her sister placed two steaming cups of coffee on the table. “What did he say about us investigating the stolen food shipments?”

  Lea wrapped her hands around a mug and lowered her eyes. “I haven’t told him.”

  Transferring a cinnamon roll onto a plate, Maddy pushed it toward her sister. “Keeping secrets from Paul is bad for your health.”

  “So is sugar,” Lea replied, sticking out her tongue. She felt a brief pang of conscience over the burger and fries devoured the previous day, but pulled the pastry closer.

  “Call it being health-conscious if you will, but I call it being we
ight-conscious.” Maddy licked frosting from her fingers. “Admit it. You won’t eat sweets because you don’t want to gain weight. Why are you worried? You jog every day; you’ll burn off the extra calories. Besides, you aren’t an ounce over your ideal weight.”

  “I’m not self-conscious if that’s what you’re implying,” Lea whined.

  “We’re all conscious of how we look.” Maddy patted her rounded hips. “Some of us choose not to worry about it.”

  “And you have the clogged arteries to prove it.” Lea picked up a fork and scooped a morsel into her mouth. “Did Tom find out about the cashier’s boyfriend?”

  “His name is Billy Duncan, and Tom’s looking into it. From what the girl told me, her sweetie is taking advantage so he doesn’t need a steady job.”

  “You may believe she deserves better, but that doesn’t make her boyfriend a crook.” She tapped a fingernail on the table. “Still, she could have given Billy information on delivery dates and times.”

  Maddy frowned. “Are you suggesting Libby is involved?”

  “I’m looking at possible suspects. Anyone with access to that information must be considered.”

  “A cashier wouldn’t have access.”

  “Every employee does. Delivery schedules are posted outside the break room so staff can answer customers’ questions regarding out-of-stock items.”

  “Okay, so Libby knows delivery dates. I still don’t see her being involved.”

  “You relate to her as a woman overpowered by her boyfriend,” Lea suggested. “Could you be letting your relationship with Eric influence how you view her?”

  “My relationship with my ex-husband and Libby’s relationship with Billy have nothing in common except I wish she’d stand up for herself and quit living in his shadow.”

  “Then give me a reason to scratch her off the list of suspects.”

  “Libby views people at Fresh & Healthy as family. She’d never do anything to hurt the store or anyone who works there.”