The Mystery of the Masked Rider

by Carolyn Keene

  9

  A Very Close Call

  Nancy’s mind raced as she grabbed a lead line and dashed down the aisle the way the costumed figure had gone. Frantically she hunted right and left for Nightingale. Had Colleen arrived early to exercise her? Or had the figure in black stolen the valuable mare?

  At the intersection Nancy stopped, held her breath, and listened. The stable was quiet. Suddenly, a low nicker and answering whinny came from the left. Then Nancy heard the clip-clop of hooves once again. It had to be Nightingale.

  Nancy took off down the aisle, screeching to a halt at the second T. With a gasp of relief she saw Nightingale ambling in the opposite direction. There was no sign of the costumed person. When the mare stopped to poke her head into a stall, Nancy approached her, hand extended, palm flat as if she had a treat.

  “Whoa, girl,” she crooned. “Whoa, Nightingale.”

  The mare turned her head and eyed Nancy curiously. Then Nancy looked beyond Nightingale and noticed the bluish glow of the parking lot lights. Someone had left the metal gate wide open.

  Nancy’s heart quickened. She had to catch Nightingale before the mare panicked and dashed for freedom!

  “Look what I’ve got for you,” Nancy said, still holding out her empty hand. Slowly she walked toward the mare. “It’s really nothing, but if you let me catch you I promise we’ll go back to your cozy stall, and I’ll give you a bucket of grain. How does that sound?”

  Nightingale pricked her ears. Nancy held her breath. Three more steps and she’d be able to grab the mare’s halter.

  Just when she was almost close enough to grasp the leather strap, a loud clang made Nancy jump. Nightingale threw her head up and wheeled around, then raced for the open gate.

  “Whoa, Nightingale!” Nancy cried, but it was too late. The gate was only fifteen feet ahead, and the mare wasn’t going to stop.

  Suddenly a stocky figure leapt from a stall doorway and, holding up its arms, hollered, “Whoa!” Surprised, Nightingale slid to a halt. The split-second stop was all the person needed to reach up and grab the side of the mare’s halter.

  Nightingale reared and started to scramble backward, but the person held tight. Nancy ran up and quickly snapped on the lead line. When she turned, she could see that the person was a woman with close-cropped hair.

  “Thanks,” Nancy managed to gasp before Nightingale, still excited, snorted and pranced sideways. Reaching up, Nancy ran a soothing hand down the horse’s sweaty neck. “Easy girl,” she said. “You’re all right.”

  “You and your horse doing a little sleepwalking?” the woman asked when Nightingale had finally calmed down.

  “Uh, no,” Nancy stammered. “I’m afraid she got out.”

  The woman raised one eyebrow. “Better be more careful next time,” she said gruffly. Then, noticing Nancy’s flush of embarrassment, she added, “Accidents happen to everyone. I should know.”

  Nancy wondered what the woman meant. “Well, thanks again. I don’t know who left the gate open.” Nancy nodded toward the end of the aisle. “Did you see anyone around?”

  “Nope. I was back in the corner of the stall, braiding a horse’s tail. Besides, people don’t usually get here until six or later.” The woman strode over and swung the gate shut. She had an athletic build and wore a down vest and paddock boots. Her face was deeply tanned, and squint lines fanned out from her eyes, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “Whoever left that gate open ought to be more careful,” the woman declared in a no-nonsense voice. “Your horse could have gotten onto the highway. It’s a good thing I heard you holler. But I know I shut the gate an hour ago when I came in.”

  Nancy straightened in surprise. “You got here that early?”

  The woman nodded. “Of course. When you’ve got five horses to groom and braid before they compete at eight in the morning, you don’t get much sleep.”

  “You’re going to ride five horses?”

  She laughed. “No. The three spoiled girls I work with are riding them. Only they partied all night and won’t bother getting up until the last minute.”

  The woman gave Nightingale a curious look, then glanced back at Nancy. “Isn’t that Colleen Healey’s mare?”

  Nancy nodded. “Right. I’m helping Colleen. My name’s Nancy Drew.”

  The woman stuck out a hand and shook Nancy’s with a firm grip. “Gloria Donner.”

  “Gloria Donner?” Nancy’s brows shot up. She remembered Colleen telling her about taking lessons from someone named Gloria Donner. “You’re a trainer, right?”

  “That’s me. And boy, would I love to work more with Colleen and Nightingale.” She patted the mare’s neck with solid slaps. “This here’s one talented animal.”

  “I know. But if I don’t get her back in her stall, she’ll be one talented, sleepy animal,” Nancy said. “Nice meeting you, Gloria.”

  “Likewise. And you tell Colleen I’ll be around to see her.”

  Nancy waved and started down the aisle with Nightingale. When she turned right, she saw an overturned metal bucket in the middle of the concrete floor. That was what must have made the clang, Nancy thought. Had someone deliberately dropped it to scare Nightingale?

  Nancy turned the bucket over with her foot. It was an ordinary bucket with no clues as to whom it belonged to.

  Instead of going back to the stall, Nancy led Nightingale up and down each aisle, looking for signs of the costumed person. There were several kids sacked out on cots and in sleeping bags, but no one she recognized. When she went past the San Marcoses’ stalls, everything was dark and quiet.

  That didn’t mean anything, Nancy decided. Anyone could have sneaked in and out of the stable—Phil, Marisa, Diego. She’d have to ask Colleen if she remembered a black-caped costume at the party. It was just too bad Gloria hadn’t seen the person who left the gate open.

  With a sigh Nancy walked Nightingale back to her own stall. The mare walked in and immediately stuck her nose in her empty feed tub.

  “All right, piggie.” Nancy laughed. “I guess you deserve a treat.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Nancy turned and saw Bess standing in the doorway of the extra stall. Her friend’s hair was tousled, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

  “Nightingale got out,” Nancy explained as she tossed a handful of grain in the mare’s bucket.

  “Huh?” Bess looked bewildered.

  As Nancy closed the stall door, she scrutinized the latch. “Looks okay to me. And I know I checked and double-checked it last night. That means someone opened her door and deliberately let her out.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Bess shook her head. “But there was nobody around.”

  “Not true.” Nancy told her friend about the person wearing the cape and about Gloria Donner. “And somebody left the gate to the parking lot open, too.”

  “Wow. It’s good Gloria was there, or Nightingale could have bolted for the parking lot.”

  Nancy paused in thought. “It was an amazing coincidence that Gloria was the only person near the open gate, and that she just happened to save Nightingale at the right time.”

  “I know you’re figuring something out, but you’ve lost me,” Bess said with a shrug.

  “What if Gloria let Nightingale out, just to play the hero and save her?” Nancy mused. “Colleen might feel indebted to Gloria and definitely decide to hire her as her trainer. Gloria is obviously eager to work with Colleen and Nightingale.”

  “None of what you’re saying makes sense,” Bess grumbled. “Why would Gloria want to hurt Nightingale?”

  “I don’t know. It’s confusing to me, too. Must be because it’s only five A.M.” Nancy stifled a yawn. “I guess we both should try and get another hour of sleep. This place will be busy pretty soon.” Stepping past Bess, she went into the extra stall. “Give me a hand, will you?” She grabbed one end of her cot.

  “What are you doing?” Bess asked.

  “My job. I’m going to sleep in fron
t of Nightingale’s door.”

  Bess helped Nancy carry the cot into the aisle. Nancy shoved the bed up against the stall door and flopped down on it.

  “Now let somebody try and get her,” she announced. Ten minutes later the two girls were once again asleep.

  • • •

  “Nancy,” a voice called softly.

  “Hmmm?” Nancy opened her eyes. Colleen was sitting on the edge of the cot, an amused tilt to her mouth.

  “Boy, you sure take your job seriously!” Colleen laughed. “I didn’t mean you had to sleep with Nightingale.”

  “Oh.” Nancy sat up and rubbed her eyes. Checking her watch, she saw that it was seven A.M. Up and down the aisle people and horses were moving in all directions.

  Colleen held out a steaming carry-out cup of hot chocolate. “Drink up. You two must have had an exciting night to sleep through all this noise. I couldn’t rouse Bess.”

  Nancy snapped the top off the cup and took several sips. “Mmm. Delicious. Thanks. And you’re right. We did have an exciting night.”

  “What happened?” Colleen jumped up from the cot and peered into the stall. “Is Nightingale okay?”

  “Yes. Somebody let her out, though.” Nancy told her friend everything that had happened.

  “Thank goodness for Gloria,” Colleen said. Then she smacked her fist into her hand. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that party.”

  “Hey, it turned out all right,” Nancy reassured her. “Did you find out anything?”

  Colleen shook her head. “I gave Marisa the mask and told her I’d found it in the aisle. She seemed genuinely puzzled, but who knows? That was some sophisticated outfit she had on,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “Then I asked her why she was riding in the Worthington Cup. She just said it was about time she started grand prix level. Then she said, ‘Especially if I’m going to be riding Nightingale.’ ” Colleen chuckled. “That kid’s determined to own my horse.”

  “Was anyone wearing a Zorro costume?” Nancy continued. “I saw someone running down the aisle in a black hat and cape right before I noticed that Nightingale had disappeared.”

  Colleen thought for a minute. “I don’t think so. But there were a lot of people there.”

  “What time did the party break up?”

  “I don’t know. It was still going strong when Phil and I left about midnight. He dropped me off at my room, then went to his.”

  “You saw him go in his room?”

  “No, but I’m sure he did,” Colleen said emphatically. With a sharp look at Nancy she spun on her heels and went into the extra stall. A minute later she came out with several sections of hay. “Bess is still zonked out.”

  Nancy pushed her cot out of the way. “Let me go in with you,” she said. “I want to check out the stall. Maybe there’s a clue that will tell us who let your horse out last night.”

  As soon as Nancy opened the stall door, Nightingale came over and snuffled her cheek in a friendly greeting.

  “At least this time she wasn’t hurt,” Colleen said as she walked around the mare, checking her over. “Thanks to Gloria.”

  “Mmmm.” Nancy walked slowly around the stall, her gaze trained on the ground, looking for clues. “So tell me about Gloria. How come she has to braid horses at three A.M. while the owners get their beauty sleep?”

  Colleen sighed as she took down the hay net and started stuffing hay into it. “That’s some story. Three years ago Gloria was at the top. She even won a silver medal at the 1988 Olympic Games. Then she decided to go professional and was riding for a dozen different owners. It seemed as if she was in every show. She’d fly from the West Coast to the East Coast in one week. It was crazy—she was obsessed with winning.”

  “Is she like that now?” Nancy asked. Stooping down next to the stall door, she began hunting through the straw.

  “No. I think she learned her lesson.” Colleen hung up the hay net, then went out to get a brush. When she returned, she went on. “Last year at the Washington International, Gloria was determined to break the indoor high-jump record. The horse she was riding was fairly young, and he fell during the jump-off.”

  “Was Gloria hurt?”

  Colleen nodded. “She broke her back and was in the hospital for months. But what really messed up her career was the fact that the owners of the horse had told her not to ride in the jump-off. Gloria didn’t listen. The horse soured after his fall, and they had to start all over again with his training. The owners made a big stink about it. Nothing happened legally, but when Gloria was well enough to ride again, no one wanted to take a chance with her.”

  “Except you.”

  Colleen shrugged. “That’s different. She wouldn’t be riding my horse. She’d be training me.”

  “So what’s she doing now?”

  “Oh, she runs a small stable and gives clinics and lessons. Most of her students ride in hunter classes.”

  “So that’s why she’s so eager to work with you and Nightingale,” Nancy mused.

  “Yeah. It would get her into big-time jumping again.”

  “Hmmm. It seems like everyone has an interesting story.”

  Colleen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday Scott was telling me about his horse—Hey! What’s this?” Nancy peered at a fuzzy blue fiber that was caught on a splinter on the side of the stall door.

  “Colleen,” Nancy said in a low voice. “Take a look at this.”

  Colleen squatted next to her. Carefully Nancy pulled the fiber free and held it up for her friend to see.

  “Looks like yarn,” Colleen said.

  Nancy nodded. “Right. And if my hunch is correct, it’s the same blue yarn that Marisa San Marcos was braiding into her horse’s mane!”

  10

  Bound for Trouble

  “First the mask, now the yarn,” Colleen said, frowning. “I’d say that’s plenty of proof that the San Marcoses are up to no good. Maybe I was wrong about them wanting Nightingale. Maybe the only thing they want is to see her out of the show.”

  Nancy was ready to agree. But a little voice inside was telling her that, twice now, the physical evidence had been too easy to find. “Unless someone planted the yarn to make them look guilty,” Nancy said slowly.

  “What are you guys doing grubbing around in the straw?” a deep voice said above them.

  “Phil!” Colleen jumped to her feet. “I thought you were going to study.”

  “Nah.” Phil ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Maybe I’ll try after lunch.”

  As Nancy slowly stood up, she casually checked Phil out. His hair was still wet from a shower, and his dark eyes were wide awake. He didn’t look as though he’d been up half the night to let out the horse, but still . . .

  “So what’s with Sleeping Beauty?” With a grin Phil pointed into the extra stall. Bess was curled up in a tight ball, a silly smile on her face.

  “I’d say she was dreaming about Prince Charming,” Nancy said with a laugh. She went in to wake up her friend while Colleen told Phil about Nightingale getting loose.

  “Ummm.” Bess sat up and stretched. “I slept great.” When she saw Colleen and Phil talking in the doorway, she stopped in midstretch. “What time is it, anyway? You guys look like you’ve been up for hours.”

  “It’s eight. Time for breakfast,” Nancy told her. She looked back at Phil, trying to read his expression as Colleen finished telling him about Nightingale almost escaping through the open gate. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  Colleen turned to Nancy and Bess. “You two need to get something to eat,” she urged. “Phil and I will take over. I’m going to give Nightingale a light workout, then a bath.”

  “Bath.” Bess groaned. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Colleen tossed Nancy the truck keys and the key to the motel room. “Your suitcases are in two-oh-six. And don’t use all the hot water,” she added with a laugh.

  • • •

  Three hours later Nancy wa
s at the warm-up ring, watching Colleen school Nightingale over several of the practice jumps. A dozen ponies and their young riders were waiting by the arena gate for the next competition to begin.

  Earlier, Nancy and Bess had showered, changed, and eaten a late breakfast. Bess had decided to hit the shops on the concourse again. Nancy wanted to keep her eye on Nightingale.

  As Nancy watched, Nightingale trotted past and Colleen waved. The mare’s chestnut coat gleamed, and her white socks sparkled. As she cantered around the ring, her ears were pricked eagerly. Her strides were so smooth and light that she seemed to be floating.

  Nancy held her breath as Colleen turned Nightingale toward a high set of poles. Without hesitation, the mare boldly took off. Tucking her front legs tight against her chest, she cleared the fence by a foot.

  “If she had wings, she could fly,” a voice said next to Nancy. She looked to her left. Scott Weller was beside her, astride a tall gray horse. His gaze was glued to Nightingale as the mare took two more jumps.

  “Hi.” Nancy smiled. “And who’s this you’re riding?”

  Scott patted the tall, solid gray. “This is the Stanleys’ horse, Wintergreen. He’s a Dutch Warmblood.” He grinned when he noticed Nancy’s confusion. “That’s a breed. Amsterdam isn’t just famous for their tulips.”

  Nancy laughed. “Wintergreen’s a big guy.”

  “Talented, too.” Scott affectionately whacked the gray’s rump, but his brows were knotted in a frown. “He’ll have to be, to beat Nightingale.”

  “Are you worried?” Nancy asked, looking up at him. But Scott’s attention was on Colleen and her horse. He didn’t seem to hear Nancy.

  “Scott?” Nancy repeated.

  “Hmmm?” Scott looked back at her as if he’d just noticed she was there.

  “You seem kind of worried about the class.”

  “No. I guess I was off on my usual cloud—wondering what it will be like when I finally own my own horse again.”