“Yes, I’m the guilty one,” Mrs. Shaw confessed, a defiant gleam in her eyes. “It’s all my doing. And you know what? I have no regrets—not a one.”
“Mary Lou!” Mrs. Passano gasped. “Why would you do such terrible things?”
“Too bad, Maggie,” Mrs. Shaw said, “but the Mill River Hunt had to go. My husband spent all his time with it, and now Alexa was starting to do the same thing. Even you, my best friend, were consumed by it. There was nothing left for me.” Her eyes blazed with sudden anger. “And the money!” she spat out. “Taking my money was the final straw.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Mary Lou?” Grant Hathaway asked with a puzzled frown.
“You don’t know about this yet,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Cameron’s estate won’t be settled for another month. But he left one-third of his money in trust to the Mill River Hunt.” She stared spitefully around the group of riders.
There was a shocked silence, then everyone started talking at once. Nancy remembered the letter that Mr. Shaw had written—about wanting to do what he could to preserve the local countryside. That’s why he left his money to the hunt, she reasoned.
“I’m the executor of Cameron’s estate,” Mrs. Shaw went on, “so I knew firsthand about the terms. I kept the news from you as long as I could. But in another few weeks, you’d have learned about your little inheritance. Time was running out. So I hatched my brilliant scheme.” Mrs. Shaw lifted her chin, challenging her audience to defy her.
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Passano said. “Didn’t he leave you and Alexa anything?”
“Well, according to Maryland law, he was legally obliged to leave a third to me and a third to Alexa,” Mrs. Shaw admitted. “But I couldn’t allow the hunt to get one penny! I hate Mill River! It stole Cameron away from me, even before it killed him.” Mrs. Shaw broke down, tears streaming down her face.
Mrs. Passano quickly dismounted. She handed Trimble’s reins to Laura to hold, then put her arm around her sobbing friend and tried to soothe her.
“You see, Maggie,” Mrs. Shaw went on, finally getting control of herself, “Cameron’s will stated that if the Mill River Hunt ever broke up, then that money would revert to me.”
“So you schemed to make the hunt disband?” Mrs. Passano asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Shaw confessed. “And I paid Eddie to help me. All along, we threw suspicion on the animal activists. They sure made convenient scapegoats.”
Mrs. Passano recoiled at her friend’s words. Then she asked, “One thing I don’t understand, Mary Lou. Dundee was poisoned—but the poison was meant for Morning Glory. Did you try to poison him? And why?”
“Well, it’s not like I tried to kill him,” Mrs. Shaw said defensively. “I just wanted to make your most expensive horse sick—as a warning. But then Eddie botched it up,” she continued. “I gave him a photo of Morning Glory, so Eddie could identify him. But he put the Taberol in the feed bucket instead of putting it in Morning Glory’s stall.”
Mrs. Passano looked puzzled. “But how did you think we’d make the connection between Morning Glory and the hunt?”
Mrs. Shaw looked disgusted. “Eddie was supposed to leave a note on Morning Glory’s stall, but Peter didn’t leave the barn long enough for him to do it. I must say, though, Eddie finally came through. He took Morning Glory from your pasture and led him straight to the old mill without a hitch.”
“Excuse me,” Grant Hathaway put in, “but I think that someone ought to go find Alexa and tell her what’s happened. It would be terrible for her if she just stumbled upon this scene with no forewarning.”
“I’ll go, Dad,” Isabel offered. “Alexa was on her way back to the clubhouse. She was having trouble with her horse. I’ll go there.”
“Alexa?” Mrs. Shaw said. “She wasn’t hunting today. Her horse was lame.”
Laura explained to Mrs. Shaw that Alexa had borrowed a hunter from Lizzie Jackson at the last minute. Mrs. Shaw looked shaken. “You mean—Alexa could have been hurt?”
“Mary Lou,” Mrs. Passano broke in sternly, “many people could have been hurt.”
Eddie, who had been lying quietly by the path, moaned in pain.
“I think we’ve talked enough for now,” Mr. Hathaway said. “Maybe someone should go back to the clubhouse to call the police. I’d go, but I need to stay with the hounds.”
Laura spoke up. “Mom, what about Mark Plonsky? He lives half a mile down the river. I’m sure he’d be glad to let you use his phone.”
Mrs. Passano wheeled Trimble around. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, then trotted quickly away.
“But tell me, Mrs. Shaw,” Laura went on in a tremulous voice, “what have you done with Morning Glory?”
Mrs. Shaw scowled and said nothing. Nancy tapped Laura’s shoulder and pointed toward the forest.
Under a maple tree, Morning Glory was grazing contentedly on some underbrush.
With an ecstatic yelp, Laura slid off Lancelot. She handed him and Trimble over to Nancy, then ran through the trees, calling out Morning Glory’s name. Morning Glory looked up at her and gave a whinny, then went back to munching grass. Totally delighted, Laura threw her arms around his neck.
• • •
After the police had taken away Mrs. Shaw and Eddie, some of the riders decided to continue the hunt—at least for a little while. “After all, it is Opening Day,” Mrs. Passano said.
But a number of people, including Nancy and Laura, decided to return to the clubhouse, where the traditional hunt breakfast would be held after the hunt was finished.
On the way back, Nancy and Laura kept an eye out for Hopscotch. Nancy was now riding Lancelot, and Laura was riding Morning Glory bareback.
When they were almost at the trailer, they saw Isabel Hathaway riding toward them.
“Hopscotch was found near the clubhouse an hour ago,” she said. “I put her in our trailer for the time being. She’s fine there for now.”
“How did Alexa react to the news about her mother?” Laura asked.
“She’s totally devastated,” Isabel said. “She’s over at the Jacksons’ now, with Lizzie. Lizzie and I will stick with her as long as she needs us.”
After cooling down the horses and settling them in the trailers with a hay net, the three girls walked over to the clubhouse. A big buffet breakfast had been set up in the tent, and some riders were already there, sipping glasses of orange juice and steaming cups of coffee.
Just as Laura and Nancy sat down at a table, George arrived with Mark Plonsky and the other activists. “Laura, Nancy, hi,” George said, as she and Mark joined them. “Mark swung by the Passanos’ and offered me a ride to the breakfast. He told me all about Mrs. Shaw. I can’t believe it.”
