Mystery of the Midnight Rider (3 page)

I glanced at Payton. She was watching her horse, a contented expression on her face. I hated to ruin her mood, but I was curious about what had happened earlier.

“So that drugging thing was weird,” I said. “What do you think that’s all about?”

Payton’s expression darkened. "I don’t know. But it’s not true.” “Nancy knows that,” Ned put in quickly. "I already explained that you’re not that kind of person.”

Before Payton could say anything else, there was a buzz from the pocket of her breeches. “That’s my phone,” she said, fishing it out. “Dad’s right on schedule. ... Hi, Dad.”

My friends and I drifted away to give her some privacy. “What’s with the questioning, Detective Drew?” George joked. "You think Payton has some kind of deep, dark mystery that needs solving?”

I grinned. Like I said, my friends like to rib me about my interest in mysteries. "You never know,” I said. “Maybe it’s like we were saying before—someone could be trying to knock out the competition to improve their odds of winning the big-money classes.”

"Or maybe it’s a mistake,” Ned said. “I doubt Payton would be mixed up in anything nefarious, even secondhand.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Nancy. You might be stuck just watching a horse show this weekend instead of solving another mystery.”

"Yeah,” Bess put in. “And she might be stuck just watching a horse show instead of doing something romantic for her anniversary, too.”

We were all still laughing about that when Payton wandered over to us, tucking away her phone with one hand while hanging on to Midnight’s lead with the other.

"That was my dad,” she said. “He likes to check in after each of my rounds to see how it went.”

"Really?” George looked impressed. "He keeps that close tabs on your show schedule? I mean, you only finished riding, like, twenty minutes ago. How’d he know he wasn’t going to call while you were in the air over a big fence?”

Payton laughed. "Don’t worry, I turn off my phone while I’m in the ring. But to answer your question, Dad has an app on his phone with a timer that keeps track for him.” She tugged on Midnight’s lead to keep him from wandering too close to the fence. “His job is so busy that that’s probably the only way he could keep track short of hiring an extra employee just to keep track of my show schedule.”

"You sound like you’re only half joking about that extra employee thing,” Ned said.

"You know Dad,” Payton said. "He’s pretty serious about
results—he doesn’t like to miss a detail.”

Between her father, her trainer, and herself, I couldn’t help thinking that Payton was under a lot of pressure to perform well at these shows. Still, she seemed to be handling it awfully well, especially for someone her age.

Midnight took a couple of bites of grass, then lifted his head and stepped toward the parking lot fence again. Payton didn’t let him get too close, once again pulling him back with the lead.

"Looks like Midnight must believe that old line,” I said. "You know, the one about the grass being greener on the other side?” "He wouldn’t actually try to escape out into the parking lot or anything, would he?” George eyed the horse nervously. "I mean, I know there’s a fence, but. ..”

Payton laughed. “Are you kidding? Midnight could clear that tiny fence in his sleep.” Her eyes twinkled. “But don’t worry— there’s no grass out in the parking lot. He definitely wouldn’t be interested in going out there when he-”

She cut herself off with a gasp as something suddenly flew at the horse out of nowhere. SPLAT! Whatever it was hit Midnight, leaving a huge red mark on his side.

With a terrified cry, the horse yanked the lead out of Payton’s hand, reared up, and spun away.

Food for Thought

“MIDNIGHT!” PAYTON CRIED.

“Loose horse!” Bess shrieked.

Midnight stopped, his hooves splayed out and his big brown eyes rolling. He snorted, then spun around as a shout came from out in the parking lot.

Ignoring the shout, I focused on the horse. “Easy, boy,” I crooned, trying desperately to remember what to do about a loose horse. Had we even learned that in those childhood lessons? Doubtful. Most of the ponies I’d ridden wouldn’t move out of a slow walk for anything short of a meteor landing behind them.

Luckily, Payton recovered quickly from her surprise. "Just stay where you are, everybody,” she said in a calm but commanding voice. Then she stepped toward the horse. “Settle down, Midnight. It’s okay.”

Midnight snorted again, tossing his head and prancing in place.

I held my breath as Payton took another step. “What if he jumps
the fence like she was saying?” George whispered. "He could be halfway across River Heights before we could take three steps after him!”

"Shh,” I hushed her. “He’s not running amok yet. Let’s see what happens.”

"Good boy, good boy,” Payton singsonged as she sidled closer. "Easy now
...

She took another step. The horse tensed, but then he lowered his head and blew out a sigh. Payton caught hold of the lead rope dangling from Midnight’s halter and gave him a pat.

"Is he hurt?” Ned asked. "What hit him, anyway?”

Good question. I glanced out at the parking lot, wondering about the source of that shout. Several people were milling around over near the entrance. A couple of them were holding signs, though I couldn’t read them from where I was standing.

Meanwhile Payton steppe
d around to examine the bloody-l
ooking mark on the horse’s side. She almost immediately heaved a big sigh of relief.

"It’s okay—he’s not hurt. It was just a tomato,” she reported. "An overripe one, from the smell of it.”

"Yuck,” Bess said. “Who would throw something like that at a horse?”

“I think I know.” One of the people out in the parking lot had turned, giving me a better view of her sign. "Check it out—some animal rights activists are protesting out there.”

George turned to look. "Ugh, PAN? I’ve heard about them,” she said. "They let some goats and sheep loose at the state fair last summer. Caused all kinds of problems.”

"Yeah, I heard about that.” Bess shook her head. "I love animals as much as the next girl, and I hate to think of them being mistreated. But PAN definitely takes things too far.”

I knew what she meant. PAN—short for Pet-Free Animal Nation—was a national group that advocated an end to “animal slavery,” which they interpreted as everything from using animals for scientific testing to "forcing” cats and dogs to serve as family pets. They were notorious for showing up at events like livestock auctions or dog shows and causing trouble. As a local attorney, my father had helped prosecute them the last time they’d passed through our part of the country. Now it seemed they were back for more.

"Wait,” I said as I glanced out at the protesters again and spotted a familiar face. “I think I recognize one of them. Isn’t that the lady who got all that publicity last year when she tried to save that half-rotted old tree behind the elementary school? What’s her
name again?” I searched my memory. “Annie something, right?” “Annie Molina,” Ned supplied. "I remember her. She was in the paper last month for stopping traffic to protest the new housing development out by the river.”

Payton wasn’t paying attention to our conversation. She was busy talking soothingly to Midnight, who still seemed tense and jumpy. “I’d better get Midnight back to the bam,” she said. "If anyone throws something else our way right now, he just might lose it.”

"We’ll come with you,” Bess said.

George glanced out at the group in the parking lot. “Shouldn’t someone report what happened to show security or something?” “Good idea,” I said. "There were some security guards hanging out near the entrance where we came in, remember?”

Ned nodded. "I’m on it. I’ll meet you back at Payton’s barn.”

As he headed off toward the main gate, the rest of us accompanied Payton and Midnight toward the bam. When we got there, Dana was waiting.

"Payton!” the trainer exclaimed, rushing over. “Where were you? You’re supposed to be warming up right now—a bunch of people scratched from your next class, so they want us up there stat. Didn’t you get my text?”

"Sorry, I was a little distracted,” Payton said. I expected her to tell Dana what had happened, but instead she glanced around with an anxious look on her face. "Has anyone seen Mickey?” she called out.

Jen, the groom we’d encountered earlier, stepped out of a nearby stall. “He ran to the trailers to get something,” she said. “Do you need me to take Midnight?”

"Yes,” Dana snapped before Payton could answer. “Come on, Payton. We should have been up at the ring five minutes ago.”

As Jen took Midnight’s lead, Payton shot Bess, George, and me an apologetic look. “Talk to you guys later,” she said, hurrying after her trainer, who was already rushing off down the aisle.

"Wow,” George said. "That woman is intense.”

"Yeah.” I stared after Payton, but I wasn’t really thinking about Dana. "It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

"What?” Bess shot me a look. "You mean that Payton doesn’t seem to mind Dana yelling at her all the time?”

“No—that Payton’s best horse got attacked so soon after she found out about that anonymous drug rumor.”

George rolled her eyes. "That’s our Nancy,” she joked. “Always looking for a mystery wherever she goes.”

“And usually finding one.” Bess turned to me. "What are you
saying? Do you really think there’s a connection?”

"Think about it, Nancy,” George said. “How would those nutty protesters even know Payton’s horse would be hanging out near the parking lot fence? It’s too coincidental to think they were targeting her. They probably just tossed that tomato at the first horse that wandered close enough.”

"You’re probably right,” I admitted. “Still, you have to admit it’s kind of strange.”

"Kind of,” George agreed. "But everything about the big-time horse show world seems a little strange to me.”

“Me too,” Bess said. "For all we know, people at these shows might make anonymous complaints against the competition all the time. Maybe George is right and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. "Let’s fi
nd Ned so we can all watch Pay
ton ride again.”

******

“Here she comes,” Bess said as Payton trotted into the ring. This time she was riding a dapple gray horse.

“She’s looking good,” George said. "Isn’t that one of the horses she introduced us to?”

"Yeah, I think it’s one of hers,” Ned said. "What was its name again? Rain Cloud, maybe?”

A pair of teenage girls were sitting on the bleacher bench in front of us. They were maybe a year or two younger than Payton, dressed in breeches and flip-flops. One of them turned around with a smile.

"It’s Rain Dance,” she supplied. "She’s one of Payton’s younger jumpers, but they’ve been doing great all season.”

“Oh! Thanks.” I returned the girl’s smile. She nodded, then turned back to watch as Payton sent the horse into a canter.

Payton rode a big circle around several of the jumps at a brisk trot. Then a buzzer sounded, and she picked up speed and aimed her mount at the first jump, an airy arrangement of blue-and-white rails suspended between a pair of standards painted with the name of the show. The horse sailed over with half a foot to spare.

"Nice,” I said.

"Did you see that?” a loud voice came from a few yards down the bleachers. "She really messed up the approach. Not a good way to start.”

I glanced that way. The speaker was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jowls, and beefy shoulders. He was surrounded by teen and preteen girls in riding attire. All the
girls tittered loudly at his comment.

“Typical Payton,” one of the girls said. “She’s always getting her fancy horses to cover for her.”

“Uh-huh.” The man smirked. “Just watch her gun that poor mare to the next one.”

Glancing back at the ring, I saw Payton and her horse approaching the next jump. Once again, the pair cleared the obstacle effortlessly before executing a tight turn to the next one.

“She’s lucky that mare is so forgiving,” the jowly man said, his voice just as loud as before. "If she tried to ride most horses that way, she’d be off at the first fence.” He smirked. “At least she can serve as an example of how not to ride.”

Beside me, I could tell that Ned was gritting his teeth. A second later he stood up.

"Excuse me,” he called to the man. “Payton Evans is a friend of ours, and we don’t appreciate your remarks. Keep it down, okay?”

The man stared at Ned. "Sorry, buddy,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry to me. "I just call ’em as I see ’em.”

Ned frowned. Like I said, he’s pretty easygoing. But he has a temper under there somewhere, and the best way to bring it out is to insult his friends or family.

"Listen . . .,” he began.

Just then another girl rushed over to the group around Mr. Jowly. “Hey, Lenny, that new black pony won’t let Tina do up his girth,” she said breathlessly. “You’d better come before she starts crying again.”

The man quickly stood up. "I’m coming,” he said. "There’s nothing much to see here anyway.” Shooting one last glance toward the ring, he stomped down the bleachers after the girl. The other girls followed, with some of them casting curious or annoyed glances in our direction.

"Nice going, Nickerson,” George said with a laugh. “It takes some real attitude to almost start a rumble at a horse show.”

I heard the two teens in front of us snicker at George’s comment. Then they both turned around. “Are you guys really friends of Payton’s?” the girl who’d spoken up earlier asked.

"Yeah. Why?” George asked.

"I’m just surprised you don’t know about Lenny Hood, that’s all,” she said. "He never has anything nice to say about Payton.”

"Why not?” I asked at the same time as George asked, "Who’s Lenny Hood?”

"Lenny’s, like, one of the winningest trainers on the A circuit,” the second girl spoke up. "Rumor has it he asked Payton to come ride with him when she started getting really good.”

The first girl nodded. "But Payton turned him down flat. Now every time she beats one of his students, he totally holds a grudge.”

Interesting! My mind immediately flashed again to that anonymous tip. Could Lenny Hood be behind that? Was he trying to get revenge, or maybe just looking to throw Payton off her game so his students could beat her?

"You said that’s a rumor, right?” I said, leaning closer to the girls. "That he wanted Payton to train with him? Do you think there’s any truth to it?”

The two girls exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison. "You know how it is on the circuit,” one of them said. “Everybody talks, and usually there’s at least some little bit of truth or whatever...”

A snippet of a popular song came from her friend’s lap. "Oops, Maria just texted me,” the friend said. “We’d better go.”

“Okay.” The other girl stood up. "Tell Payton good luck in the Grand Prix,” she told us. “We’re all pulling for her.” Shooting a glance toward the spot where Lenny and his groupies had been sitting, she added, “Well, most of us, anyway.”

She followed her friend, who was already making her way down the bleachers. Soon they’d both disappeared into the crowd.

"That was interesting,” I said, wishing I’d had more time to talk to the girls. "Think it could mean something?”

“Something like a new mystery?” Bess patted my hand. “Give it up, Nancy. You know you’re just looking for something to take your poor disappointed mind off the fact that your boyfriend is totally ignoring your anniversary.”

I sighed and traded a look with Ned. He merely smiled. I might be
slightly
obsessed with mysteries. But Bess was just as dogged when it came to romance.

******

"Should I start with hot dogs or burgers?” Mr. Nickerson asked as he hauled a cooler out through the sliding glass doors leading onto his family’s back deck. “Or maybe we can dig those chicken tenders out of the freezer if anybody wants ’em.”

Ned grinned. “I’d say you should start by firing up the grill, Dad,” he said. "That thing’s so old it’ll be a miracle if we don’t end up calling out for pizza.”

"Very funny.” His father pretended to pout. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Bertha. He just doesn’t understand you like I do.” He patted the ancient grill on the hood. "Now, where’d I put the charcoal?”

"Your dad is living it up old-school, huh?” George said to Ned as Mr. Nickerson headed toward the shed at the back of the lawn. “When’s he going to join the modem era and get a gas grill like everyone else?”

"Probably never,” Ned replied. “Mom already knows that Bertha comes first in Dad’s heart.”

"That’s right.” Mrs. Nickerson looked up from setting out a stack of paper plates on the picnic table. "If that man could marry a grill, I’d still be single.”

I laughed along with the others. There were about a dozen people in the Nickersons’ spacious, shady backyard. George had been lounging on a wicker chair since we’d arrived twenty minutes earlier, drinking a soda and trading jokes with Mr. Nickerson. Ned was helping his mother carry stuff out from the kitchen, and Bess was stirring sugar into a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. Various friends and neighbors of the Nickersons were there too, helping or chatting or just enjoying the beautiful evening.

"Ah, here’s the guest of honor now!” Mrs. Nickerson said.

Payton stepped out of the house, her hair still damp from the shower and a bashful smile on her face. “Hi, everyone,” she said with a little wave. "Nice to meet you all.”

There was a flurry of introductions. I wandered over to Bess and
George, who were watching from nearby. "I hope Ned’s dad finds the charcoal soon,” I said. "I bet Payton’s starving after her busy day.”

“She did really great today, didn’t she?” Bess said. "I can see why everyone thinks she’s a shoo-in for the Olympics.”

George glanced out into the yard. "Here comes Mr. N. with the charcoal.”

“Payton!” Mr. Nickerson said when he spotted her. "You’re here.”

"Yeah, she’s here, Dad.” Ned grinned. “And I seem to recall you promising her you’d have a burger ready for her by the time she got out of the shower.”

"Oops.” Mr. Nickerson set the bag of charcoal beside the grill. "Well, what can I say—creating food with fire is an art, and that can’t be rushed.” The grill’s lid let out a loud creaking sound as he opened it.

“Ol’ Bertha’s really singing,” one of the adults joked.

Ned’s father didn’t respond. “What’s this?” he said, reaching into the grill and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

“Probably ol’ Bertha’s ‘I quit’ note,” George called out.

Most of the group shouted with laughter. But I just smiled and stepped closer, curious. If this was one of the pranks Ned and his
father were always playing on each other, I wanted a front-row seat.

Mr. Nickerson unfolded the paper. There were just a few lines on there, typed in a large, bold font:

PAYTON: IS RIDING FOR THE GOLD WORTH YOUR LIFE? QUIT WHILE YOU AND YOUR HORSES ARE AHEAD.

AND ALIVE.