by Shari Barr
A Suspicious Stranger
McKenzie kicked her legs, thrashing in the lake. She thrust herself upward with her arms and popped her head above water. Coughing, she reached for her raft.
“Ha-ha! Gotcha!” a voice cried out behind her.
Kicking her legs in a dog paddle, she faced her attacker. “Oh…you! I should have known it was you, Nat!” She cupped her hands in the water and splashed him in the face.
He laughed and disappeared beneath the water. He popped up a few yards away and hollered, “I warned you! I told you I’d get even.” With that he sunk into the water and swam away.
Sydney paddled over, lying on her stomach on her bright pink raft. Her white teeth flashed a broad smile. “McKenzie’s got a boyfriend,” she sang as her eyes danced.
McKenzie pulled herself onto her raft and made a face at her friend. She stretched out and watched the swimmers splashing and playing. A little boy stood on his dad’s shoulders and jumped into the water, screaming. Several kids were playing a game of Marco Polo.
A girl wearing a blue swimsuit waved at her from the shallow water. For a minute, McKenzie didn’t know whom she was waving at. But when the girl called out her name, she finally recognized her and waved back.
“Hi, Shara!” McKenzie yelled.
Shara and a girl with short black hair swam up to McKenzie and Sydney. She introduced her friend as Heather, a coworker from the stable at the Dixie Showcase.
“We’re going to eat our lunches at the shelter house in a few minutes. Why don’t you two come join us?” Shara asked, sweeping her wet hair out of her face.
“We have enough food for all of us,” Heather added.
“That sounds great,” McKenzie said. “We brought our own lunches. But I am starting to get hungry.”
“We’re going to go set our things out, so come up whenever you’re ready.” The two older teenagers swam back to the shore and headed across the beach to the shelter house.
McKenzie and Sydney took one last dip and then headed toward their towels and cooler. McKenzie felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw Nat and his friends were gone.
Oh well, I’ll see him again at the Dixie Showcase tomorrow, she thought.
After wrapping their towels around their waists, the girls met Shara and Heather. The shade of the shelter house felt good after being in the hot sun. Several families had already claimed several of the tables. Two men stood at a grill cooking hot dogs.
The girls found a table at the far end. After setting out their food, the girls sat down, and McKenzie offered a short blessing.
She sniffed the sizzling hot dogs, wishing she could trade her peanut butter and jelly for one. But with a sigh, she bit into her sandwich. McKenzie listened as the two older girls talked about working with the horses at the Dixie Showcase.
“Who do you think keeps changing the flags around the show arena?” Heather asked as she popped a grape in her mouth.
Shara shrugged her shoulders as she made a sliced turkey and cheese wrap. “I have no idea. It’s kind of weird, though, isn’t it?”
McKenzie tried to swallow her mouthful of peanut butter. “What flags?”
“You know the flags flying around the Dixie Showcase,” Shara said. “There are an even number of Confederate flags and U.S. flags. But someone keeps replacing the U.S. flags with Confederate flags. Nobody knows who’s doing it.”
“Some people say it’s the ghost of old Beau Hatfield,” Heather said.
“Who’s Beau Hatfield?” Sydney took a drink of her bottled water.
“He was a hermit who lived in the hills outside of Branson years ago. The town wasn’t much of a tourist attraction then, mainly just Silver Dollar City and some craft shops. Well, anyway, supposedly he was a crazy man. He hated the soldiers from the North, the Yankees. So sometimes he’d ride through town wearing a Confederate costume and give a loud rebel yell. Yee-haw!” Shara explained.
McKenzie giggled as several picnickers in the shelter house looked at Shara with amusement.
“Sometimes at night, we hear someone scream the rebel yell. Then the next morning, the flags are changed.” Heather continued the story. “I think it’s someone who wants to get people all excited over nothing. It’s just some kid pulling a prank.”
“Doesn’t anybody see who’s doing it?” McKenzie asked, wiping a strand of hair from her eyes.
“Not yet,” Shara answered. “The security cameras don’t show anything—except once a person was seen wearing a rebel uniform, but he got away.”
McKenzie thought about the story Shara and Heather had told. I wonder who would do something like that, she wondered. Is it someone who still holds a grudge against the North because of the Civil War? The war was over around 150 years ago.
Heather’s voice interrupted McKenzie’s thoughts. “Have you found out anything about your uncle yet, Shara?”
Shara shook her head. “I’ve been working so much I haven’t had time to look for him. I thought I would have Thursday off. But my boss wants me to wear my hoop skirts and parade around downtown Branson to drum up business.”
McKenzie felt sad for Shara. I’ll have to keep praying that God will send us clues, she thought.
“We’ll keep looking for him. We found a wooden statue at a craft shop that looks like your uncle’s work. It even has an SS carved into it,” McKenzie said, trying to encourage Shara. “We’re going to try to find out from the manager who the artist is.”
Shara’s blue eyes lit up. “Really? You found some of Uncle Reggie’s work?”
“We think so, but we’re not sure,” McKenzie added, remembering Miss Val’s remark. “Even if it is his work, he may not live in Branson.”
Shara sighed. “I guess that’s true, but my family seems to think he lives here. I hope I can find out something about him before I leave at the end of the summer.”
I hope we can find him before Sydney leaves at the end of the week, McKenzie thought dismally. One week isn’t very long to find a missing person.
McKenzie’s mind wandered as she finished her lunch. She knew God would help them find Reggie Ford, and she had been praying for help. But God doesn’t always give us what we want, she thought. What if He doesn’t want us to find Shara’s uncle for some reason?
A hand waved in front of McKenzie’s face. “Hey,” Sydney said. “Wake up. Shara’s talking to you.”
“Oh, uh, sorry,” McKenzie stammered. “What did you say?”
“Heather and I are leaving in a few minutes. Do you need a ride somewhere?” Shara stuffed the leftover food and drinks back in her cooler.
“Thanks, but Miss Val is picking us up in about an hour.” McKenzie carried her trash to the garbage can.
“Let me know if you find out anything about Uncle Reggie,” Shara said as she handed McKenzie a scrap of paper. “Here’s my cell phone number.”
McKenzie traded phone numbers with her and agreed to keep Shara informed. After the older girls left, the two younger friends finished picking up their things.
“Let’s take another dip to cool off,” Sydney said as they lugged their cooler, beach bags, and rafts back to the beach.
The beach was even more crowded than before. After finding a spot to lay their towels, they carefully stepped across the rough gravel to the water’s edge. Within minutes, they were floating on their rafts in the deeper water, away from the crowd of swimmers.
“What are you going to do while Miss Val and I are working at Silver Dollar City?” Sydney splashed water on her arms and legs to cool off.
McKenzie slipped off her raft into the cool water and clung to the edge. “Miss Val said I could help you guys, but I think I should use the time to check out the woodcraft shops. There are lots of shops at Silver Dollar City too that might sell Mr. Ford’s carvings. I might as well work on the mystery while you’re working. If I find more of his woodwork, maybe somebody will have some information about him. I also need to call the Treasure Trove and see if the manager is in.”
“Good idea.” Sydney rested back on her raft, closing her eyes against the blazing sun. “Solving mysteries sure is tiring.”
McKenzie floated idly on her raft for a few minutes. When she got hot, she slipped into the water. After splashing around for a few minutes, the girls headed for the beach to grab their bags. After showering and changing at the bathhouse, they met Miss Val outside.
A half hour later, Miss Val and Sydney had dressed in their old-fashioned dresses and bonnets at Silver Dollar City. After they began their basket demonstration, McKenzie took off for the nearest woodcrafting shop.
Crowds of people meandered through the old-time streets. McKenzie’s mouth watered at the smell of fudge and saltwater taffy coming from the candy shop. Promising herself to come back later and sample the goodies, she hurried into the first woodcrafter’s shop. Tons of beautiful items filled the shop, but nothing looked like Reggie Ford’s work.
Sighing with disappointment, she continued down the street. She stepped into the general store to look for souvenirs. Displays of T-shirts and baseball caps lined one end of the store. After looking through the assortment, she moved through the shoppers to the jewelry display. Bracelets and necklaces made from polished rocks gleamed in the light. As she browsed through the display, a gold chain caught her eye. A delicate carved wooden medallion hung from it.
It’s a fairy, McKenzie thought anxiously. This looks like Shara’s necklace. She grabbed the necklace and turned it over. The initials carved on the back were “SS.”
Clutching the necklace in her hand, she considered the price tag. If she didn’t buy a new T-shirt as she’d planned to do, she’d have enough money to pay for it. She stepped to the cash register and made her purchase.
“Do you know the artist who carved this?” she asked the young woman behind the counter.
The woman tucked a strand of hair back under her blue bonnet and took the necklace. She peered closely at the engravings on the back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know the artist.”
“Is there someone here who would know?” McKenzie pleaded. “It’s very important.”
The woman looked questioningly at McKenzie. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go ask the manager.”
McKenzie watched her disappear into the back room, silently praying that the manager would have some information. A minute later, a middle-aged woman approached the counter.
“So, you’re looking for the artist who carved this necklace,” the woman said as she handed McKenzie a small sheet of paper. “He does great work, doesn’t he? I don’t have his name or address. He doesn’t even advertise his work. In fact, he seems to keep to himself a lot—a strange way to do business, if you ask me. But I do have a post office box number for him. Maybe you can contact him that way.”
McKenzie took the paper and thanked the woman. A rack of postcards on the counter gave her an idea. She quickly chose and paid for a card and postage stamp. Borrowing a pen from the clerk, she scribbled a note on the back:
Dear Mr. Ford,
Your niece, Shara, is looking for you. She misses you and wants to see you again.
Please look for her in downtown Branson on Thursday. She will be parading around town wearing her hoop skirts.
Sincerely,
McKenzie Phillips
McKenzie wished she could write more, but there wasn’t room. I need to mail this as soon as possible, she thought. She addressed the postcard and stuck the stamp in the corner. She hurried over to the post office inside the general store and handed the card to the postmaster.
“Hey, I found you,” a familiar voice cried out behind her.
Turning around, she saw Sydney making her way through the crowd of shoppers. “I thought you were helping Miss Val.”
“We finished our basket-weaving demonstration. I’m on break for twenty minutes now. I’m dying for a smoothie. Want one?”
“Sure,” McKenzie agreed as they headed for the refreshment stand.
While the girls stood in line, McKenzie pulled her new necklace from the bag and showed it to Sydney. Then she filled her in on the information she had learned from the manager and the postcard she’d sent to Mr. Ford.
A few minutes later, the girls carried their strawberry smoothies to a shady bench outside the general store.
“I hope he gets the card in time to meet Shara on Thursday,” McKenzie said.
“At least we know the artist lives in Branson. We’re getting a little closer to solving the mystery.” Sydney handed the necklace back to McKenzie.
McKenzie looped the chain about her neck and sipped her drink. She felt a little sorry for Sydney. At least when she had to wear hoop skirts, she was in an air-conditioned theater. Sydney pulled her dress up over her knees, fanning her legs with the skirt.
“Hey, pioneer girls don’t act like that,” McKenzie teased. “Somebody will see your undies.”
Sydney giggled with embarrassment and flung her dress back down. “I’m wearing shorts, I’ll have you know.”
With a loud slurping noise, McKenzie sucked the last of the drink out of her cup and tossed it into a trash can.
“I’d better get back to work. My break is about over,” Sydney said, standing.
“I’m going to stop at the kettle corn shop,” McKenzie said. “I need to stock up on munchies.”
“If you have time, come see me in the candy shop. They’re short on workers, so I get to help out. How lucky can I get? Maybe I can be the tester,” Sydney said with a giggle. “If they have any rejects, I’ll save you some.”
“Okay,” McKenzie answered. “I’ll be over there in a few minutes. I need some saltwater taffy to take home.”
Sydney hurried along the street. McKenzie headed toward the kettle corn booth, but before she got far, someone cried out, “Miss, miss!”
Turning, she saw the manager from the general store. The woman pointed through the window at a shop across the street. “See that man in the brown T-shirt who just walked out of the candle shop? I’m sure he’s the artist you’re looking for.”
McKenzie stared in amazement at the woman. “Oh, thank you,” she said as she hurried through the doorway, nearly bumping into an elderly woman.
McKenzie raced down the street, jumping up and down trying to see above the crowd.
Where is he? she thought anxiously. Then she saw a brown T-shirt in the midst of the tourists.
There he is!
He ambled down the street.
I don’t want to lose him!
She darted into the crowd that had gathered to watch a group of pioneers square-dance in the street. With her eyes trained on the man in the brown shirt, she bumped into a pioneer man playing a fiddle. A firm hand gripped her arm from behind, pulling her backward.
She jerked her head around as a low voice cried out, “You’re coming with me, young lady!”
Ghost Rider The
Spinning around, McKenzie looked into the eyes of a man with a long, bushy brown beard. He tugged her to the front of the crowd, next to the group of dancers and the fiddle player.
For the first time, she noticed other tourists square-dancing, or rather, trying to. A gray-haired man wearing plaid shorts with socks and sandals kicked his legs high. His pioneer partner linked arms with him and swung him around, her skirts flying. A woman in a spotless white pantsuit with large, glittery jewelry clasped her hand to her neck as a young pioneer man pulled her into the action.
“Come on, lass,” the bushy-bearded man said to McKenzie, pulling her to the dance floor.
McKenzie felt her face grow warm. She groaned inwardly as she tried to smile. Why me? she thought miserably. There are plenty of other people to humiliate.
The man linked arms with her and swung her around the dance floor. Her feet went everywhere they weren’t supposed to go. She stepped on his feet several times, though he didn’t seem to notice. She grew dizzy as he handed her off to another man. He in turn swung her around and handed her off again.
The onlookers
clapped in rhythm as the dancers spun about. Finally the fiddle player stopped. Applause and cheers rang out from the crowd. She swept her hair out of her eyes and felt sweat dripping down her neck. The pioneer dancers scrambled into another routine as the music started up again.
McKenzie used the opportunity to disappear. She put her head down and darted through the crowd, suddenly remembering where she had been headed.
I lost Mr. Ford, she thought with disappointment, glancing about for the man in the brown T-shirt. I’ll never find him now.
She quickly made her way to the candy shop. Sydney stood behind the counter helping a pioneer woman make peanut brittle. Her apron was speckled with brown stains. A group of people gathered around watching them.
“Where have you been?” Sydney asked, stirring a large pot of sticky golden goo. “Did you get lost?”
McKenzie leaned toward her friend and whispered, “I saw the artist who signs his name with ‘SS,’ but he got away.”
Sydney stopped stirring for a moment and stared at McKenzie. “You’re kidding. He was here at Silver Dollar City?”
“The manager at the general store pointed him out to me,” McKenzie explained. “But when I tried to follow him, I got caught up in a square dance and lost him.”
“A square dance?” Sydney asked with a smirk. “You’ll have to tell me about that one later.”
The candy woman nudged Sydney. “Keep stirring, honey. We don’t want scorched peanut brittle.”
Sydney grabbed the long-handled paddle with both hands, stirring in a circular motion.
McKenzie jumped when her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and recognized the number on the screen. “Hi, Kate. What’s up?”
“I’ve Googled Reggie Ford but haven’t found a thing. But I finally got ahold of the manager at the Treasure Trove for you. She said she doesn’t know a whole lot about him. He lives out in the hills somewhere around Branson and doesn’t advertise his business. All she gave me was a post office box number.”
“I’ve been looking around the woodcraft shops here at Silver Dollar City and one of the stores gave me his PO Box number too. I just now sent him a postcard, telling him where to find Shara. Hopefully, if he’s actually her uncle, he’ll look her up,” McKenzie said, moving away from the crowd in order to hear better.