“No, but there’s no way to be completely sure that we’re safe.” Mrs. Passano had dark circles under her eyes, but her spirits seemed upbeat. “We’ll just have to do our best,” she added gamely.
Laura, on Lancelot, trotted over to greet Isabel Hathaway and Lili Tsao. As Nancy had expected from the mood at the ball, there was a good turnout despite the threat. Mr. Hathaway and the Burnet brothers, in their scarlet coats, were tending to the hounds. The rest of the crowd, in formal fox-hunting attire—black riding jackets, tan breeches, and yellow vests—seemed eager to begin Opening Day. The horses looked beautiful, Nancy thought, each one brushed to a sheen.
Then, on the outskirts of the field, Nancy noticed Alexa Shaw warming up her horse. That was strange, Nancy thought. Wasn’t Alexa’s horse lame?
Nancy rode over to Alexa. “I’m glad to see your horse is better,” Nancy told her.
“Oh, this isn’t my horse,” Alexa said. “I borrowed this guy at the last minute from Lizzie Jackson.”
As Alexa pulled on the reins, bringing her horse to a stop, Nancy glanced at her hands. That’s odd, Nancy thought. Alexa was wearing a mismatched pair of gloves.
Suddenly, Nancy did a double take.
One of Alexa’s gloves was a perfect match for the glove she’d found near the stuffed fox!
15
A-Hunting We Will Go
“Alexa,” Nancy said, trying to sound casual, “did you by any chance lose a glove? I just noticed that yours don’t exactly match.”
“Can’t you see?” Alexa joked. “I’m making a fashion statement. One black glove with elastic and one brown with Velcro.”
“Are they yours?” Nancy pressed her.
“Well, if you must know,” Alexa said huffily, “I couldn’t find my gloves this morning. I grabbed these from my mother’s drawer. I didn’t even notice they didn’t match.” Then she added, “Don’t tell her, though. She doesn’t like me borrowing her things.”
Nancy felt a split-second rush of insight. The brown glove with the Velcro closure belonged to Alexa’s mother! Could that mean—
Swiftly, Nancy ran through her other clues. The catalog, addressed to the Shaw household—Alexa had probably lent it to Lizzie Jackson after her mother had used it to make Morning Glory’s note.
The photo of Morning Glory—Alexa must have had it from when she was hoping to buy him. And Mrs. Shaw could have found it among Alexa’s things.
Nancy’s mind kept clicking. What about the pitchfork and the telegram? Mrs. Shaw couldn’t have sent the telegram, since she had been at the Hunt Ball all evening. And she’d been off delivering pies when the pitchfork was thrown. But what if she had an accomplice—someone who had helped her sabotage the hunt and steal Morning Glory?
Nancy frowned. Why would Mrs. Shaw do all this? Just to stop Alexa from hunting, so she wouldn’t hurt herself? Or did she want to break up the hunt for revenge—because her husband had been killed riding in it?
Nancy asked Alexa, “Does your mother know you’re out hunting today?”
“No way,” Alexa grumbled. “Lizzie came through for me at the last minute. But Mom would have a fit if she knew. She’s upset by all this sabotage stuff. She’s a bundle of nerves about fox hunting, anyway.”
At that moment Mrs. Passano blew the hunting horn. Alexa began to turn her horse toward the gathering hunt field. “Alexa, please—one more question,” Nancy said. Alexa rolled her eyes impatiently, but Nancy went on. “Was Mark Plonsky over at your house the other day?”
“Not that I know of,” Alexa replied, obviously taken aback. “We barely know him.”
“Is there a dark-haired man who works at your farm?” Nancy pressed on. “A youngish guy, medium height?”
“That would be Eddie,” Alexa replied. “He’s been my mother’s gardener ever since my dad died. But why all these questions? Let’s get on with the hunt.” With a light flick of her crop, Alexa urged her horse over toward the hunt field.
Hopscotch tossed her head with impatience, but Nancy held her back, thinking. This Eddie guy could have sent the telegram while Mrs. Shaw was at the ball, Nancy realized. And if that had been Eddie lurking around the Shaws’ house two days ago, he could have thrown the pitchfork. He must have been spying on her and George, Nancy reasoned, and learned they were investigating.
And the photo—Mrs. Shaw might have given Morning Glory’s picture to Eddie on the evening of the poisoning, Nancy considered. He wouldn’t have known what Morning Glory looked like. But in the end, he hadn’t used the photo because the horses’ names were on the feed buckets.
The clues kept falling into place. Of course, Mrs. Shaw wouldn’t want to hurt her own daughter, Nancy reasoned, so she must have set the cub hunt sabotage on a day when she knew Alexa wasn’t riding.
Could Mrs. Shaw have purposely lamed Alexa’s horse? Nancy felt chilled at the thought. But it was possible.
Now, Nancy mused, Opening Day was finally here. And Mrs. Shaw thought Alexa wasn’t riding. Could she have decided the time was right for some serious sabotage?
Urging Hopscotch forward, Nancy quickly caught up with Mrs. Passano. “I’m acting on a hunch,” Nancy explained. “I can’t explain why, but I need your permission to ride ahead of the hunt.”
“Nancy, I can’t let you do that,” Mrs. Passano protested. “You could get hurt!”
“I’ll be careful,” Nancy promised. “But it’s better if I go alone. Once I’ve confirmed my suspicions, I’ll come back for help.” Until she had proof, she thought, she didn’t want Mrs. Passano to know the worst about her best friend.
Mrs. Passano sighed. “Nancy, you’re a hard girl to say no to when your mind’s made up,” she said.
“Thanks. I just need to know what direction you’re heading in,” Nancy told her.
“On Opening Day, we always have the same routine,” Mrs. Passano said. “We trot over some fields in back of the clubhouse. We turn right into the woods after crossing the brook at the base of the Tsaos’ farm. We usually pick up the fox’s scent along the trail that winds alongside the Mill River. After that, we go wherever the fox leads us.”
“Got it!” Nancy said.
She leaned forward on Hopscotch, pressing her into a trot. Nancy scouted around for booby traps, but everything looked fine.
After several minutes Hopscotch came to a small brook with reeds growing on either side. This must be the Tsaos’ brook, Nancy thought. The reeds would make a perfect place for a trap. She carefully guided Hopscotch over the water, breathing a sigh of relief once she was safely across.
Nancy and Hopscotch trotted into the woods. This place looks familiar, she thought, as she rode down a narrow trail. But what’s that rushing sound?
