by Shari Barr
When lunch was on the table, Miss Val asked McKenzie to say the blessing.
“Dear Lord,” McKenzie prayed. “Thank You for the meal Miss Val has made for us, and please help us find Reggie Ford. It would mean so much to Shara to find her missing uncle. Protect us all as we go to our jobs today. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Miss Val and Sydney murmured, “Amen,” and Miss Val heaped generous portions of chicken casserole onto the girls’ plates. “I work a short shift this afternoon, so I can pick you up, McKenzie, when you’re finished with your Dixie Showcase performance. I saw an old friend the other night while we were down on the Strip. She wants to have supper tonight, so you two girls can have the evening to yourselves. Any ideas what you’d like to do?”
McKenzie looked at Sydney as she squirted some strawberry syrup into her glass of milk. “Could we camp out in the backyard sometime?” she asked, clinking her spoon in her glass.
“Sure, you can do that tonight. I’ve got a tent and sleeping bags. If you want to do something in the evening while I’m gone besides sitting around the house, let me know,” Miss Val said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
After lunch the girls cleaned the kitchen while Miss Val went to work in her flowerbeds. McKenzie’s phone beeped, signaling a new text message.
“Oh good. It’s from Elizabeth. She wants me to call her,” McKenzie said. “Do you want to call woodworking shops while I call her back?”
Sydney plopped onto the couch with the phone book in her lap while McKenzie quickly called Elizabeth.
“Hi, McKenzie. Thanks for calling back so soon. I was afraid you were eating lunch, or I would have called you,” Elizabeth said. “Alexis filled me in on the letter you received. I think the writing looks like a woman’s too. But I think this woman cares a lot for Reggie Ford, and she probably wrote the letter to protect him. You probably should tell Miss Val about it. She needs to know someone is slipping you notes.”
“I guess you’re right,” McKenzie said. “Maybe she would have some ideas as to who might have written it.”
“Just because she hasn’t heard of Reggie Ford doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a friend who knows him,” Elizabeth explained.
“That makes sense,” McKenzie said, scratching a mosquito bite on her arm. “Maybe I should do that now, before she goes to work.”
They chatted briefly and then hung up. “Any luck yet?” McKenzie called to Sydney, sprawled on the couch.
“I’ve called three different shops. One has never heard of the Shara Smiles man but the other two have. But they have no idea where he lives or his real name. He just brings in his products to sell.”
“We’re not getting anywhere very fast, are we? Liz thinks we should tell Miss Val about the letter, and I think she’s right. She might be able to help us.”
Sydney agreed, and the two girls stepped outside to look for Miss Val. They found her kneeling by the flowerbeds in the backyard. A garden hose lying on the ground hissed as water leaked around the nozzle.
Miss Val rose and wiped her dirty hands on her shorts as the girls told her about the letter. She brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt across her face. She frowned as she read the letter.
“I don’t like the thought of someone leaving anonymous notes to you,” Miss Val said, her eyes growing serious. “Whoever it is probably means no harm, but I’d like to know who wrote this. I know a woman who runs one of the largest craft shops in Branson. I’ll ask her if she knows Reggie Ford. She has lots of connections with woodcrafters.”
Miss Val glanced at her watch and continued. “By the time I get cleaned up, it’ll be time to go to work. We’ll talk more about this later.”
The girls followed her inside and went to their room to change. “I just thought of something,” McKenzie said, dragging a brush through her hair. “Miss Val said she’s going out to supper tonight with a woman she talked to the other night on the Strip. That was the night we were at the Treasure Trove looking at statues. Maybe Miss Val mentioned our names to that woman. Maybe she knows Mr. Ford.”
Sydney’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, maybe she wrote the letter.”
“Let’s mention it to Miss Val.” McKenzie pulled her hair into a high ponytail.
Later, on their way into Branson, McKenzie asked Miss Val about the friend she was meeting that night. “Did you tell her we were looking for fairy statues the other night when you saw her?”
Miss Val thought for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure, but I think I might have mentioned it. Why?”
“We’re trying to think of someone who might have written the note.” McKenzie didn’t want to think Miss Val’s friend was suspicious, but right now everyone was a suspect.
“Libby? Oh, she would never slip an anonymous letter into my mailbox,” Miss Val said, turning the SUV onto the highway. “But I will ask her if she knows anyone by the name of Ford.”
Miss Val dropped McKenzie off at the Dixie Showcase for the performance. McKenzie slammed the car door and walked absentmindedly toward the building. Her cell phone rang, making her jump. “Hi, Bailey,” she said, recognizing the youngest Camp Club Girl’s number.
“Hi, McKenzie. I’ve been looking through the pictures you and Sydney sent. In one of the pictures, you can see a statue in the hills.”
“Oh, I know the one you mean,” McKenzie said. “That was taken from Table Rock Lake when we were riding the Duck.”
“Well, I enlarged the picture,” Bailey added. “I can see the face perfectly clear.”
McKenzie felt a twitch in the pit of her stomach. “And…?” Her voice trailed off, waiting for Bailey to continue.
Bailey spoke in a rushed voice, “The face on the statue looks just like the fairies Reggie Ford carves!”
Lost in the Hills
“I wonder if that statue could possibly be at Mr. Ford’s workshop,” McKenzie said, feeling her excitement mounting.
“I was wondering that too. Maybe you and Sydney could go check it out,” Bailey suggested.
McKenzie thought about that for a second. “I’ll ask Miss Val about that when she picks me up.”
McKenzie glanced at her watch as she got off the phone. It was time to get ready for the performance.
The moment she stepped inside the Showcase, her boss, Mr. Stewart, waved at her from the far end of the hallway and hurried toward her.
“McKenzie, I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’ve had a change of plans. Sarah, the girl who rides the ostrich during the ostrich race, called in sick, so I need you to take her place. I have another girl taking your part as a southern belle. Can I count on you?”
McKenzie stared at Mr. Stewart. He wants me to ride an ostrich in front of hundreds of people?
The ostrich race was a favorite among the spectators. During every performance the crowd had roared with laughter.
He continued, “I saw you riding the other day, and you’ll do fine. This routine is supposed to be comical. If you don’t do it perfectly, the show will be that much better. How about it?”
After one of the performances the week before, several of the Showcase performers tried riding the ostriches just for fun. McKenzie was one of the few who could stay on the huge bird for more than a few seconds. She’d even managed to guide the ostrich around the arena.
“Sure, Mr. Stewart. It sounds like fun,” McKenzie said with a smile.
“Great,” he said, clutching her shoulder. “Head to wardrobe, and Cecilia will help you find a uniform. She’s waiting for you.”
As McKenzie stepped into the wardrobe room, Cecilia Ambruster, a woman with spiked black hair, called to her. “I have several uniforms that may fit you.”
Miss Ambruster held a pair of gray Confederate pants against McKenzie. “Way too long,” she muttered and grabbed another pair. “Ah, these look like they’ll fit. Why don’t you look for a jacket that fits, while I press these pants?”
“Do I reall
y have to wear pants?” McKenzie asked.
Miss Ambruster flashed a grin. “Of course. No southern lady would ride an ostrich.”
The wardrobe woman left McKenzie to look through the rack of gray jackets. She tried on several and found one that fit. She glanced up as the door to the wardrobe room opened and her Showcase partner, Nick, stepped in.
“Hi, McKenzie. I hear I have a new partner today. Too bad,” he said with a grin. “But you’ll have fun with the ostrich.”
“If I don’t get thrown off on my head,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“You’ll do fine,” he said. “Hey, have you seen Miss Ambruster?”
McKenzie pointed to the back of the room. “She’s pressing some pants for me.”
Nick headed over to the dark-haired woman. “Miss Ambruster,” he said, “I just noticed I’m missing one of the buttons on my jacket. Can you help me out?”
McKenzie bolted to attention at his words. She noticed the two rows of brass buttons down the front of his jacket. They were identical to the one she had found in the parking lot the night she saw the mystery rider!
Could Nick be the person who rides at night and changes the flags? McKenzie wondered.
Miss Ambruster’s gaze went from Nick’s head to his toes. “What in the world happened to your pants, Nick? I cleaned and pressed those for you this morning.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. They looked like this when I took them off the hanger.”
Miss Ambruster took the jacket and examined it. “This isn’t even your jacket. Someone switched outfits on you.”
McKenzie listened as Miss Ambruster presented Nick with a different costume. “There’s no way you’re wearing that costume in the performance,” the woman said with frustration.
Miss Ambruster then asked McKenzie to slip into the dressing room to change into the Confederate pants. Her thoughts kept going back to Nick. Was he the mystery rider, or was the person who borrowed his uniform the guilty person? I can’t just go and ask him if he’s the mystery rider.
“How do the pants fit?” Miss Ambruster called through the door.
Stepping out of the room, McKenzie noticed that Nick had left. “Perfect,” she answered and headed out the door to wait for her part of the performance.
Time passed quickly, and soon the moment arrived for McKenzie to climb on the back of Olive, the ostrich. The ostrich race was a fun rivalry, pitting the North against the South. McKenzie’s job was to race her ostrich for the Confederates, or the South. Ben, a boy she knew slightly, wore a blue uniform and was racing for the Yankees, or the North.
The large door to the arena opened, and Olive darted through. McKenzie clung to her back, trying to keep from falling off. Olive’s spindly legs plodded the ground, bouncing McKenzie up and down. I hope this ostrich knows what she’s doing, McKenzie thought, peering around Olive’s long, skinny neck.
The crowd roared with laughter as she and Ben raced around the course. She dug her heels into Olive’s side, trying to spur her to go faster, like she did with her horse, Sahara, back home.
Ben pulled ahead and quickly crossed the finish line. McKenzie, however, plodded along on Olive’s back. I think Olive knows I don’t know what I’m doing, McKenzie thought. This ostrich is going to make a fool of me. I just know it!
The moment those words flitted through her mind, Olive spun around. McKenzie clutched the ostrich’s gangly neck as it veered toward the show ring fence. Olive picked up speed and flung McKenzie from her back.
McKenzie sailed through the air and landed on the ground with a thud. She looked up as Olive trotted toward the finish line like a good little ostrich.
McKenzie felt her face growing warm, but the crowd roared with applause as they jumped to their feet.
I’m getting a standing ovation for being dumped off an ostrich, McKenzie thought.
“Are you okay?” A boy in a Yankee uniform raced to her side.
She nodded shyly as she let him help her to her feet.
“Take a bow,” he whispered in her ear. “Act like it was all planned.”
She did as he said and bowed toward the spectators of the South. Then she turned and bowed to the Northerners. The crowd laughed and cheered as the boy pulled McKenzie out of the arena.
For the first time since she started working for the Dixie Showcase, McKenzie couldn’t wait to change her clothes and leave.
“I’ve been thinking,” McKenzie said to Miss Val and Sydney after returning home. “Could we rent some mountain bikes while you go out for supper with your friend? Then we can look for that place up in the hills where we saw the statue.”
Miss Val thought for a moment. “These Ozark hills are killers going uphill. I have a better idea. I know a couple, Dale and Mary Taylor, who raise horses. They’re always willing to let friends take the horses out for exercise. Let me give them a call.”
“Ooh, that sounds like fun,” Sydney said enthusiastically.
McKenzie felt excitement ripple through her body. “I would love to go horseback riding. I really miss my horse, Sahara. I ride her almost every day at home. I know I ride at the Showcase, but it’s not the same as riding around where I want.”
“Have you ridden horses much, Sydney?” Miss Val asked, pulling into her driveway.
“Not really,” Sydney replied. “I’ve only ridden a couple of times.”
“It might be best if you two rode double then.” Miss Val punched a number into her cell. “McKenzie’s our resident horse expert.”
Within minutes Miss Val had arranged for the girls to take one of the Taylors’ horses out for the evening. After changing into blue jeans and eating a quick supper, Miss Val dropped the girls off at the Taylors’ house.
“I’ll be back by 8:30,” Miss Val called out the open car window. “Have fun!”
Fifteen minutes later, McKenzie and Sydney sat on the back of Jasmine, a tame and gentle brown mare.
“Miss Val told me you girls are looking for a statue you saw while riding the Duck on the lake. There are many crafters in these hills, and several roads will take you down around the lake. The roads wind around all over, so I don’t know the route you need to take.” Mr. Taylor pointed in the direction beyond his house. “Plan to be back here before sunset. I don’t want you riding after dark.”
The girls assured the Taylors they would be back by sunset and set off down the gravel road. Sydney held on to McKenzie’s waist as Jasmine plodded along.
McKenzie flicked the reins and patted Jasmine’s coffee-colored neck. The horse lifted her head, letting out a soft whinny.
“Which way?” McKenzie asked, coming to an intersection in the road.
Sydney glanced in all three directions. “How about that one?” she asked, pointing to their right. “It seems to head downward. Maybe it will lead us to the lake.”
McKenzie turned onto the narrow, copper-colored rock road. The thick growth of lush trees towered above them on both sides. She urged Jasmine onward, thankful for the shade the trees provided. The early evening sun was still hot, with only a little breeze to fan them.
They passed large, beautiful homes set back on spacious lawns. An occasional run-down home sat empty and forgotten by its owners.
“Hey, look.” Sydney pointed at a sign beside the road. It read CLYDE’S WOODCRAFTING and a hand-painted arrow pointed down a narrow lane.
“Let’s try it,” McKenzie said, urging Jasmine forward.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Jasmine’s horseshoes pounded the rocky road. Soon McKenzie rounded a bend in the road and saw a neat woodshop next to a large, two-story brick home.
“I don’t think this is the place we saw the other day,” Sydney said. “We can’t see the lake from here.”
“I think you’re right, but maybe someone here knows the statue we’re talking about.” McKenzie slid off Jasmine’s back and looped the reins around a road sign.
Before the girls reached the front porch, a woman stepped out of the house. “Do
you girls want to visit the shop? I can unlock it for you.”
McKenzie thanked the woman but told her they were looking for the house with the statue. “We’d like to talk to the person who carved it.”
The woman raked her hand through her long bangs. “I think I know the place you’re talking about. “Go back up the lane and take a right. Then go across the bridge and take another right. I think you’ll find the house you’re looking for.”
The girls thanked her again and headed back to Jasmine, who was munching grass beside the post. Minutes later they crossed the bridge the woman had mentioned. About a half mile farther down the road, they saw a lane leading down to a clearing near the lake.
“There’s the statue! I see it in the backyard,” Sydney exclaimed as they approached a ranch-style home.
“Let’s hope somebody’s here,” McKenzie said with a flick of the reins.
A man sitting on the front porch stood and approached the girls. His brown eyes flashed beneath a fringe of thinning white hair.
“Hello, I’m Bob Landers,” the man said with a smile. “How can I help you?”
“I’m McKenzie, and this is my friend Sydney. We noticed your statue the other day while we were out on the lake. Do you know the name of the person who carved it?” McKenzie asked from her perch on the saddle.
Mr. Landers’s eyes narrowed as he scratched his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I got it years ago. I think the place was called Twin Falls Crafters, but I’m thinking he either went out of business or changed the name of his place.”
“Was his name Reggie Ford? Some people called him the Shara Smiles man?” McKenzie asked, stroking Jasmine’s head.
The man shook his head. “Neither of those names sounds familiar.”
“Would you mind if we looked at the statue?” McKenzie asked. “The man we’re looking for whittles the initials SS on each piece.”
“Sure,” Mr. Landers readily agreed. “Tie your horse to this tree, and we’ll go look at the statue. But actually, two figures are carved into the statue. The artist carved a pair of fairies, one standing and one kneeling. I remember he had a thing for carving twins at that time. He had quite a selection back then.”