Win, Place or Die

by Carolyn Keene

  “What?” Evan was astounded. “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know. He complained about being tired, then he just collapsed,” Nancy answered. “Maybe it was something he ate,” she said almost to herself.

  Evan stared at Nancy as she started to sweep past him back toward Walt. “What are you suggesting?” he asked, worried, following on her heels.

  “Just that Walt may have eaten something that didn’t agree with him. I don’t know. We’ll soon find out in any case. The paramedics are on their way.”

  Several of the other guests had gathered on the porch, watching Walt anxiously. Bess was still kneeling beside him. Walt’s color was gray, and his breathing was shallow and ragged.

  “The ambulance will be here soon,” Nancy assured Bess.

  “I want to go to the hospital with him.”

  Nancy nodded. “Me, too.”

  As Evan gazed down at Walt, his forehead wrinkled with lines of distress. In the distance the wail of a siren sounded, and through the trees Nancy could periodically see the flashing red and white lights of the ambulance coming in their direction.

  Hang in there, Walt, Nancy thought. Help is on its way.

  • • •

  “Poisoned?” Bess repeated in a hushed tone almost an hour later. “Walt was poisoned?”

  “Not poisoned exactly. He ingested an overdose of some sedative,” Nancy explained, also in a low voice. Grabbing Bess by the arm, she led her away from the emergency room. “I overheard the doctors talking. They’ve pumped his stomach and given him something to counteract the sedative.”

  “Will he be—”

  “Yes,” Nancy assured her swiftly, “He’s going to be fine. Listen, Bess, McHugh was given a heavy dose of sedatives right before the race. I’ll bet you anything this is the same type! Someone’s trying to wipe out Toot Sweet’s jockeys and keep the filly from racing!”

  Bess’s mouth dropped open. “But she’ll still race, won’t she?”

  “I’m sure Cam can get her another jockey if Walt isn’t well enough in time.”

  “Nancy, who’s behind this?” Bess cried angrily.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Bess, what did Walt eat at the party?”

  Bess drew a deep breath and collected herself, thinking hard. “Hardly anything. Nothing that had fat or preservatives or artificial color. He had some of the rice, but so did I, and he had a couple of chicken wings, I think.”

  “He did drink his special concoction,” Nancy added.

  “So did I,” Bess answered.

  Nancy met her gaze. “Only one sip.”

  “You think someone spiked his drink?” Bess asked, horrified.

  “It’s the only answer I can come up with. If the sedative had been in something he’d eaten before the party, it probably would have showed up sooner.” Nancy propelled Bess toward the door. “I’ve got to get that pitcher and have the contents tested.”

  “You mean we’re going back to Evan Johnson’s house?”

  “Whoever did this, Bess, is going to try to cover it up as soon as possible. We’ve got to get back there before it’s too late!”.

  The lights were blazing as they pulled up in front of the Johnsons’ graceful southern mansion. The catering staff’s minivan was still parked near the kitchen, and the helpers were packing away the portable chairs and tables.

  Nancy and Bess circled the house and entered by the kitchen door. The kitchen was spotless, with the counters gleaming. Opening the refrigerator, Nancy’s worst fears were confirmed. There was no pitcher inside.

  “Do you remember what it looked like?” she asked Bess.

  “It was clear plastic. Kind of square.”

  Nancy checked in the sink. The pitcher was there, rinsed out and awaiting the dishwasher.

  “What are you doing here?” Evan Johnson asked in such a loud voice that Bess gasped.

  Even Nancy’s heart lurched at his sharp tone. “This is the pitcher that contained Walt’s special drink.”

  Evan blinked. “And?”

  “I think someone laced it with a powerful sedative, maybe even enough to kill him,” Nancy told him evenly. She explained what she’d overheard from the doctors at the hospital.

  Evan stared at her—hard. “Don’t you think we should leave these outlandish theories to the authorities, Ms. Drew?”

  “Nancy’s a detective,” Bess declared proudly as Laura joined them in the kitchen. “Really. She’s solved lots of cases. And with Ken McHugh being drugged in a similar way, her theory’s not so outlandish, is it?”

  Nancy watched powerful emotions play across Evan’s face, but most of all he seemed to be in shock. When Laura had walked into the kitchen, he had glanced at her blankly, barely seeing her.

  Laura appeared to be thunderstruck still. “A detective?” she repeated, swinging her head to stare at the pitcher in Nancy’s hands, her diamond earrings gently rocking. She was frightened.

  She knows something! Nancy thought with barely suppressed excitement.

  “This is terrible,” Evan muttered, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Someone’s trying to make me look bad.”

  “You?” Nancy asked.

  “Well, this happened at my home, didn’t it? To Toot Sweet’s jockey! First McHugh, and now Walt. It doesn’t make any sense, unless . . .” He sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Unless that scoundrel Brent’s behind it!”

  “Eddie Brent?” asked Nancy.

  “You should have never invited him!” Laura suddenly cried. “I knew it. He’d do anything to win, and he hates Cam!”

  “I had to invite him,” Evan said, almost apologetically. “The man’s a talented breeder, and people respect him. That’s just the way it is.”

  Laura responded with stony silence.

  “Do you think we should take this to the police?” Bess asked, indicating the pitcher.

  “Yes. There might be traces of the sedative left,” Nancy agreed.

  Laura stepped forward, almost involuntarily. For one tense moment Nancy thought she was going to try to yank the pitcher from her grasp. But then Laura stepped back, her pretty face set and serious.

  As if feeling Nancy’s eyes on her, Laura glanced away. The diamond earrings sparkled and twinkled. In a flash, Nancy realized why she couldn’t take her eyes off them.

  One of those very same earrings had been lying on the ground outside Flash’s stall last night when she was attacked!

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  NANCY’S GAZE NEVER LEFT the girl’s face. Was Laura the one who’d knocked her over the head?

  She kept her cool. If Laura had been outside Flash’s stall that night, the girl could be dangerous. She tried to keep her voice calm and even.

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing to do but wait to hear how Walt’s doing,” Nancy remarked, keeping a tight hold on the pitcher. “If he can’t ride tomorrow, will Toot Sweet still race?”

  “That’s entirely up to Cam,” Evan responded distractedly.

  “Come on, Bess,” Nancy said, urging her friend toward the door.

  “Wait a minute.” Evan stopped her. His skin was pale and he looked shaken, but his mouth was set determinedly. “I’ll take the pitcher over to the police right now. If what you say is true, I want to talk to them myself.”

  “Daddy!” Laura cried involuntarily.

  “What?” he demanded, irritated.

  Laura’s mouth worked but no words came out.

  Nancy watched this exchange with interest. What was going on between the two of them? “I’d like to come with you to the police station,” Nancy told him.

  Evan frowned and sighed. “Ms. Drew, with all due respect, I’d like to go by myself. This happened at my house, and though I’m sure you’re a talented detective, I know one member of the force personally and would rather see him alone. Do you understand?”

  Johnson was concerned about appearances, Nancy realized. He wanted to keep Walt’s accident as quiet as poss
ible in case it reflected poorly on him.

  “Would you let me know what happens?” she asked.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he agreed, nodding.

  “Daddy,” Laura said again, clutching at his sleeve as Nancy handed over the pitcher.

  “Laura, stay out of this,” he said flatly, heading for the door. Nancy and Bess followed him outside. Laura didn’t move. Instead, she remained frozen to her spot, looking scared to death.

  “What’s going on with Laura?” Bess asked as she and Nancy followed Evan’s car on the way back into Louisville. “She’s acting so strange.”

  “I know.” Nancy chewed on her bottom lip. “Remember that object I saw glinting outside Flash’s barn? It was Laura Johnson’s earring. I’m sure of it now!”

  “Her earring!” Bess echoed, blinking rapidly.

  Nancy nodded. “I have a vague memory that I might have interrupted Laura tampering with the feed.”

  “But why?” Bess demanded.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want Toot Sweet to race,” Nancy said slowly, putting her thoughts into words. “Maybe that’s why McHugh and Walt were given the sedatives.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense!” Bess argued. “Why drug Flash and Pied Piper if all she cared about was Toot Sweet being scratched from the race? And why does she want Toot Sweet scratched? She owns the breeding rights to her, and a win at the Derby makes the filly much more valuable.”

  Nancy frowned. “I don’t know what to say. But I think there’s more at work here than just Laura. Drugging Pied Piper and Flash only makes sense if whoever did it did want Toot Sweet to race.” Nancy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “You know, Toot Sweet was drugged later, maybe as an afterthought. Do you suppose that was a cover-up?” She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Toot Sweet still might win.”

  “It’s so confusing,” Bess said with a sigh.

  “And why drug the jockeys?” Nancy mused aloud. “What has that got to do with anything?” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Oh, Bess, the answers are all there. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what they are.”

  “So what now?” asked Bess.

  “Back to the hotel for some rest. It’s late and tomorrow’s Derby day. The horses are fine, and as long as Walt feels okay by race time, the race is on for all three favorites.”

  • • •

  The phone woke Nancy from strange dreams in which she was haunted by horses thundering down a track covered with dollar bills. Evan, Laura, and Cam’s faces appeared from time to time in misty fragments. McHugh was alive and grinning. Thea stood by, silent and worried. Nancy’s mind even conjured up a picture of U.J., an old man standing by the rail with a piece of paper crumpled in his fist—his will.

  Nancy lifted one eyelid as the phone jangled again. She groped for the receiver, glancing at the clock. It was barely six o’clock in the morning.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Drew?” It was Evan Johnson’s voice.

  Nancy bolted upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone. “Yes?”

  “You were right about the pitcher. The police found traces of a powerful sedative. The dose could have killed Walt if he hadn’t gotten to the hospital in time.” Evan’s voice sounded incredibly weary, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Who could have done such a thing?”

  “Who is it?” Bess asked sleepily from her bed.

  Nancy mouthed Evan Johnson’s name. Bess’s eyebrows lifted.

  Nancy was debating about telling Evan her suspicions about Laura, when Evan suddenly said, “Ms. Drew, you said you were a detective. If you’ve got any idea who’s behind this, I’d like to know who it is.”

  “I don’t know how yet exactly, or why, but I think your daughter may be involved, Mr. Johnson,” Nancy responded soberly. To Evan’s cry of protest, she added, “Let me explain,” and launched into the story about the earring.

  There was silence when she finished. Nancy felt sorry for Evan. The news must have shattered him.

  “I would like to talk to you,” Evan said, his voice strained. “But not over the phone. I think I have some information that may help you.”

  “Let’s meet somewhere,” Nancy suggested, positive she was now on the trail of the solution to the mystery.

  “Come to the house. Laura’s not here.”

  “We’ll be there right away,” Nancy assured him.

  “We?”

  “Is it all right if I bring Bess with me?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Just don’t bring anyone else. Please. This is personal. And, Miss Drew?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hurry,” he said simply before hanging up.

  • • •

  Evan Johnson’s house appeared to be deserted in the late-morning light. Bess wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t there any servants working here?”

  “Probably not. The Johnsons don’t have the money they’d like everyone to think they have.” Nancy told her about the signs of neglect she’d noticed the night before. “Laura could have had that mink a long time,” she added thoughtfully. “I bet those diamonds are fakes!”

  “Oh, Nancy, I think you’re right,” Bess said excitedly.

  Nancy narrowed her eyes as she worked out an idea. “Laura said U.J. willed her the house, but this place is a white elephant. Think of the maintenance costs! I don’t think they can keep it up. The only way they’ll get any money is if they sell, and that would kill them socially. Everyone would find out they’d been living beyond their means. I suspect they might even be on the brink of bankruptcy.”

  “So, maybe Laura drugged Flash and Pied Piper so Toot Sweet would be assured of winning,” Bess concluded, warming to the theme. Her pretty face clouded. “Then who drugged Toot Sweet?”

  “And who wanted to do away with the filly’s jockeys?” Nancy added, winking at Bess as she slipped out of the car and headed up the front steps.

  “You sound like you have an idea!” Bess exclaimed. “Come on, Nan. Give!”

  Nancy knocked on the heavy double doors. “I haven’t got it all worked out yet, but I’m almost positive we’re dealing with two separate cases.” She counted on her fingers. “One, Laura Johnson wants Toot Sweet to win because she owns the breeding rights to the filly. The more the filly races and wins, the more valuable her offspring will be. Therefore she drugged the two closest competitors.”

  “And the other case?” Bess asked excitedly.

  Nancy rapped on the door again, wondering what was taking Evan so long. “Someone drugged Toot Sweet’s jockeys, and Laura can’t be doing that. She’d have no reason.” Nancy chewed on her lower lip. “It does seem like someone really wanted to get McHugh. First the girth strap was cut, and then he was drugged.”

  “So why was Walt drugged?”

  Nancy shrugged. “Maybe to throw suspicion off whoever was after McHugh.” She frowned at the door, testing the handle. “Where’s Evan?” she asked.

  Bess shook her head, baffled. “You don’t suppose something happened to him, do you?” she asked anxiously.

  Before Nancy could answer, the sound of a gunshot shattered the still morning air!

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  COME ON, BESS!” Nancy cried, running around the side of the house in the direction of the gunshot.

  “Be careful, Nan,” Bess shouted as she chased after her.

  The back grounds of the house were empty. Nancy stopped short, glancing around. Her gaze stopped on the stables. Something was wrong. The door was open.

  “Bess, look!” Nancy grabbed Bess’s arm. “Someone’s inside the stables!”

  “Someone with a gun,” Bess reminded her, swallowing hard.

  “I’m going to check it out. Evan could be in trouble. You can stay here and—”

  “No!” Bess shook her head adamantly. “I’m coming with you.”

  Nancy gave her loyal friend a warm smile. “Come on, then.”

  They ran quietly across the grass and through t
he back gate. The stables looked as though they’d been empty for years. Nancy crept inside the door. Morning sunshine filtered in through dust-thickened cracks. Stale air filled Nancy’s nostrils. A quick glance told her there was no one inside.

  “The place looks deserted,” Bess whispered, following-Nancy inside. She huddled close to her friend’s side.

  Movement caught Nancy’s eye. A scythe, hung on the far wall at the end of the stalls, was gently swinging back and forth. Had someone bumped it? She squeezed Bess’s arm to stop her from talking and pointed to the rocking scythe. Bess’s blue eyes widened.

  Nancy crept forward, careful to be as quiet as possible. Bess followed close behind. They were halfway down the row of stalls when the door behind them was suddenly slammed shut!

  “Nancy!” Bess cried.

  Nancy whirled around and raced back. She yanked on the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was locked tight.

  Hearing running footsteps, Nancy called out. But the footsteps just ran on.

  “We’re locked in,” she said to Bess. “Someone did this on purpose. Someone who knew we were coming here!”

  “Evan?” Bess asked, her voice quavering.

  “He’s the most likely suspect.” Nancy was grim. “Wait!” Nancy sniffed and her blue eyes widened. She caught the distinct scent of lighter fluid and burning wood.

  Bess screamed. “The stables are on fire!”

  Nancy whipped around. From the outside wall, a crackle of flames was followed by a wave of thick, choking smoke. Heat blasted toward Nancy, scorching her face. Whoever had locked them in had set the barn on fire!

  “We’ve got to find something to smash through the door!” she cried, her gaze darting feverishly around the dilapidated stables.

  Bess coughed and pulled the bottom of her shirt from the waistband of her shorts, holding it to her mouth.

  Nancy ran to the wall where the scythe was hanging. Seconds counted. If she didn’t hurry they would both die!

  She grabbed the scythe, then hurried back to the barn door. Bess hadn’t moved; her eyes were round with fear.