“It’s like a summer day,” Mrs. Passano said, shading her eyes as she looked out over the hills beyond the patio. “It was really too warm for hunting, but at least we didn’t hit any more traps.”
“When are the Shaws arriving?” Laura asked.
“Here they are now,” Mrs. Passano said, waving cheerfully as Mrs. Shaw and her daughter, Alexa, pulled up the driveway in their car.
Nancy looked up with interest as the Shaws parked, got out of their car, and crossed the side yard to the patio. Maybe she’d find out why Alexa hadn’t met her friend at the cubbing meet earlier.
Laura introduced Nancy and George to the Shaws. Mrs. Shaw was a plump, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and a fluttery manner. Alexa was very pretty—tall and slim, with long flaxen blond hair—but Nancy could see why Laura didn’t like her. Alexa shook hands with Nancy and George and then moved away, her mouth fixed in a pout. Her large gold earrings and shimmery silk dress seemed to Nancy a bit much for a casual lunch with friends.
“How was the hunt today?” Mrs. Shaw asked.
“Awful,” Mrs. Passano answered. She told the Shaws about the sabotage as she served everyone tuna salad, tomato slices, and crusty French bread.
“I’m glad I wasn’t there,” Alexa declared. “My horse went lame at the last minute. With my luck, I’ll have to miss Opening Day.”
“Your horse went lame?” Mrs. Passano asked, concerned. “I’m so sorry.”
“I do wish Alexa would give up hunting,” Mrs. Shaw said fretfully. “It’s so dangerous.” Mrs. Shaw eyed her daughter nervously. Alexa glanced away, looking annoyed. Recalling that Mrs. Shaw’s husband had died riding in a hunt the year before, Nancy felt sorry for the widow. No wonder she was feeling protective of her daughter.
“I can take care of myself, Mom,” Alexa put in.
“I know that, darling,” Mrs. Shaw replied. “Still, I can’t help worrying.” She took a bite of tuna salad, then turned to Nancy and George. “And how did you girls like hunting?”
“It was fun to gallop over the countryside,” Nancy said. “But I don’t think I’ll hunt again. Unless they make it a drag hunt, that is.”
“I totally agree,” George said. “I couldn’t face chasing another poor fox.”
“You and the animal activists,” Alexa said sourly. “I guess they’re the ones behind these pranks.”
“That’s what most of the riders think,” Mrs. Passano admitted.
“And what about you, Maggie?” Mrs. Shaw asked, looking at her friend.
“Well, I suspect they’re responsible,” Mrs. Passano said. “Even though I sympathize with Mark’s cause, I certainly don’t approve of his tactics. What if a rider got hurt? I believe in changing the system from within, not terrorizing from outside.” Mrs. Passano spoke passionately, her green eyes gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Nancy realized that Laura’s mother must be torn between her love of animals and her devotion to the Mill River Hunt. She hoped Mrs. Passano could change the board’s mind about adopting a drag hunt. And even more than that, she hoped that the saboteur—and the poisoner—would be caught soon.
After lunch the Shaws went home, and Mrs. Passano and Laura went upstairs for a nap. Anxious to tackle the case, Nancy suggested to George that they check the barn for more clues to Dundee’s poisoning.
When they reached the stable, the girls saw that most of the stalls were full. The horses were either resting after the hunt or just staying out of the warm afternoon sun. Except for the drowsy sounds of swishing tails and soft snorts, the barn was quiet. Peter Greenbriar was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s so peaceful here,” George said. “It’s hard to believe that someone who tried to poison a horse was lurking around last evening.”
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Let’s just hope it stays peaceful.”
George offered to check out the stalls again, while Nancy went to search the feed room and tack room. She knew that Laura and George had checked them out the night before, but she wanted to take a fresh look in the light of day.
In the feed room, Nancy lifted the lid of a wooden bin and saw a grain mixture inside. The horse feed smelled sweet, she thought, like molasses. She reached into the bin and sifted some feed through her hand. It felt granular and slightly sticky. Finding nothing unusual, Nancy went next door to the tack room.
She scanned the tack room, noticing several neat racks of saddles and bridles, each labeled with a horse’s name. The wooden bins in this room held a jumble of helmets, paddock boots, spurs, and brushes. After several minutes of fruitless searching, Nancy went out to find George.
“I couldn’t find a thing, Nancy,” George said.
“There’s one more place I want to search,” Nancy told her. “Peter Greenbriar’s office. Could you be my lookout, in case he shows up?”
“I’d love to,” George said, grinning. “There’s something about that man I just don’t trust.”
Nancy slipped into the office. Quickly, she leafed through the files on Dundee and Morning Glory but found nothing of interest. The only things in the side drawers of Greenbriar’s desk were yellow notepads and a phone book for nearby Baltimore. The top drawer held a calendar and a few pens and pencils. Poring over the calendar, Nancy saw some appointments with vets and feed shippers, but nothing significant.
She groped around one more time in the back of the top drawer. Her hand touched something—stiff paper.
Quickly, she pulled it out. It was a snapshot of Morning Glory, standing unsaddled in a paddock.
Turning it over, she noticed a spot of clear glue, with a few grains of yellow powder in it.
Nancy started. That powder—it looked just like Taberol!
6
A Poisonous Picture
Nancy slid the snapshot of Morning Glory into her pocket. It had to be an important lead. She ran out of the office to tell George.
In a hushed voice, Nancy told George what she’d found. Aware that Peter Greenbriar might be close by, the two girls hurried back to the house to discuss the new clue in private.
Upstairs in their room, Nancy showed George the snapshot. George switched on a bedside lamp and studied the photo in the pool of light. “Weird,” she said, turning the photo over to see the spot of powder on the back. “What do you make of this, Nan?”
Nancy thought for a moment. “I think this means that Morning Glory definitely was the target,” she mused. “Maybe this photo just fell off something in the Sky Meadow files and got lost in Peter Greenbriar’s drawer. But if the Passanos don’t recognize the picture, I’ll bet it was left by the poisoner. The yellow powder on it is just too suspicious.”
