The Mystery of the Masked Rider (5 page)

“Great,” Bess grumbled. “We get to unload three bales of hay, a bag of grain, all Colleen's riding clothes, and four suitcases.”

Nancy laughed. “Some of that stuff is going to our rooms at the motel. Come on, we can tackle a
bale of the hay. Colleen will probably want some in the stall for Nightingale to munch on when she gets back.”

Bess gave her a look that said, “You're crazy,” but Nancy reached in, slipped her fingers under the baling string, and slid the hay bale onto the end of the tailgate.

“Ready?”

Bess sighed. “It's not in my bodyguard contract, but here goes.”

Nancy and Bess swung the hay off the tailgate. Then, with one of them holding each end, they carried the bale into the stable area. The aisle was shaped like a T, and the girls stopped at the intersection at the center of the stable. “Which way now?” Bess said panting.

Nancy set down her end of the bale and checked the aisle to the right. “Not that way. These numbers are in the forties. Must be to the left. I don't see Phil, though. I wonder where he went?”

“Who cares,” Bess grunted as she picked up her end again. “Let's just get this over with.”

They walked down the left-hand aisle. About halfway the aisle again split into another T.

“Don't tell me,” Bess groaned. “Another mile to go.”

Nancy laughed. “No. I think it's the next right.”

As they made the final turn, Nancy fleetingly saw someone stride from a stall and disappear
around the next corner. In the dim light she couldn't tell if it was a man or woman. But when Nancy and Bess made their way down the aisle, Nancy realized that the person had come from stall twenty-nine—the stall assigned to Nightingale.

“I wonder who that was.” Nancy set the bale outside the doorway and frowned. The stall door was open.

Bess slumped down on the bale. “Who?”

“The person who came out of this stall.” Nancy peered inside. It had been freshly made up with clean straw.

“I didn't see anyone.” Bess wiped her brow. “I was too busy sweating.”

Nancy stepped into the stall. The straw looked undisturbed. Nancy swept her foot through it and heard the sound of metal clinking on the concrete floor.

Quickly, Nancy bent down and began sifting through the yellow stalks.

“What are you doing?” Bess called from her seat in the doorway.

“I'm looking for”—Nancy found something, and she held it up for Bess to see—“this.” She added grimly, “A very sharp nail.”

Bess jumped up from the hay bale. “A nail! Nightingale could have stepped on it.”

Nancy nodded. “It wasn't pointing up, but still, it could've bruised her foot . . .”

“Or worse.” Bess shook her head.

Nancy knelt in the straw. “Help me look, okay? I want to make sure there aren't any more nails.”

Bess crouched down beside Nancy. Silently the two of them searched through the straw.

“What's going on?” Colleen said, peering in the doorway.

“Nancy found a nail,” Bess explained. “Wait, here's another one.”

“And look, two more.” Nancy held them up for Colleen to see.

Colleen's mouth fell open. “Oh, no. I was hoping all this would be over once we got to the show.”

“Afraid not.” Nancy checked through the straw one last time, then stood up. “It's safe. Go ahead and lead Nightingale in.”

“I just don't get it,” Colleen said as she walked the mare into the stall. “Who could be doing all of this?”

“Nancy saw someone coming out of the stall,” Bess said.

“I didn't get a good look at whoever it was,” Nancy admitted. “He or she was moving at a pretty fast pace in the opposite direction.” She pointed down the aisle. “And the person had a hunt cap pulled low over his or her face.”

“Hey, what's that?” Bess asked. She headed in the direction Nancy had indicated and bent down to pick something up. It was a black face mask decorated with red sequins.

“That's weird.” Nancy frowned as she took the mask from Bess.

Colleen shut the stall door and came up beside them. “Not that weird. Saturday is Halloween, remember? And there's going to be a costume class that night. It's kind of a tradition of this show, and everybody gets into it—a break from the tension, I guess.”

“Why aren't you riding in it?” Nancy asked.

Colleen shrugged. “With all the things happening to Nightingale lately, I decided against it.”

Holding the mask, Nancy walked slowly back to Nightingale's stall. “Whoever threw those
nails in here could have dropped this by mistake.” She hung the mask over the door latch. “Maybe someone will come to claim it.”

“Claim what?” Phil's voice boomed behind her, and Nancy jumped. He was still carrying the tack trunk. With a smile he set it down in the aisle.

Nancy wondered what had taken him so long. Had he darted around the other way and thrown the nails into the stall?

“That trunk must have been awfully heavy,” Nancy said in a lighthearted voice. “We beat you here by ten minutes.”

“I stopped and talked to some old friends,” Phil replied. Then he caught sight of the mask, and his face clouded over. “I thought you weren't riding in the costume class,” he said to Colleen.

“I'm not. Bess found—”

“Well,
there
you are,” a male voice interrupted Colleen. “It's about time.”

Nancy turned to see a slim, attractive young man with dark brown hair striding up the aisle toward them. He was wearing riding boots, breeches, and a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled partway up. His smile was friendly as his bright green eyes darted from face to face, settling on Colleen.

“Hey, Scott.” Colleen stepped forward to give him a hug. “I figured if I came late, it would give you a chance to win some prize money this week,” she teased.

Scott laughed. “Isn't that the truth!”

“Nancy Drew and Bess Marvin, meet one of my rivals, Scott Weller.”

“Nice to meet you.” Bess instantly stuck out her hand and flashed her most winning smile.

“You came, too, huh, Ackerman?” Scott turned to Phil, who had a sour look on his face.

“Sure did, Weller. Someone had to keep an eye on you,” Phil replied in a joking voice, but Nancy noticed a hint of jealousy in his expression. “We wouldn't want you winning everything.”

“Oh, he won't.” Colleen moved away from Scott to stand next to Phil. “So how's it going, Scott? Tough competition?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. France and Canada have some great riders here.” He walked over to peer into Nightingale's stall. “But I haven't seen anything so far that'll beat the wonder horse.”

Colleen blushed, but Nancy could tell she was pleased by his comment. “Except maybe the Stanleys' horse, Wintergreen,” Colleen said quickly. “Isn't that who you're riding?”

“Right. And Formidable, too.”

“Scott's a professional rider,” Colleen explained to Nancy and Bess. “He rides for several different owners.”

“For now,” Scott added, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Then his face brightened. “Are you guys going to the Halloween party tonight?”

“I didn't know there was a party,” Colleen said.

“The Stanleys are hosting it,” Scott said. “They have a suite at one of the hotels. It's going to be a blowout.”

Bess clapped her hands. “Sounds like fun—” she began, but a jab from Nancy's elbow cut off her sentence.

“Since Bess and I will be busy grooming Nightingale, we won't be able to go,” Nancy said. “But you should, Colleen.”

“No, really, I'd better . . .” Colleen started to say, but Nancy gave her a firm look.

“You need to go,” Nancy murmured. “I'll explain later.”

“Sounds fun,” Phil said. “Do we have to wear costumes?”

“Most people will,” Scott said. “The party starts at nine.” He turned toward Nancy and Bess. “Sorry you can't make it, but maybe I'll see you later.”

“That would be nice.” Bess grinned.

When Scott walked away, Bess said to Colleen, “Boy, he's cute.”

Phil snorted. “He thinks he's some hotshot rider, too.”

“That's because he is,” Colleen said. “Scott would have made it to the Olympics last time if his horse hadn't been injured.”

“I thought I heard a tiny bit of bitterness in his voice when you mentioned he was riding as a professional,” Nancy said.

“It's a sad story.” Colleen sighed. “Scott had a
wonderful horse, but she fell in a jumping class and broke her leg. It ended her career. She wasn't insured, and Scott couldn't afford to buy another horse, so he had to turn professional. He'd had his heart set on the Olympics, but they don't accept professional riders, so he was pretty upset. Fortunately, he's doing great now. All the owners want him to ride for them, so he gets his pick of the top horses.”

“Listen, we'd better get the rest of the gear in,” Phil said abruptly. He seemed to be tired of hearing about Scott. “And we need to pick up the exhibitor badges.”

“Why don't you guys get the badges, and Bess and I will finish unloading and watch Nightingale?” Nancy suggested to Colleen.

“Good idea. Thanks.” Colleen tossed Nancy the truck keys. “We'll stop by on our way back and park the truck.” She waved, then walked hand in hand with Phil toward the arena entrance on the other end of the stable.

Bess slid the hay bale in front of Nightingale's stall, then sat down and leaned back against the door.

Nancy laughed. “I take it that means I'm unloading and you're guarding.”

“You got it.” With a grin, Bess pulled a granola bar out of her jacket pocket. Nancy declined her offer of a bite, then headed back out to the truck.

On the way she saw Diego San Marcos striding down the aisle. Curious, Nancy followed him.
Marisa had known what stall Nightingale was in. Had she told her father so he could plant the nails before Colleen led Nightingale in?

He would have had time, Nancy thought. But why would he want to? If Diego and Marisa were that interested in buying Nightingale, they certainly wouldn't want to injure her.

Then an idea struck Nancy. Maybe they weren't really interested in buying the mare. Maybe they were just pretending to be. That was a possibility, Nancy told herself with a sigh, but it still didn't explain what the San Marcoses' motive would be.

Diego turned and went into a stall. When Nancy got closer, she saw a series of three wooden signs hanging on each stall door. Each sign had a horse's name engraved on it in blue letters, then the words M & M Farms and The San Marcoses underneath. A big banner was strung at the top of one of the stalls. It said, Champion Jumper—Miami, Florida. Several ribbons hung off the banner. It was easy to see that Diego San Marcos and his daughter were into showing—big time.

As Nancy approached the last stall, she heard two people arguing. She could hear Diego's deep voice with its Spanish accent. The other voice sounded like Marisa's.

“I'm going, Father, whether you like it or not.” Marisa's voice sounded shrill.

“No, you aren't,” Diego said firmly. “You are
here to ride horses. I am doing everything possible to ensure that you will win. Now you must do your part. And no more arguing!” Then he spun from the stall, practically running into Nancy.

“Hello, Mr. San Marcos,” Nancy said quickly, trying to cover up the fact that she had been eavesdropping. “Remember me? Nancy Drew, Colleen Healey's friend,” she added when Diego looked momentarily confused.

“Ah, yes. The young lady who only rides for fun. And what are you doing at the show, Ms. Drew?”

“Oh, just helping Colleen. And learning more about show jumping. It's quite exciting.”

“Hi, Nancy!” Marisa called from the stall. Nancy peered inside. The young girl was standing on an overturned bucket, braiding a horse's mane. The horse wore a blue and white blanket, and Marisa was weaving blue and white yarn into the horse's mane. “Sorry I can't stop. Mr. Sunshine here rubbed out some of his braids, and I need to get them in before his class.”

“Mr. Sunshine?” Nancy queried. “I thought you said your horse's name was Topflight.”

Diego laughed. “You have a lot to learn about the horse world, Ms. Drew. M and M Farms has many horses. Some are young and green like Mr. Sunshine, so Marisa rides him in Green Hunter classes. Maybe he'll be talented enough to go into jumper, and maybe we'll sell him.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Marisa nodded in the direction of the other stall. “Topflight's over there, and next to him is Golden Glory. This is Mr. Sunshine's first year showing jumper, but I think we're going to try him in the Worthington Cup.”

“You must be busy!” Nancy said, impressed.

“Totally.” Marisa patted down a braid, then jumped off the bucket. “But I love it—especially the winning part.”

“I must go, Ms. Drew,” Diego said in his formal voice. “Some business matters to take care of.” He smiled at Nancy, then gave Marisa a stern look. “I will see you at exactly four o'clock in the warm-up ring.”

“Yes, sir,” Marisa said politely. But when Diego left, she turned to Nancy and rolled her eyes. “Fathers!”

Nancy laughed. “I know what you mean.”

“But if it wasn't for my father, I couldn't do this,” Marisa said as she unbuckled Mr. Sunshine's blanket.

Nancy leaned against the doorframe. She was dying to find out what Marisa and Diego had been arguing about. And what had Diego meant when he said, “I am doing everything possible to ensure that you will win”?

“Are you going to the party tonight?” Nancy asked in a casual voice. Father and daughter might have been fighting about a night out.