Mrs. Passano looked annoyed. “Well, I think it’s time to call it a night, everyone,” she said. “Peter, you’ll have to check on Dundee several times during the night. If there’s any change, call me immediately.” She turned to Nancy and George. “Peter lives in the apartment above the barn,” she explained.
The groom nodded his head. “I’ll do anything I can to help. Well, then, good night.” Giving a quick wave, he walked toward the barn door and disappeared into the night.
As she left the barn with the others, Nancy noticed a white staircase going up the outer wall of the barn to a door just below roof level—Peter Greenbriar’s apartment, she guessed.
Back at the house, Mrs. Passano offered chocolate cake and milk to the three girls. Sitting around the kitchen table, they ate in silence. Nancy leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted. It had been a long day, and if she was going cubbing tomorrow, she knew she ought to go to bed.
But she couldn’t help thinking about the events of the evening. Was Peter Greenbriar telling the truth? And which horse was the real target? But the question that nagged her most of all was, why would someone want to poison one of the horses?
“Nancy,” Laura said, breaking into her thoughts, “I know I invited you and George here for a few days of riding . . . ” Laura paused, and Nancy guessed what was coming next. “But I know that you’ve solved a lot of cases around River Heights, and . . . ” She glanced away shyly.
“I’d love to take on this case,” Nancy said at once. “As your houseguest, I’ll be able to investigate undercover.” Though Peter Greenbriar may already know I’m a detective, she thought.
“That’s wonderful, Nancy,” Mrs. Passano said, smiling. “We sure could use your help. I’m worried sick about the horses.”
“Has anything else happened around the farm recently?” Nancy asked. “Anything unusual?”
“Nothing strange has happened around the farm,” Mrs. Passano answered slowly. “There was an odd incident during a cub hunt last week, though. A huge tree was lying across a path, and when the horses jerked to a sudden stop, one rider fell off and broke his leg. Well, it turned out that the tree had been cut down on purpose—we noticed it had saw and ax marks on the trunk.”
“Did the person who owned the land know anything about it?” Nancy asked.
“Nothing,” Mrs. Passano confirmed. “You see, the hunt club has permission from all the local landowners to hunt over their farms, but the club maintains all the actual riding trails. Normally, we would’ve been told by the landowner beforehand if a tree had fallen onto the trail. That way, we could clear it away. After the rider fell, as master of the hounds, I called the landowner. He knew nothing about the tree.”
“Do you really think these two incidents are connected?” George asked. “A tree in the woods on another farm, and a horse being poisoned here?”
“Well, it’s something to keep in mind,” Nancy said. She paused, then asked, “What about Peter Greenbriar? He had the opportunity to add the Taberol. He seemed kind of defensive.”
Laura and her mother exchanged glances. “I’ll grant you,” Mrs. Passano said, “he was acting a bit strangely tonight. I think he was worried about being blamed. And he should be. Giving a horse the wrong feed is grounds for being fired. But I’ll vouch for his character. He manages the horses wonderfully. He may have had the opportunity—but certainly no motive.”
That remains to be seen, Nancy thought. “How long has he worked for you?” she asked.
“For just about a year,” Laura said. “Before us, he worked for Charles Jackson, a neighboring horse breeder, for many years.”
“Girls,” Mrs. Passano said, rising from her chair, “I know you’re worried and would like to solve this problem tonight. But if we’re going cubbing tomorrow, we all need a good night’s sleep. The hunt starts at six-thirty sharp.”
“Why so early?” George asked.
“This time of year, it gets too hot by midday. Everyone feels sluggish,” Laura answered.
“Like the way I’m feeling now,” Nancy said, covering up a yawn as she got up to set her dishes by the sink.
As Nancy followed Mrs. Passano, Laura, and George upstairs, she thought of the horses. She hoped they would sleep safely that night.
• • •
“George, you look great!” Nancy exclaimed the next morning, admiring her friend’s tall, trim figure in Mrs. Passano’s breeches and black hunt coat. Nancy had borrowed a similar outfit from Laura. “You look like you belong on a horse.”
“Well, let’s just hope I can stay on,” George said with a wry smile, picking up the helmet she had also borrowed.
“Don’t kid yourself. You’re a terrific rider.” Nancy clapped George on the back, and the two girls hurried downstairs to grab glasses of juice and some slices of toast before joining the Passanos at the barn.
Outside the stable, Mrs. Passano was hitching a horse trailer up to her pickup truck. “Here, girls,” she said, handing Nancy and George lead ropes. “You bring out your horses while I get my hunter, Trimble. And by the way, Dundee is fine. She’s on her feet, eating her morning hay.”
Just then Laura appeared, proudly leading Morning Glory out the barn door. Even in the dim light of dawn, the horse gleamed, his coal-black coat shimmering.
Nancy caught her breath. “Laura, I have never seen such a beautiful horse,” she said.
Laura smiled and patted Morning Glory on his neck. After guiding him into the trailer, she helped Nancy and George load their horses. Once all the horses were secured in the trailer, the girls joined Mrs. Passano in the pickup.
As they drove to the hunt’s meeting place, at a farm four miles away, Nancy felt curious about how the day would go. She loved the idea of riding on trails through beautiful countryside. But she hated the idea of chasing a fox. She hoped Laura was right—that they probably wouldn’t catch the fox.
Mrs. Passano pulled the pickup next to another trailer in a grassy field, and everyone climbed out. They unloaded the horses, and then saddled and bridled them. The sun was now up, and the day promised to be gorgeous—warm with a hint of crispness in the air. Under a turquoise-colored sky, the field hummed with activity.
Nancy and George were fascinated at the turnout of people—crusty old sportsmen on sleek hunters alongside children on shaggy ponies. Surrounding a large, red-haired man on horseback were at least forty fox hounds—white-, brown-, and black-spotted dogs with smooth coats and big brown eyes.
Gazing around, Nancy took in the surrounding countryside with its gently rolling hills. Lush green meadows were broken up by small groves of trees, their leaves just starting to turn color, and larger patches of woods beyond.
George sighed. “Frankly, Nan, I’m having second thoughts about coming out here today. Hunting a fox just isn’t my idea of fun.”
“I’m feeling the same way,” Nancy admitted.
Just then she noticed the red-haired man on horseback calling in a high-pitched yelp to the hounds. As the hounds began to mill excitedly around him, Nancy asked Laura who he was.
“That’s Grant Hathaway,” Laura told her. “He’s the huntsman, which is the next official in rank after the master of the hounds. He directs the hounds and makes sure they pick up the fox’s scent.”
“How does he make the hounds obey?” George asked.
“He controls them through calls and also by sounding his horn,” Laura explained. “He also takes care of the hounds. He transports them to each hunt meet. He has two assistants, called the whippers-in. There they are now.” She pointed to two other men rounding up the hounds. “Samuel and Duncan Burnet. That’s the whole hunt board: the Burnet brothers, my mom, Mr. Hathaway, and one local landowner.”
