She moved over to the bucket in the other corner—the feed bucket, she reasoned—and pointed her flashlight inside. She saw only a few uneaten grains of feed, a mixture of oats and corn, and a yellow, powderlike substance. Ground corn? she wondered.
Once again, Nancy hunched down and shone the light on the ground under the empty bucket. In the straw, she spotted a few oats and pieces of corn that had fallen from the feed bucket. They, too, had yellow powder on them.
Was the powder part of Dundee’s feed or something different? She ran a finger through the powder, then sniffed it. It had only a faint scent, but she didn’t recognize it.
Nancy called over the vet and Mrs. Passano. “What’s this yellow powder at the bottom of the feed bucket?” she asked. “Is this something that’s normally added to a horse’s feed?”
The vet stood and walked over to the bucket. He studied the powder under Nancy’s flashlight beam. He ran a few grains of it between his thumb and forefinger, then sniffed it. “This is Taberol—a cattle feed,” he announced. “It’s poisonous to horses—not fatal, but it will make a horse very sick.”
“Cattle feed?” Mrs. Passano repeated. “But we don’t have any cattle feed in our barn.”
“Could someone have bought some Taberol by mistake?” Nancy asked. “Thinking it was horse feed?”
“Not a chance,” Mrs. Passano said. “Horse feed is a premixed grain made of oats and corn and a touch of molasses. No one could get it confused with a powder. And we add nothing to that feed. Peter can vouch for that.”
“I don’t know what to say,” the vet said, scratching his head. “If there’s no Taberol in the barn, how could it have gotten into the feed? Unless someone brought it in on purpose, intending to mix it into the feed. But why?”
That’s exactly what I’d like to find out, Nancy thought. “If someone wanted to poison a horse,” she said, turning to the vet, “would tampering with its feed be a good plan? It seems like it would be pretty risky. What if the horse didn’t feel like eating all its dinner?”
“Most horses have huge appetites,” Mrs. Passano pointed out. “That’s one thing we can depend on. Dundee never misses a meal.”
“In that case,” Nancy said slowly, “why didn’t it work? Either the culprit didn’t know the exact amount of Taberol needed for a fatal dose, or else he meant to make Dundee sick but not to kill her.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the vet agreed. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.” He reached into his bag. “Since we now know what caused Dundee’s reaction, I can give her an injection to counteract the effects. She should be back to normal in twenty-four hours.”
Just then Nancy heard a rustling noise a few feet away. Turning, she saw Peter Greenbriar hovering in the shadows of the stall. His gaze flicked over the group gathered around the feed bucket. Surprised, Nancy took a step back—she hadn’t even heard him come into the stall. Had he been trying to eavesdrop?
As if reading her thoughts, the groom quickly said to Mrs. Passano, “Just wanted you to know I checked out the other stalls and the tack room. There’s nothing out of place there, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Peter,” Mrs. Passano said. “Ah, here come Laura and George,” she added as the two girls walked up to the stall door. “Find anything?”
“Nothing,” Laura replied, sounding discouraged. George shook her head.
Nancy stepped around Dundee, who was resting peacefully, and walked over to Peter Greenbriar. “Would you show me around the rest of the stable?” she asked, hoping for a chance to question him in more detail. Since he was the groom, she reasoned, he would have been around the stable most of the day. If pressed, he might remember something important. “I’d like to get an idea of how someone could have come in here without being noticed.”
“It would be hard for anyone to get by me,” he insisted. “I watch this place like a hawk.”
“Well, someone must have sneaked by you to put the Taberol in Dundee’s feed,” Nancy pointed out.
Greenbriar looked down at his shoes and said nothing.
“Why don’t we start with the office?” Nancy suggested, heading into the aisle between the stalls. “I noticed one next to the tack room earlier today. Is it your office?”
“Yes,” the groom said, following her away from Dundee’s stall. “I use it to order supplies and to schedule appointments—like if someone wants to come over and look at a horse. I also keep files on the horses’ pedigrees and health. Mr. Passano does the business accounts from his office in the house.”
“I see,” Nancy said. As she followed him into the office, she asked, “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary at the barn today, or within the past few days?”
“Not a thing,” he answered.
Suddenly, they heard a loud gasp. “Hey, everybody!” Laura called out. “Come here, quick!”
Nancy dashed out of the office and looked around for Laura.
“Over here,” Laura said, gesturing frantically from Morning Glory’s stall, right next to Dundee’s.
Nancy ran over. “Laura, what is it?” she asked.
Nancy’s friend looked distraught. “I just checked the names on the horses’ feed buckets,” she said. “Morning Glory’s and Dundee’s buckets were switched!” Laura paused, her lower lip trembling. “It wasn’t Dundee they were trying to poison. It was Morning Glory!”
3
Tallyho
“Switched?” Peter Greenbriar repeated, coming up behind Nancy. “That’s impossible!”
“What is it, Laura?” Mrs. Passano asked as she strolled over from the barn door, where she’d just said good night to the vet.
“Morning Glory got Dundee’s bucket,” Laura said breathlessly, “and vice versa. You can see Dundee’s name, right here.” Nancy looked at the piece of white tape wrapped around the feed bucket’s handle. Sure enough, there was Dundee, written in tiny black letters along the lower edge.
“And Morning Glory’s bucket is in Dundee’s stall,” George added, peering around from the stall next door.
Mrs. Passano turned to the groom. “Please tell me exactly what happened during feeding time, Peter,” she said sternly. “How could these buckets have been switched?”
The groom licked his lips nervously, then said, “Right before I fed the horses tonight, I took the buckets to the feed room to wash them. Then I put feed in them. I guess someone could have sneaked into the feed room and slipped in the poison while I was taking buckets to horses at the far end of the barn.”
Mrs. Passano stared at him, her green eyes narrowing. “And?” she asked sternly. “What then?”
“Well,” he muttered, “I suppose I—I could have mixed up the two buckets.” He took a deep breath, then added, “By accident, of course.”
