“What!” Mr. Jackson growled. “On what grounds could you possibly suspect Peter and me?”
“Before you get so mad,” Nancy said coolly, “I want you to know that I don’t suspect you any longer.”
Mr. Jackson snorted. “Boy, am I relieved! And why, may I ask, have you let us off the hook?”
“Because I just overheard your conversation,” Nancy explained. “It’s obvious that you believe Mark Plonsky is behind the theft and the sabotage. You’re as much in the dark as we are.”
“You mean Plonsky isn’t to blame?” Mr. Jackson asked. Slowly, he began to calm down. Nancy glanced at Peter Greenbriar, who grinned. He was obviously relieved that he wasn’t being blamed.
“But I still have a couple of questions for you,” Nancy said. She showed Mr. Jackson the clothing catalog. “Do you recognize this, by any chance?”
With a puzzled look, Mr. Jackson took the catalog from Nancy and studied the cut-up page. Then he flipped to the address on the back. “I don’t recognize it,” he said slowly, handing it back to Nancy. “It probably belongs to Alexa Shaw.”
“What?” Nancy asked.
“The Shaws live at 132 White Rock Road,” Mr. Jackson explained. “Our house is 128 White Rock Road.”
The Shaws’ driveway was down the road from the Jacksons’, she remembered now. “But I found this catalog by your car door tonight,” Nancy said. “Could the mail carrier have delivered it to your house by mistake?”
Mr. Jackson frowned. “I doubt it. My daughter, Lizzie, is good friends with Alexa. She probably borrowed the catalog from Alexa and left it in my car.”
Nancy paused, organizing her thoughts. “Another thing,” she went on. “Why are you and Peter Greenbriar gloating over Mill River’s troubles?”
“You can hardly blame me,” Mr. Jackson retorted. “Last time I checked, gloating wasn’t illegal.”
“It may not be illegal, but it’s not very loyal.” Nancy stared at the groom, who took several steps backward. “You work for the Passanos, but you’re happy when their hunt has all these problems? It sounds to me like you’ve been spying on Mill River for Mr. Jackson.”
“It’s not that,” Greenbriar mumbled. “I can explain.”
“You don’t have to tell her a thing, Peter!” Mr. Jackson said hotly.
“But I want to,” the groom said, inching forward a step. “I want to set the record straight.” He glanced tentatively at Mr. Jackson and Nancy. “Just like I told you,” he said to Nancy, his expression earnest, “I came to Sky Meadow Farm because Mrs. Passano offered me more money. But soon after that, I learned that Mr. Jackson didn’t get the top post at Mill River. It seemed mighty unfair. After all, he’d been at the hunt even longer than Mrs. Passano.”
“Yes, but the hunt members voted in Mrs. Passano because the majority agreed with her,” Nancy pointed out. “Many of the riders wanted to introduce a drag hunt. She’s in favor of it—Mr. Jackson isn’t.”
“A drag hunt!” Mr. Jackson spat out scornfully. “That’s just like fishing in a bathtub! I can’t believe that anyone would think it’s real sport.”
Peter Greenbriar cleared his throat. “Please . . . I’d like to finish,” he put in. “Anyway, I felt bad for Mr. Jackson trying to start up his new hunt, with no support from the community. You talk about loyalty, well . . . ” The groom paused. “I worked for Mr. Jackson for twenty years. I couldn’t stand by and let his new hunt fizzle. So all I did was listen around and let him know that Mill River was in a bad way. You can’t blame me for that, can you?”
Nancy was amazed that neither man seemed to feel bad about spying on the Passanos. But she knew they’d never apologize, so she decided to wrap up the conversation. Looking at Peter Greenbriar, she asked, “Do you remember what kind of bit was on Lancelot’s bridle when we brought it home from the Shaws’ yesterday?”
Taken aback by the change of subject, the groom seemed genuinely befuddled. “No, I don’t, miss. But it must have been the curb. That’s what Lancelot always takes.”
“There was a snaffle on it this morning,” Nancy told him.
“Really?” he said. “Well, I did take apart a bunch of bridles this morning to clean them. Maybe I mixed up the bits by mistake.”
Nancy nodded. His explanation seemed reasonable. She was amazed to hear him confess to any mistake at all. “And what about the photograph of Morning Glory that I found in your drawer?” she asked. “Are you sure you’d never seen it before?”
“Well . . . ” Greenbriar began. “If you have to know, I did find it on the floor under my desk, the night Dundee was poisoned. I stuck it in my drawer—I didn’t know it was important. I thought I had dropped it from a file. But when you asked me about the photo later, I was scared you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you were a detective and all, and I thought you already suspected me of poisoning Dundee. After all, I did mix up the buckets.”
Nancy pursed her lips. She was irritated that he hadn’t told her the whole story right away. Remembering that Greenbriar’s desk had a large space underneath it, she wondered if the poisoner had hidden there, waiting for a chance to add the Taberol to the feed. Either Mark Plonsky or Alexa Shaw could have given Morning Glory’s picture to an accomplice, who could have dropped it under the desk by mistake.
Turning to Mr. Jackson, Nancy asked, “Why did you have a coil of barbed wire in your Land Rover yesterday?”
“I’d gone out earlier that day to mend some fences in my cattle pasture,” he explained, looking exasperated. “Anyone who owns a farm is going to have barbed wire. Is that all? I’m anxious to get back to the party.” Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Jackson disappeared into the tent.
“You won’t tell Mrs. Passano any of this?” Peter Greenbriar asked, obviously miserable.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” Nancy said. “For one thing, I’ll need to explain why you and Mr. Jackson are no longer suspects. But you know, you should ask yourself where your real loyalty lies. Maybe you’d be happier going back to Mr. Jackson’s, even if the salary is less.”
Peter Greenbriar shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
Nancy didn’t want to waste any more time questioning him. She needed to chase down Alexa, to see if the cut-up catalog was really hers.
Peter Greenbriar shuffled off toward the parking lot, and Nancy went inside the tent. She looked around but couldn’t find Alexa. Nancy realized she hadn’t seen the young woman all night long.
Just then Mrs. Passano rushed up to her, her eyes wide with fright. “Nancy!” Mrs. Passano said, gasping for breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you. A man just delivered this telegram to me.” She handed a crumpled-up yellow note to Nancy.
Her heart hammering, Nancy unfolded the paper and read the message: “Break up Mill River immediately. Grave danger awaits you on Opening Day!”
14
The Party’s Over
Nancy looked at Mrs. Passano in horror. “Did you see who delivered this telegram?” she asked.
“It was delivered by a messenger from Southern Telegram,” Mrs. Passano replied.
