The Mystery of the Masked Rider (3 page)

“But you love Nightingale, too,” Bess said with a sad smile.

“Yeah.” Colleen looked gloomily down at the cookie in her hand.

For a few moments the three girls munched on cookies in silence. Nancy couldn't help but wonder if Colleen's information was tied in somehow with the poisoned hay. Could it have been Phil's way of discouraging Colleen from going to the show? Nancy sat back in her chair, her brow furrowed.

“Uh, oh,” Bess groaned. “I recognize that expression, Detective Drew.”

“Well, it is strange,” Nancy said. “Why
would
anyone want to hurt Nightingale?”

“Maybe no one does want to hurt her,” Colleen said. “I've been under such pressure lately, I could just be imagining things,” she added, running her fingers through her hair.

Nancy went over and gave her friend a quick hug. “I don't think the bouncing bet was in anyone's imagination.”

“Not mine, anyway,” Bess joked. “I tend to imagine things like winning a million dollars.”

The three girls laughed, and for a moment the
tension was broken. Colleen began picking up dishes and rinsing them off. Nancy cleared her plate and glass and handed them to her friend.

“You know, Colleen, I'd like to help if . . .”

“Gee, Nancy I sure would appreciate it if . . .” both girls started to say at the same time.

Bess brought over her dishes and handed them to Colleen. “I guess you two are trying to say the same thing,” she explained. “And yes, it's a good idea for Nancy to take on the case.”

“Though I've never had a horse as a client before,” Nancy said with a grin. She turned to Colleen. “But seriously, if there is something strange going on, I'll try and track it down.”

Colleen sighed. “That really would take a load off my shoulders. Maybe you can come out Monday to the barn and snoop around. Nightingale should be okay by then.” She stuck the last plate in the dishwasher. “Right now I'd better check on my patient. Dr. Hall will be back soon.”

“We should be going, too,” Nancy said.

Five minutes later the girls said their goodbyes at the driveway. Nancy watched Colleen go into the barn, then slid into the passenger seat of Bess's red Camaro.

“She sure does spend a lot of time with that horse,” Bess commented as they drove down the long, winding drive. “I can see why Phil gets mad.”

“Though it did seem as if he went a little overboard,” Nancy said with a thoughtful frown.
“I mean, I have to wonder what he meant by ‘you've got to give up Nightingale
or else
.' ”

“That's easy. He meant, ‘or else we're breaking up.' ”

Nancy folded her arms and rested her head back against the car seat. “Maybe.”

Bess shot her a curious look. “You're not thinking Phil had something to do with Nightingale getting sick, are you?”

“It might make his life easier if the horse was out of the picture.”

“No way.” Bess shook her head emphatically. “I can't picture a guy being jealous enough to do in a horse.”

“You're probably right.” Nancy sighed. “I'm just glad we promised to come back Monday and do a little more investigating.”

• • •

On Monday morning Bess and Nancy stood outside Nightingale's stall as Colleen finished putting on the mare's bridle. Nightingale's ears were pricked in eager anticipation.

“Boy, Nightingale sure looks different than when we left her on Saturday,” Bess said.

“Dr. Hall said she's fully recovered,” Colleen told her. “She checked Nightingale out yesterday afternoon.” Colleen took the saddle off the door and threw it on the mare's back.

“And I'd say by the grin on your face that you and Phil made up,” Nancy said in a teasing voice.

Colleen flushed. “You're right. Last night we
went out to dinner. It was very romantic. I guess I needed the break. I just didn't realize how much pressure I've been under lately, getting ready for the upcoming show and trying to make a decision about selling Nightingale.”

“Has anything else unusual happened since Saturday?” Nancy asked.

“No. Things have been real quiet. Last night Dad stayed home and kept an eye on Nightingale.” Colleen crossed her fingers. “Let's hope things have returned to normal. Right, girl?” She kissed Nightingale on her soft nose, then led her from the stall. But as the mare stepped into the aisle, Nancy could see that she was favoring her right front leg.

“She's lame,” Nancy said, frowning. “Her front leg.”

“What?” Colleen walked the horse two more steps down the aisle. Nightingale was clearly limping.

“I can't believe it!” Colleen's voice rose to a shrill pitch. “What is going on?”

“Maybe it's nothing,” Bess tried to reassure her friend. “A pebble or something.”

Colleen sucked in her breath. “You're probably right. I'm just overreacting. Oh, no!” Handing the reins to Nancy, she suddenly bent down and ran her hand down Nightingale's right foreleg.

“Look at this!” Colleen cried, straightening abruptly. She was staring down at the palm of her hand. Nancy came over to stand next to her.
There was reddish-brown gunk and horse hair on Colleen's fingers.

“What's that?” Bess asked, peering around Colleen's other side.

Colleen held out her hand. “Smell.”

“No way!” Bess stepped back, but Nancy leaned over and sniffed. “It smells like strong pine tar,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“It's called a blister,” Colleen answered in a bitter voice. “You rub the substance on a horse, and it burns its skin sore. My fingers are tingling right now.”

Puzzled, Nancy frowned. “If you didn't put it on Nightingale, then who did?”

Colleen's eyes glimmered angrily. “I don't know. But whoever did it was trying to make Nightingale lame on purpose!”

“Someone deliberately rubbed the blister on Nightingale's leg?” Nancy repeated, shocked.

Colleen nodded. “And it must have been late last night or sometime this morning. Nightingale was fine when I put her in the barn early yesterday evening.”

“But why would someone want to hurt your horse? And where'd they get that blister stuff?” Bess asked two of the questions that were spinning in Nancy's mind.

Colleen threw up her hands. “Who knows!” she exclaimed. “If I knew who it was I'd . . . I'd . . .” Suddenly her voice trailed off and her shoulders slumped. “I'd better get some warm soapy water and wash off the blister before it makes Nightingale's leg swell,” she said finally. “It's already burning my own fingers.” She held
out her hands. Her fingers were reddish brown. “The stuff stains your skin, even if you wash it off.”

By the time Colleen returned with a bucket, Nancy and Bess had untacked Nightingale and put on the mare's halter. “I figured you wouldn't be riding today,” Nancy said to Colleen.

“That's for sure,” Colleen said grimly. “I just hope Nightingale's going to be in shape for the show. It's only four days away.” Bending down, Colleen began sloshing the sudsy water onto the mare's legs. “Fortunately, one application of a blister doesn't really hurt a horse. And whoever put it on didn't use much. It probably made Nightingale's skin tender, so she didn't want to bend her pastern.”

“Uh, I don't want to sound too dumb,” Bess said hesitantly. “But what's a pastern?”

Colleen pointed to what looked like the horse's ankle. “It's between the hoof and the fetlock.” Colleen stood up, and Nancy caught a whiff of the strong scent of the blister.

“The blister will wear off overnight,” Colleen said with a sigh. “But this makes three days in a row I haven't worked Nightingale. And she needs to be in super shape if she's going to do well at the show.”

“What exactly is a blister and where could someone get it?” Nancy asked.

“A blister is a counterirritant that you rub on a
horse's leg. It's supposed to make sprains and pulled tendons heal faster.”

“Huh?” Bess looked confused. “How can making a horse's leg sore help it heal?”

“When the blister burns the area, it supposedly speeds up the flow of blood to the leg, which promotes healing. It's used a lot on racehorses. Most people who show horses don't use it, because it can peel off the hair.”

“Do you keep a bottle in your tack room?” Nancy asked.

Colleen nodded. “In the medicine chest. I haven't used it in ages.”

Nancy handed Bess the lead line. Inside the tack room she found the medicine chest mounted on the wall. Opening the door, she read the various labels. Finally she found the blister tucked behind a box of cotton. When she pulled out the bottle, she checked for signs that it had recently been opened. But there was no telltale scent of the strong-smelling liquid, and the top was screwed on tightly.

“Whoever put the blister on Nightingale didn't get it from your medicine chest,” Nancy said when she rejoined her friends, who were standing outside in the driveway. Colleen was hosing off Nightingale's legs.

“That doesn't mean anything. You can buy blister at any tack shop,” Colleen said.

“Still, only someone familiar with horses would know about it.”

Colleen snorted. “That's just about everyone I know.”

“Could someone you're competing against in the International have done this?” Nancy asked.

“Maybe,” Colleen replied with a shrug. “But they'd be taking a big risk for nothing. I mean, the blister won't keep me from showing.”

“True.” Nancy fell silent as Colleen wiped down her horse's legs. Who could have sneaked in and put the blister on Nightingale? It had to have been someone who knew about the Healeys' alarm system.

“Colleen, what time did you and Phil come in last night?” Nancy asked.

Colleen stood up. “About midnight, I think.”

“And was the driveway alarm on?”

“Yes. My dad said it woke him up when we came home.”

“Hmmm.” Nancy began to pace the gravel drive. “So the person who did this had to know how to avoid the alarm system.” Abruptly she halted in front of Colleen. “Did you hear Phil's car leave after he brought you home?”

“Sure. He came in for coffee and then . . .” Suddenly Colleen's eyes narrowed, and she gave Nancy a suspicious look. “Are you trying to pin this thing on Phil?”

“No. But he
is
a suspect. Everyone is,” Nancy added quickly. She knew how mad people got when someone close to them was accused of wrongdoing.

“Well, forget it,” Colleen said firmly. “Phil might be jealous of the time I spend with Nightingale, but he'd never do anything to hurt her. He knows how much she means to me.”

“Okay.” Nancy decided to back off, even though Phil was her most likely suspect. He knew about the alarm, he knew his way around the barn, and he had been at the Healeys' farm. He even had a motive. Maybe Bess thought jealousy wasn't a strong enough reason for Phil to try and hurt Nightingale, but Nancy wasn't so sure. One thing was certain: There was no use pressing the matter if Colleen was being adamant about Phil's innocence.

“Okay, so let's look at the people who were here the morning Nightingale got sick,” Nancy began. “Why don't you tell me more about Gloria Donner, that trainer you mentioned?”

“Let me turn Nightingale out in the paddock first,” Colleen said, taking the lead line from Bess. “A little grass will take her mind off her leg, and we can watch her from the porch. Besides,” she added, wiping the perspiration off her forehead, “I could use a soda.”

Colleen led Nightingale to a lush pasture, where a fat Shetland pony was grazing. When he saw Nightingale, he raised his head and whinnied. Opening the gate, Colleen turned the mare loose, then draped the lead line over the fence.

Nightingale trotted two faltering steps, then
stopped to sniff noses with the pony. He squealed and pawed the air. Then the two ducked their heads and began to graze side by side.

“That's Jester, my old pony,” Colleen told Nancy and Bess as they walked toward the house. “I learned to ride on him. Now he's just company for Nightingale.”

Fifteen minutes later the girls were lying comfortably on deck chairs with sodas in hand. It was a perfect October day—cool and crisp, yet the sun felt warm on Nancy's skin. Colleen's parents were both at work.

“Okay, now back to Gloria Donner,” Colleen began as she relaxed back in her lounge chair. “She's a trainer who has a small stable about half an hour from here. Nightingale and I have taken a few lessons from her this year. If I continue to show grand prix, though, I'm going to need a full-time trainer. I was thinking about hiring Gloria, and she seems pretty eager to take us on.”

“Well, that rules her out,” Bess said, reaching for a bowl of chips. “She'd have nothing to gain if Nightingale got sick. If I were you, Nancy, I'd concentrate on the San Marcoses. Diego seemed kind of ruthless to me. Charming, but ruthless.”

“Mmmm.” Nancy slowly sipped her soda. “Except what would
they
gain if Nightingale was hurt?”

Colleen shook her head. “Marisa has been competing against me all year. We both showed
in the amateur-owner jumper classes. I usually beat her, but I can't see them resorting to something this low to win. Besides, at the International, Marisa's going to be riding amateur-owner while I'm riding grand prix.”

“What does amateur-owner mean?” Nancy asked.

“Amateur means you're riding for pleasure, not for money like a professional. An amateur still gets the prize money if she wins, but someone can't hire an amateur to ride a horse. I decided to start riding grand prix because there's more money in it, and if Nightingale's successful in that level of competition, she'll be worth more, too.”