Taco Town was not exactly a thriving metropolis, and we pulled up at the farm in just a few minutes. I was struck by how neat and orderly the greenhouses were—not that I consider myself a horticultural expert. But there was a tidiness to the farm that made it seem more like a storybook scene than an actual agricultural operation, despite it being the dying end of winter with traces of snow underfoot and bare trees all around.
Even the cars were parked neatly. A pickup truck, a little hatchback, and a mail truck with its steering wheel on the wrong side, all of them lined up precisely beside the main greenhouse building.
The structure’s walls were clear flexible plastic, with condensation beaded thick on the inside. But we could see through it well enough to spot a person moving among the plants. Wendall burst through the door without even knocking. Yuri and I exchanged a glance and a shrug, and followed. Inside, the greenhouse was still cool, but the way the early morning sun was beaming through the panels, I could tell it would warm up fast. It smelled like spring—soil and moisture and green growing things. As far as I was aware, I didn’t have a green thumb myself, but you never know. I’d never really tried my hand at gardening. But the enticing springtime scent of the greenhouse had me thinking it might not be a bad hobby….
A middle aged woman with strawberry blonde hair stood in the center of the greenhouse. She wore a postal uniform with a spotless white lab coat over it. She was as neat and tidy as the rest of the farm, right down to her shoes—which were so shiny I could practically see myself in them from a half dozen yards away. “Wendall,” she called over, “look at my tomatoes!”
Yuri and I shifted our attention to the veggies in question…and, wow, those really were some tomatoes. Not only were they red and ripe, and not only were there positively scads of them, but they were huge. Seriously huge. The size of my head.
“Yeah, they look great,” Wendall said distractedly. “But what can you tell me about my package?”
Vanessa crossed her arms and drawled, “Excuse me?”
“The taco globe package that went out last night. Have you delivered it to Fairmont or is it still in the truck?”
“Off the top of my head? I have no idea. Late last night, I picked up a second delivery, and maybe it’s in there, maybe not.”
Wendall took a lurching step toward the door like a dog trying to get someone to throw a tennis ball, hoping Vanessa would follow. But Vanessa didn’t budge. “I’m not looking for your package until I’m done harvesting.”
Wendall finally did the first thing Vanessa asked of him when he walked through the door, and took a good look at her tomatoes. So many tomatoes. He groaned. “But that’ll take all morning.”
“Not if you get a move on. Plus, it’s a good thing you brought friends.” She pointed out some bushels, then took a tomato in hand and demonstrated. “Twist, then pull. It’s better if you leave the stem intact.”
How exciting—I’d never picked a tomato before—but before I could grab a bushel, Yuri snagged me by the shoulder and gave his head subtle shake. I mouthed the word why? and he made a little painting motion.
Spellcraft? What gave him that idea? Maybe they were just really nice tomatoes. Ripening all at once. To gigantic proportions. In the middle of March in Minnesota. Overnight.
All right…I could see where Spellcraft might have been involved.
Wendall grabbed bushel basket and started power-picking the tomatoes none too gently. “I don’t understand. Just last week you were complaining that your crop wouldn’t ripen.”
“Well, I must have complained in the right place. Because a traveling botanist overheard me down at the diner—what are the chances?”
Yuri gave me a meaningful look.
Okay, fine.
Vanessa went on. “He came and checked out the whole operation, and you know what he determined? The soil was deficient in minerals. All this time, I’d been fertilizing with nitrates, but what it needed was rock water.”
Wendall, Yuri and I all mouthed the words rock water.
“It’s true,” Vanessa said. “I’ll show you.” She led the three of us to a rain barrel in the corner and heaved open the lid. We all peered inside. Arranged in a circle at the bottom was a handful of fist-sized rocks. “The botanist put this together for me, and after the very first irrigation I had results. Not only did the most stubborn green tomatoes start showing hints of yellow, but some of them even doubled in size overnight.”
Yuri seemed particularly unimpressed. “And how much did this traveling botanist charge you?”
“What difference does it make? Just look at this crop! And now that my mineral problem is solved, all my future crops will be just as bodacious. Frankly, I think I got the better end of the bargain.”
Yuri’s not one to argue. He simply turned his attention to one of the massively overburdened tomato plants and studied a ripe, heavy globe. I joined him, and he cocked his head in its direction. I took a better look, and when the sunlight hit the skin’s surface just right, the subtle sparkle of Spellcraft revealed itself. But even if the traveling Spellcrafter was responsible for the bumper crop, and even if Uncle Fonzo just so happened to be passing through Taco Town, I didn’t buy that the two things were necessarily related. Because it’s not as if the members of my family were the only Spellcrafters in the world. Besides, Uncle Fonzo’s quill was back in the attic. Just before we left, I’d hidden it under the bread box for safekeeping.
I turned to Vanessa and said, “I, for one, think it’s great. And don’t let on about the rock water—keep your horticultural edge. After all, if your competitors got wind of your secret sauce, pretty soon everyone would be doing it, and that’d just drive down the price of tomatoes.”
Vanessa’s eyes went wide. “That’s exactly what the botanist said! And, y’know, he actually looked and sounded a lot like you.”
I didn’t need to glance at Yuri’s expression to sense the I-told-you-so. “Come on.” I shoved an empty bushel basket into his hands. “These tomatoes won’t pick themselves.”
While Wendall tried to get Vanessa to change her mind and look for his package, Yuri and I went to the far corner of the greenhouse and got picking. “Most Spellcrafters look pretty much the same to the Handless,” I told Yuri—and that was the truth. Whatever common ancestors we had, there was a particular something about most of us that made us easy to spot, if you knew what you were looking for. “But even if my uncle did manage to find another quill, I don’t see what’s got you all hot and bothered. Okay, maybe the snow globe machine is on the fritz—but you said yourself, Spellcraft and machinery don’t always mix. And the tomato lady seems happy.”
Yuri gave a grunt and snapped a huge tomato off the vine. But he couldn’t disagree.
Personally, I was excited. If Uncle Fonzo did have a new quill, then chances were, we’d catch up to him as he made his way through the back roads and small towns looking for ways to help people with their problems. Towns where no Spellcrafters lived, and the types of problems that were best fixed with the pen could still be found. It was just a matter of figuring out which way he was headed.
I filled bushel after bushel as we worked our way down the rows until my hands hurt from picking. Wendall was still complaining, but Vanessa stood firm. “How about this?” Wendall suggested. If the box is already gone, I’ll get my kid to come help you while I go after it. He’s got a much stronger back then I do.”
“Call Harvey before we look. If the box is gone, he takes your place—and if it’s still here, you both work.”
She drove a hard bargain, but in the end, he made the call.
Wendall’s son was a younger, geeked-out version of him. Genetics really can be pretty amazing. Harvey wasn’t quite as rotund—yet—and his hair was bright ginger without any grays. He wore perfectly round glasses with dark plastic frames and a tweedy jacket with elbow patches over a too-tight sweater vest. An impressive camera hung around his neck. “I was just out getting some shots of the new stop sign over by Fourth and Colby.”
“Harvey works for the Taco Town Tribune,” Wendall said proudly.
When Harvey got a load of the tomatoes, he did a double-take. “I thought you said your plants wouldn’t ripen!”
Vanessa risked a small glance at her rain barrel, then said breezily, “Oh, that was just me being impatient. Obviously, this year’s crop is doing just fine.”
“Fine?” Harvey said. “These are amazing. Look at that one—it’s as big as my bowling ball.”
“I can’t take all the credit—I had a botanist’s help.”
“The dark-haired guy, came through town last week? He was really something else. Actually finished a Taco Tornado—that’s an eating challenge of twenty tacos in twenty minutes—but he wouldn’t let me post his picture on the diner wall. Said he didn’t want to unseat the reigning champion. A real class act.”
“That’s him,” Vanessa agreed.
“Even if you turned to him for outside advice, it’s still your greenhouse. Can I get a picture for the Tribune?”
Vanessa glanced toward the rain barrel again. “I don’t know….”
“With you in it, obviously.”
Vanessa blushed and patted down her pristine white coat. “But I’m such a mess.”
“C’mon, Vanessa—you know how seriously the paper takes our produce. I’ll bet you and your tomatoes make the front page.”
She primped her hair. “Well, if you really think so.”
Ignoring Wendall, who was having a flailing-arm meltdown by the door in his urgency to get to his box, Vanessa allowed his son to pose her for the photo op. Harvey stood her in front of the tallest tomato plant, which towered over the petite postal carrier. He handed her a bunch of lush, ripe tomatoes, and instructed her to cradle them in her arms like she was holding a bouquet. All that was missing was a tiara.
“That’s perfect,” Harvey said, “just perfect. Now, look over here—that’s right—and give me a nice smile.”
The sun shone through the greenhouse, dazzling Vanessa, but she gave a tenuous smile. I stood tall and began to clap, cheering her on. And once I elbowed Yuri hard enough, he did the same. Although I don’t think he knew the slow clap had a sarcastic connotation in English.
As we clapped and whistled, Vanessa gained confidence, shifting her shoulder to face the camera with a smile growing broader and more sure. “That’s it,” Harvey said as his shutter clicked. “Fantastic. Just wait till the town sees this.”
The smile finally reached Vanessa’s eyes as a single leaf dropped from the towering plant. It floated down gently on a warm updraft, unnoticed by both the photographer and his model. But it seemed like such a strange time for a leaf to fall. Maybe it’s the Spellcrafter in me, but I can’t afford to miss any details. Yuri, too. I felt him stiffen beside me…right before all hell broke loose.
Explosions on TV are loud. But gargantuan vegetables? They just make a wet squelching sound.
The tomato directly over Vanessa’s head burst in a stunning explosion of ripe, red juice. It deluged her fair apricot hair, sliding down like something had been disemboweled directly overhead. The guts stood out vividly on her pristine white lab coat. But that single tomato was only the opening volley. Soon another burst, and another. Throughout the greenhouse in a series of squishy pops, the overstrained tomato skins gave up the ghost in a cluster of soft detonations. Harvey tried to backpedal, but he slid on the jellied insides of all the victims and tumbled inelegantly out of the way.
The blowup lasted several long minutes. When the juicy red globes were finally done exploding, not a single plant was left standing. All was silent but the plunk and splatter of tomato guts dripping from the plastic ceiling.
We slipped and slid and skidded over to Vanessa…who, in her shock, was moving in slow motion. Which didn’t make it any better to see the dismay registering on her face in excruciating detail. She burst into tears just as we reached her. Yuri recoiled as if he’d just now discovered his kryptonite.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said, but tomato guts were dripping into my hair, her crop was ruined, and it probably wasn’t okay. I was just about to offer to help her clean up—but unfortunately, it looked like it would take a while. And we were so close to finding my uncle.
Wendall slipped and slid over to Vanessa and took her by the arm. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” And together, like a pair of toddlers learning to ice skate, they made their way out the greenhouse door.
Once they were gone, Yuri muttered, “It’s bad enough Fonzo took their money.”
“Wait, what?”
He pressed his lips together is if he regretted he’d said anything.
“No, go on,” I insisted.
I didn’t actually think he would elaborate, but he squared his broad shoulders and said, “It’s one thing for him to promise something he can’t deliver, and another to completely destroy someone.”
“Hold on, buster. First of all, we don’t know for a fact that this is anything more than an accident. And second, how can this be my Uncle’s work if he doesn’t have a quill?”
Yuri’s eyes went hard. “We both know how far someone will go to get a quill.”
Oh no he didn’t. I was a heartbeat away from cracking open a can of Penn family whoop-ass when Harvey called out, “A little help, here?”
Yuri strode over to where Taco Town’s photojournalist was still flailing in tomato guts. Luckily, Harvey had landed on his butt, so his fancy camera was still intact. As if the full-grown man weighed no more than an empty tomato bushel, Yuri plucked him off the mushy ground and set him on his feet.
I almost allowed my anger to crank down a few notches…but then Yuri said, “The stranger who ate all the tacos—do you still have his picture?”
Harvey seemed puzzled, but since Yuri had just come to his rescue, he shrugged and took a look. “If I haven’t switched out my memory card…. Hold on. Yep, you betcha. Here he is.”
Yuri looked down at the viewfinder, then at me—and by the look on his face alone, I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw. But you never know. It could have been some other Spellcrafter. I stuck my hands in my pockets, crossed my fingers, and faced the music.
The viewscreen on the camera was tiny, just a couple of inches, and the picture was somewhat confusing with all the piñatas and sombreros and Minnesota Vikings gear cluttering up the shot. But when I finally picked out the figure in the center of the frame grinning over an empty taco platter, there was no denying it.
At least Uncle Fonzo looked happy.
I was about to insist the photo didn’t prove a darn thing (despite the fact that it pretty much did) when Wendall and Vanessa made an appearance. Wendall had a stack of T-shirts in his hands with a Fajita Farms logo. He passed one each of us and said, “It’s too cold to go outside in a wet shirt.” Yuri nearly refused, and I’ll admit, I was tempted, too. I have my image as a natty dresser to consider—but I reckoned it was best to come out of the fiasco with my nipples intact.
Even if I had no intention of letting a certain someone near them. At least until he apologized.
Once we were all in our new Fajita Farms shirts, Vanessa took stock of the greenhouse with the glazed, stunned expression, then sighed and said, “Okay, Wendall, let’s look for your package.”
Her mail truck was surprisingly full, but between the four guys, we had it unloaded before long. Especially since Wendall was working faster and faster the farther down he got without finding his box. But then, there it was, at the bottom of the heap. A battered box with one corner crunched in, the tape splitting, and a big oil stain on the bottom. A box marked fragile in at least a dozen different places.
Wendall cocked his head. “Wait a minute….” He pulled out a pocket knife and slit open the box. Styrofoam popcorn scattered as he pulled out a snow globe, then peered inside. “I must’ve had my boxes mixed up. This is from a batch I ran last week. They’re perfectly fine.” He turned to Vanessa. “Got any tape?”
“No can do. You opened it, it’s yours.”
They both launched into some nonsense about postal regulations, but I had no desire to stand around and listen to them arguing—not when I was busy brewing up an argument of my own.
I gave Yuri a cool look, then turned and headed back to the truck, fully expecting to lay into him once we were alone. But then Wendall snatched up the box of snow globes and came running after us. “Hold on! Can you give me a lift to my shop?
And even though the annoyance was thick enough to cut with a fork, Yuri gave his head a small, dismissive nod, and said, “Fine. Get in.”