“Wait a minute!” Laura exclaimed. “CJ—could that be Charles Jackson’s crop?”
“Charles Jackson?” Nancy remembered the name. Laura had said that Peter Greenbriar once worked for him. Was that why the groom looked so upset?
“I overheard a conversation about him at the hunt yesterday,” she mentioned. “Some riders said that he was starting up his own hunt.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Passano said with a sigh. “Charles used to be a big supporter of Mill River. But after Cameron Shaw died, Charles and I both wanted to be master of the hounds. When I got appointed, he was miffed.”
“Miffed is putting it mildly,” Laura declared. “He stormed off to start up his new hunt, the Cold Spring Hounds.”
“Sounds like he has a bit of a temper,” George said dryly.
“That’s for sure,” Laura said. “He’s a successful businessman, so he’s used to getting his way. He’s the type who works hard and plays hard.”
“And his new hunt isn’t a success?” Nancy asked.
“So far it’s a flop,” Laura said bluntly. “But to be fair, the Cold Spring Hounds is only in its first season. Not too many people know about it. Mill River is more than a hundred years old.”
“If Mill River becomes a drag hunt,” Mrs. Passano said, “Charles will be happy that he left. He’s totally in favor of live fox hunting. In fact, that’s why I was made master of the hounds. The riders who are in favor of having a drag hunt voted me in. They knew that Charles would have insisted on doing things the traditional way.”
“Mr. Jackson certainly has a motive for wanting to wipe out Mill River,” George said.
Mrs. Passano turned to the groom. “Peter, have you ever seen this crop before?” she asked. “You used to work for Charles. I thought you might recognize it.”
For a moment the groom said nothing. Then his eyes met Mrs. Passano’s. “The crop is mine, not Mr. Jackson’s,” he announced. “Mr. Jackson gave me the crop last year, along with a helmet and some other stuff from his barn. He was clearing it out before remodeling. The crop’s definitely mine. That lets Mr. Jackson off the hook.”
“Mr. Jackson may not have dropped the crop when Morning Glory was taken,” Nancy pointed out. “Still, he has a powerful motive to want the Mill River Hunt to end. He could still have taken the horse.” She turned to Peter Greenbriar. “Why did you quit as Mr. Jackson’s groom?” she asked.
“The Passanos offered me a little more money,” he replied.
“So how did your crop get in the pasture?” George asked.
“The crop proves nothing!” he declared. “I must have dropped it in the pasture a couple of days ago.”
Mrs. Passano sighed deeply, then said, “You’re right, Peter. It doesn’t prove a thing.”
• • •
Back at the house, Laura announced that she wanted to spend the morning making phone calls to neighbors about Morning Glory. After getting her address book from her room, she went into the den.
Mrs. Passano told Nancy and George that she planned to spend the day at the Mill River clubhouse. She needed to make sure that everything was in order for the Hunt Ball, which would be held the next night, on the eve of Opening Day.
“You’re welcome to come by later and look through the Mill River files for any leads,” she suggested to Nancy and George as she picked up her keys and purse from a table in the front hallway.
“Thanks,” Nancy said. “That’s a great idea—since it’s clear that the hunt sabotage and the horsenapping are linked. Can we meet you there after lunch?”
“Absolutely. See you then.” With a quick wave, Mrs. Passano hurried out the front door.
“George,” Nancy said, “there’s one other lead I’d like to investigate before we meet with Mrs. Passano. Let’s go to Marburg’s Saddlery Shop and show them the leather glove I found. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe they can identify its owner.”
“Good idea, Nan,” George said.
Nancy shrugged. “I hope so,” she said. “We could really use a break. I’m getting frustrated. So far, every clue we’ve found seems to lead nowhere—the glove, the snapshot, the crop . . . ”
“Well, don’t give up on the glove yet,” George said cheerfully. “And while we’re at the shop, maybe we can explore a little of Baltimore. With all these weird things happening at the farm and on the hunt, I’m certainly up for a change of scene.”
Nancy and George got directions to Marburg’s from Laura. Then they headed for Baltimore in Nancy’s blue Mustang.
Laura had suggested that they might want to look around Harborplace, two shopping pavilions built right on the Baltimore harbor. “Why don’t we have an early lunch at Harborplace before we hit Marburg’s?” Nancy suggested once they reached Baltimore. “Laura told me the store doesn’t open till noon. If we can find an outdoor café, we could still enjoy this gorgeous weather.”
“Sounds great,” George said. “It’ll make up for the fact that we didn’t get to go riding this morning.”
A few minutes later, George said, “That must be Harborplace, over to the right. Look—you can see the water and a lot of boats.”
After parking the car, the two girls set off toward the shopping pavilions. They quickly found an outdoor café and sat down at a table shaded by a festive-looking umbrella. Menus had already been placed on the table. George immediately picked one up. “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” Nancy said.
A few minutes later, a waiter arrived to take their orders.
“I’d like a hamburger and an iced tea,” George said.
“And I’d like the chicken salad special and a lime seltzer, please,” Nancy said, handing the waiter her menu.
While the girls ate lunch, they talked about the case. “I suppose Mark Plonsky has the most obvious reason for wanting to wipe out the hunt,” George said. “But I still can’t believe that an animal activist would poison a horse.”
“We can’t rule him out, though. And we can’t be blinded by the fact that we sympathize with his cause,” Nancy warned her friend.
“You’re right,” George said. She took a sip of her iced tea, then added, “Well, speaking of motives, don’t forget Charles Jackson. And it’s clear that Peter Greenbriar is still loyal to him. Could they be working together?”
