Free 10 Tahoe Trap by Todd Borg

and other famous-appellation wines only made up a small percentage of California wines. The majority of the state’s production came from the Central Valley.
    “I’ve always wondered something about organic tomatoes,” I said.
    Paco didn’t respond.
    “How do you keep the bugs off of them when you don’t use pesticides?”
    “Beneficials,” Paco said.
    “What’s that?”
    “Cassie has books. When we find aphids and other bad stuff that eats the fruit, we look it up in her books. Once we know what it is, then we look up what beneficials eat them.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like Lady beetles. Praying mantises eat caterpillars. But they’re kind of scary. Sometimes they eat the Lady beetles, too.”
    “That’s why you didn’t want to go in Street’s bug lab.”
    Paco nodded. “Once, Cassie got Assassin bugs ’cause they eat everything, just like Praying mantises. But they bite bad. I told her I won’t do chores if she gets them again. At least, Praying mantises don’t bite me. I still don’t like them.”
    “I’m not much of a bug person myself.”
    “Cassie grinds up dried Viper peppers and sprinkles the powder in the hothouse. That keeps a lot of bugs away.”
    “And all this saves the tomatoes without using any chemicals.”
    “Yeah. It’s in Cassie’s book.”
    “How do you look stuff up in her books, if you don’t read?”
    Paco paused. “I can read those books. Lots of pictures,” he said.
    “Sounds to me like you can read when you want to earn money but not so much when you need to for school.”
    Paco didn’t answer.
    “Do the other kids in school know this stuff?”
    “No.”
    “Doesn’t that make you smart?”
    “Tomato stuff isn’t smart stuff. Other kids know smart stuff.”
    “Like what?”
    “Computers and stuff.”
    When I got in the vicinity of St. Agatha’s Elementary school, Paco suddenly sat up straight in his seat.
    “This next turn to the right is my school,” he said.
    “Okay if we stop there?”
    “I guess.”
    I turned.
    We drove several blocks through a residential area. The small houses were painted turquoise and green and pink and red and yellow like a neighborhood in a small Mexican town. Pointy Cypress trees stabbed the sky. Mature oaks shaded dirt yards. Old cars in good condition – mostly Chevrolets and Fords – were parked in the tree-shade circles. An occasional California fan palm stood tall above the oaks, showing off its grand circular explosion of clacking palm fronds. The air was thick with aromas of fall flowers mixing with the smells of harvest in the fields.
    “Turn left,” Paco said.
    I turned. One block down was a commercial district.
    “That’s the McDonald’s,” Paco said, pointing. “Turn right.”
    I followed his instructions.
    Three blocks later, Paco pointed at a light-blue concrete block building, one-story, not much larger than the Chevron station across the street. Around it was a rough shape of green grass.
    “That’s Aggie’s Green,” he said.
    I pulled into the school parking lot and parked.
    “Let’s go in,” I said.
    “I don’t want to. My teachers will be mad that I missed school.”
    “Not to worry,” I said, aware that I had no idea of what Paco was up against, missing school, believing that he was the dumb kid, maybe considered the dumb kid by the administration and teachers who held him back. “Come with me. I’ll explain to them.”
    Paco held back. I had to open his door, take his scratchy little hand once again.
    We left Spot in the Jeep and walked into the school.
    ELEVEN
    There was a small lobby area that led to a hallway with just one classroom on each side. On the left, through open, double doors, was a small group office crammed with several desks arranged back-to-back in pairs. Three people worked at the desks. A fourth was at a copy machine so old that the light gray plastic had discolored to a sickly greenish yellow. I left Paco in the lobby room and walked into the office.
    “Excuse me,