Inside the house, people were hurrying around, rearranging furniture, polishing silver, and scrubbing floors. “We’re getting the place in order for the Hunt Ball tomorrow evening,” Mrs. Passano explained.
“Where shall I put these, please?” a big, ruddy-faced man asked. He was carrying two large baskets of chrysanthemums.
“Ah, the flower arrangements have arrived!” Mrs. Passano exclaimed. “Let me show you where they go.”
Nancy and George followed as Mrs. Passano led the florist down the center hallway lined with fox hunting prints. She stopped at the open back door. Outside, they could see a large yellow- and white-striped tent all set up for the party. “There’s a long table in the tent. Just put them there,” Mrs. Passano told the man with a sweep of her hand.
“Now, Nancy and George, let me show you our files.” Mrs. Passano turned and led the girls into a nearby room. Two empty desks stood in the center, and a stack of file cabinets lined the back wall.
“Please help yourselves to anything you need here,” Laura’s mother said. “Don’t worry if the phone rings. We’ll let the machine pick up any calls.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said. Mrs. Passano hurried out. Turning to George, Nancy said, “Why don’t you take from A through M? I’ll do N through Z.”
As quickly as they could, Nancy and George pored through thick files of correspondence and legal papers.
Looking up from a file marked General, George said, “This is interesting, Nan—a letter written by Cameron Shaw to Grant Hathaway about a year ago. Looks like Mr. Shaw was worried because a local farm was sold to a developer. He promises Mr. Hathaway to do what he can to preserve the countryside from development.”
Nancy frowned. “How could that tie in with the hunt sabotage?”
“I’m not sure,” George admitted in a discouraged tone. “Unless . . . what if a developer is trying to ruin the hunt to get the land?”
“I doubt it,” Nancy said. “This crime seems so personal—like there’s someone who bears a grudge for some reason.”
“Well, I haven’t found anything else,” George said with a sigh. “I even went through these old newspapers. Nothing.”
“I haven’t found anything, either,” Nancy said, putting away a file. “But don’t worry. I have a feeling we’ll get more answers at Charles Jackson’s.”
After closing the file cabinets, Nancy and George went to find Mrs. Passano to ask her for directions to Mr. Jackson’s horse farm. It turned out to be only a short drive away.
As Nancy steered her Mustang up his driveway, a charming white Victorian house with green shutters loomed up behind an evergreen hedge. A brick walkway led to the front door.
Parking in the turnaround, Nancy noticed a barn and two other outbuildings clustered near a large pasture. Hanging on the door of one outbuilding, a hand-lettered sign said The Cold Spring Hounds—Office. They got out of the car and headed that way.
“Let’s see if anyone’s around first. I don’t want to get caught snooping,” Nancy said.
She rapped on the office door. “Come in,” a voice boomed.
Opening the door, Nancy saw a middle-aged African American man with salt-and-pepper hair rummaging through paper on a desk. Glancing around the office, she noticed that there were no files, no normal office clutter.
“Hello,” the man said, jumping up. “I’m Charles Jackson, master of the Cold Spring Hounds. Are you here to join my new hunt?”
As he shook her hand, Nancy checked his hands. They were small, despite his stocky frame. Small enough to fit into the glove from Marburg’s?
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” Nancy said, smiling back at him. “I’m Nancy Drew, and this is George Fayne. We’d love to join your hunt, but I’m afraid we’re just visiting in this area.” She looked over at George and said, “We love to ride, though, and we heard you were starting a new hunt. We thought we’d stop by to check it out, in case we ever decide to move here.”
“Well, I tell you,” Mr. Jackson said, “one outing with my hunt, and you’ll definitely want to move here.”
Nancy had to smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“When does your hunt go out next?” George asked.
“Our Opening Day is four days from now,” Mr. Jackson replied, his face glowing with excitement. He paused, then added snidely, “Of course, I wouldn’t want it to fall on Mill River’s big day.”
“Too bad—we won’t be here in four days,” Nancy said. “We’re leaving the Passanos’ before that.” She waited for his response.
“The Passanos? Is that who you’re visiting?” Mr. Jackson glowered at them. “Well, of course, they’ll try to get you to hunt with Mill River, but don’t listen to them. I have permission to hunt over even more beautiful countryside, farther out.” He gestured grandly.
“But aren’t you friendly with the Passanos?” Nancy asked innocently. “I found a riding crop in their field with your initials on it.”
“A riding crop with my initials in their field?” he repeated, looking incredulous. “Hmmm. Maybe it’s one I gave my former groom, Peter Greenbriar. He works over there now.”
So Peter Greenbriar’s story checked out, Nancy thought—provided Charles Jackson was telling the truth.
“Well,” Nancy said, “I’m sorry we won’t be able to hunt with you. Maybe another time.”
“While you’re here, though, can I show you my new horses?” Mr. Jackson offered, moving around the desk. “Anyone with an interest in riding should really see them. They’re gorgeous animals. I keep them in the far pasture—better grass there.”
This was the chance Nancy had been waiting for. “We’d love to see them,” she said promptly. The two girls followed the horse breeder out of his office and toward the pasture.
As they passed the barn, Nancy suddenly stopped and opened her shoulder bag. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “My sunglasses aren’t in my bag.” She turned to Mr. Jackson. “I probably left them in the car. You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Nancy gave George a meaningful glance, and George immediately began asking Mr. Jackson questions.
As soon as George and Mr. Jackson were out of sight, Nancy headed into the barn. Parked inside was a Land Rover, its sides splattered with mud. She walked by it and went into the feed room. Quickly, she checked to see if there were any bags of Taberol. She found nothing. She also found nothing out of order in the tack room. She wanted to take a look in Mr. Jackson’s office. But first, she decided to check out the Land Rover.
Peeking into the front seat, all Nancy saw were music tapes scattered on the floor. She craned her neck to look into the backseat.
Nancy caught her breath. There, shoved between the front and back seats, were wire cutters and a shiny coil of barbed wire—just like the wire that had been run along the fence rail the morning of the cub hunt!
