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  Jaide reached the front door and entered without knocking, the main room already abuzz with people. Trigger headed toward the sound of men laughing in the back yard, looking for fellow canines. Flora slumped along behind. Spotting Cindy, Jaide slipped through the crowd to wrap her arms around her friend’s neck. Cindy spun and hugged her back. “What took you so long? I thought you were going to help me set up.”

  “Flora and I ran into a few problems with the harvest.” Jaide grimaced.

  “Whaaat?” Cindy’s high-pitched single syllable drew attention from guests in all corners of the room. “What happened?”

  Heat crept over Jaide’s neck and face. Better get used to explaining. She’d probably have to do it all night. “Some sort of rot set in on the tomatoes. Probably blight. It’s the humidity.”

  Cindy looped an arm through Jaide’s and led her toward the kitchen. “Well, there’s always next year. And we have plenty of food.” She jerked open the freezer door and pulled out a gallon bag of raspberries and a bottle of tequila. “I picked these bad boys myself out at Howler Farms. Raspberitas, everyone!”

  Jaide nodded to Trevor and another woman nearby and added her pitiful thimble of salsa to the assortment of hand-spun ceramic bowls and glass casserole dishes on the island counter. Thankfully, Trevor didn’t comment on her contribution. A bamboo cutting board held several types of cheese, and someone had brought a growler of what she could only assume was homemade beer. On a platter in the center, three diminutive roast birds sat in a circle, their frail leg bones jutting upward and missing heads clustered together in a huddle like a grotesque sacrificial offering.

  “Who brought the chickens?” Jaide asked, stomach roiling.

  “Not chicken. Squab,” said Trevor, his black mustache drooping like a frown over his lips. He had a yellow stain on his button-down shirt. “Lucas raised them. Did you know he kept pigeons?”

  “Lucas Harmon?” Jaide shot a look toward Cindy, who kept her gaze on the bottle of tequila she was opening. Lucas frequented the food co-op, mostly because he liked to argue with the owner about global warming.

  Cindy’s face reddened. “He asked about the Coalition. He’s actually really smart.”

  A crush. Cindy had the worst taste in men.

  “Oh, shudder,” said a woman in a mauve wool sweater, whose name Jaide couldn’t remember. “How could you eat something you’d raised?”

  Lucas must’ve overheard from the living room, because he leaned his head around the corner into the kitchen. The setting sun in the windows behind him haloed his trim beard and curly hair with a glint of amber. “You prefer factory farmed?”

  He came around the corner, barefoot and wearing wrinkled Bermuda shorts. Outwardly, he seemed to be eco-responsible, but the man was always holding a disposable coffee cup or crunching on nonorganic potato chips. And now he apparently killed pigeons.

  Cindy said, “I had no idea you had pigeons. Let alone ate them.”

  “My newest project. I can raise them on the roof at work. They take very little space, and I get both eggs and meat.”

  Jaide’s stomach soured at the thought of slaughtering baby birds. “No animals have to die to feed me. There are plenty of nonanimal proteins available, don’t you think?”

  He tilted his head and bared his teeth, pointing to a canine. “These are the teeth of an omnivore. We’re designed to eat meat.”

  The woman who’d spoken earlier chimed in. “I’ve eaten quinoa and tofu for decades.”

  “Except nearly all the soy products are genetically modified these days,” said Trevor. “The need for soy in animal feed led the GMO corn and soybean takeover.”

  Jaide’s chest tightened. They’d agreed to stop talking about GMOs in public after the greenhouse. Even in front of other Coalition members, they held back on the off chance police questioned members about zealots.

  They kept their activities on the up-and-up these days, striving to act like good little drones who believed they could change the world through rallies and ballot measures. The incident at the greenhouse had made the news—stayed there for the better part of a month while the police investigated. But no word emerged of the flash drive or other clues. Once the news died down—no doubt dictated by the corporation—she assumed the trail had gone cold. But she still couldn’t help looking over her shoulder whenever a policeman passed her on the street.

  Lucas lifted his brows and nodded once. “The need to produce animal feed has spurred on GMO crops. I can’t argue with that. But is genetic modification really a bad thing? We’ve got to do something to feed the Earth’s population.”

  Silence as everyone stared at him.

  Words clustered in Jaide’s throat, too many to spit out. She thought her eyes were going to bug out of her head.

  “Did you really just say that?” asked Cindy.

  “Humans have been eating GMO for decades with no proven ill effects,” he said.

  Jaide couldn’t keep quiet. “In the nineteen fifties and sixties, scientists also claimed DDT and other pesticide sprays were safe based on the fact that there was no proof they weren’t.”

  “I have a diabetic aunt who’d be dead without insulin produced by GM bacteria,” said Lucas.

  Trevor’s dark eyebrows drew together, creating a line that matched his mustache. “GM insulin causes type one diabetes in type two patients.”

  Lucas turned a stony gaze on Trevor. “Have you read that study? Because I have, and that study had nothing to do with GM insulin versus natural insulin.”

  “But it hasn’t been”—Trevor caught Jaide’s gaze, and his face turned ashen—“proven otherwise.” He finished with forced sedation and lifted his beer to make a show of drinking.

  Cindy energetically pounded the bag of raspberries against the cutting board to break them up, her face pink.

  Jaide decided to steer the conversation away from Trevor’s anti–GMO zeal. “Don’t you think corporations suppress any data they don’t agree with?”

  Lucas refused to be derailed. “So I’m supposed to take your word that GMO is bad over someone else’s word that it’s good?”

  She crossed her arms. “You’ve obviously made up your mind already.”

  “Show me a case study that has undergone peer review proving the danger”—his voice rose to carry over the sound of the blender—“and I’ll hop on your bandwagon.”

  Cindy slammed the tequila bottle against the counter top. “Enough arguing! This is supposed to be a party! Now drink up.”

  Instead of taking a drink, Lucas tore the hindquarter off one of the squab and took a big bite.

  Jaide put Trigger on her leash and called to Flora, her voice echoing through the tiny apartment. “I’m going to the co-op. Want to come?”

  Flora’s voice drifted from her bedroom. “Can I buy salted caramel?”

  “One.” Jaide checked her faded jeans pocket for her wallet. She should have enough to splurge on one candy. She took her reusable bag from its hook near the door and folded it into her back pocket.

  Flora appeared in the hallway in short shorts and a tank, the straps of her florescent yellow training bra stark against her tan.

  Always concerned about damaging her daughter’s self-image, Jaide schooled her face into nonjudgmental lines and asked, “You sure you want to wear that?”

  Halting mid-step, Flora looked down at herself. “All the girls wear this.”

  “And what statement are they trying to make with it?”

  Flora slumped and threw her head back to look at the ceiling. “God, Mom. Not everything has to be a statement.”

  Jaide gripped the leash tighter. She’d sworn to be a better parent than her own mother, but some days it took all her will not to crush Flora’s independent nature. “I’m not saying you can’t wear it, just that you should think about what it tells other people about you.” She refrained from mentioning that some girls in this neighborhood made money by dressing that way.

  “Forget it. I don’t want caramel.” Flora stomped back into her room.

  “It’s up to you. But I’m leaving now.”

  No answer.

  Everyone said the teenage years were hardest. Flora wouldn’t be thirteen until April, yet Jaide already felt constantly pelted by irrational hormones. It made her appreciate her mother a hair more, although they seldom spoke since Jaide had become a single parent. Mother insisted Flora had ruined Jaide’s life. Jaide didn’t want to expose Flora to that negativity. Instead, she worked on being proud of her own daughter no matter what.

  Today that was going to take some extra work.

  Sighing, she stepped into the grungy hallway and locked the door behind her. Someone across the corridor was playing their TV too loud again, and the scent of frying meat polluted the air. She took the stairs down a level and exited the building. Across the street, a young girl played with a toddler on the sparse, unkempt lawn. To Jaide’s right, a large-breasted woman leaned out of a peeling, second-level window and loudly berated a man standing below. Humid autumn air brought out the scent of garbage from the nearby alleyway.

  Trigger pulled happily against the tether down the cracked sidewalk, stopping at the first street sign to sniff. Jaide paused to give her time to do her business. Behind them, Flora’s voice called out, “Mom, wait!”

  She turned to see her daughter clomping toward her in a knee-length crinkle skirt and unlaced black Converse high-tops. She still wore the bra-strap-exposing tank, but at least her bottom half wasn’t on full display. Trigger pranced on the end of her leash, acting as though she hadn’t seen Flora in days.

  When Flora reached them, Jaide asked, “Did you lock up?”

  Flora nodded and took her hand like as she had when she was little.

  Jaide smiled, her hea
rt overflowing. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  They continued walking, Flora skipping over cracks, and Trigger pausing to sniff at every signpost, corner, and tree. Their neighborhood was threadbare, but Jaide liked to think it was full of good people trying to get ahead. Like herself. Her job doing data entry from home gave her more time with Flora but didn’t pay much. She saved what she could to buy a little house of her own someday.

  Down a narrow alley between the dingy brick buildings, she spotted a scrawny dog gulping down a stale bun. She paused, ready to check for collar or tags, but the pooch tucked her tail and slithered underneath a wooden gate blocking the end of the alley.

  Flora let go of her hand. “Want me to catch her?”

  Jaide debated but thought better of intruding on private property. “Not today, love. We’ll look again on the way back.” She hoped the poor thing didn’t get hit by a car in the meantime.

  They crossed the intersection to the small co-op market and stopped beneath the awning out front. She offered the leash to Flora. “Want to stay here with Trigger, or should we tie her up?”

  “I want to pick my caramel.”

  Jaide nodded and loosely tied the leash to the tree outside the co-op. She held a palm up toward the dog. “Trigger, sit. Stay.”

  Trigger lowered her hindquarters to the pavement, her brown eyes sad.

  “We’ll be back in a minute, silly,” Flora said in a baby voice. Trigger’s tail swept the sidewalk.

  They entered the cool interior of the store, dim under the illumination of energy-saving bulbs. While Flora picked a hand-made caramel from the case up front, Jaide headed to the bakery at the back, mentally counting the cash in her wallet. Eating organic was expensive, but she’d save in doctor bills in the long run. She selected a loaf of day-old bread and then ventured to the produce section to look over the winter squash.

  Down the aisle, she spotted Lucas in his bicycle helmet and cargo shorts, carrying his usual bleached-paper coffee cup. He grinned and walked toward her. “Great party last night.”

  “Yeah, Cindy goes all out.” She brushed past him, hoping the niceties were over, but he took up pace beside her.

  “I enjoyed talking with you last night and was wondering if you’d be interested in continuing our conversation over coffee?”

  She stopped and looked up into his hazel eyes then at the cup in his hand. Her lip curled in what she hoped was a deterring fashion. “I only drink fair-trade coffee.”

  He lifted the cup slightly. “Me too. There’s a place off Tejon that has a good selection, plus live music. We can bike there or I can pick you up later.”

  Great. He wasn’t going to take the hint. “Listen, Lucas, I’m sure you’re a great person, but we’re too diametrically opposed to date each other, don’t you think?”

  “Keep using smart words like that and I just might want a date,” he said raising an eyebrow. “I was asking you to continue our conversation from last night, not make out.”

  Heat flushed her face, and she dropped her gaze to the tiled floor. He hadn’t asked her on a date? “Oh, well, I… I’m busy. My daughter’s with me. And my dog.” She swallowed, feeling stupid on multiple levels.

  “Afraid I’ll sway you to the dark side?”

  Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. “Bring it on.”

  He grinned, but before he could reply, she added, “But seriously, not today. I really do have a dog and my kid with me. And I have a meeting tonight.”

  “Rain check, then. I’ll see you around.” He turned on his heel and sauntered away, sipping his coffee.

  She watched him weave past a woman in a pink jogging suit then disappear around a corner before she realized her mouth was hanging open. What had just happened? Somehow, he’d charmed her in spite of his carnivorous, argumentative tendencies, and she’d given him an opening. Well, maybe she could teach him the error of his ways—if she ever agreed to actually meet up with him.

  Chapter Three

  DECEMBER

  The Mothers bade us Keep the Peace.

  ~ The Histories

  A knock on the apartment door, firm but polite, drew Jaide from her computer to peer through the peephole. A man and a woman wearing dark business suits and holding clipboards stood in the hall outside. Probably Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses. If she ignored them, they’d move on.

  She returned to the kitchen table and put her earbuds in, preparing to work the last few minutes before Flora arrived from school.

  “Mom!” Flora’s voice punctured the music in the earbuds. The bus must have been early. “Some people are here to see you!”

  Dammit. She’d let them in.

  Jaide jerked the earbuds free and rose as Flora tossed her backpack on the counter and began rifling the cupboards for a snack. The man and woman stood just inside the door. Trigger was running her nose over the man’s shoes, tail wagging.

  “Ms. Jaide Acosta?” the man said.

  They know my name? “Uh, yeah. What can I do for you?”

  He held up an open wallet with a badge and credentials. “We’re with the FBI.”

  Jaide’s heart stopped. Heat flooded her face, and the air seemed suddenly too thick to breathe. Every muscle in her body tensed, screaming for her to turn and run, turn and run, turn and run.

  “Mom, can I have one of these?” Flora skipped into the room carrying one of the expensive nutrition bars Jaide reserved for their all-day rallies.

  Interacting with her daughter calmed her a little. “Sure. Yes. Take Trigger with you.”

  Flora grinned a victory smile. “Yes! Come on, Trigger. I’ll give you a cookie, too.”

  Jaide crossed her arms and refocused on the FBI people. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Agent Riese, and this is Agent Bowler.” The woman indicated herself and then the man. “We understand you’re a member of the Coalition for Clean Food?”

  Her eyes felt watery as she maintained eye contact. “Yes?”

  “May we ask you some questions?”

  “Of course. Come in.” She turned to the living room, glad to be facing away, even if only for a moment. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” Agent Riese took a seat on the edge of the afghan-covered sofa. “In January of last year, do you recall any suspicious activity among members of the Coalition?”

  Her eyes glazed over as she looked out her balcony window at the snow-covered pots. Her memory overflowed with hard, frozen earth pressing her cheek, the scent of warm greenhouse soil cutting through icy air. Shaking herself, she swiveled the hard-backed rocking chair so it faced the sofa. “What do you mean?”

  The man walked around the coffee table to sit at the other end of the sofa. “Secret meetings. Members breaking off from the group. Anything you might have considered odd.”

  Volunteer nothing. She adjusted the small rag rug that served as the rocking chair’s seat cushion. “I don’t think so.”

  “What sort of activities does the Coalition organize?”

  She sat and folded her hands on her lap. Act natural. “Our main focus is to help farmers and land owners understand the power of organic farming, one acre at a time.” That line was easy, right from the mission statement on the Coalition website. She added a shrug she hoped appeared nonchalant. “We mostly distribute educational pamphlets and maintain a website.”

  “What kinds of protests have the Coalition supported?”

  Jaide swallowed past a lump in her throat. If they arrested her right now, what would happen to Flora? “Sometimes we hold peaceful rallies to alert the public to a local issue.”

  “Do you recall such a rally last January?”

  She pretended a light bulb had just turned on in her head. “Oh! Is this about that greenhouse that was vandalized? We all showed up with picket signs, and the police were already there. We got a lot of press on that one.” She smiled as though that was a good thing then made her eyes grow wide. “Wait, you don’t think we had anything to do with that, do you?”

  Agent Riese drew a pen from her pocket and poised it over her clipboard. “Can you recall who was there with you that morning?”