On the Trail of Trouble

by Carolyn Keene

  “And she can afford it. You should see her place. My

  dad pointed it out to me once when we were driving in

  the mountains.”

  “More important, what happened to all the rabbits

  and birds she set free?” Bess wondered.

  “Some were recaptured and returned to the pet

  shop,” Kincaid said. “But others were never found.

  Someone saw a couple of parakeets flying around the

  park a couple of weeks ago, as a matter of fact, but they

  couldn't catch them.”

  “Does she think all animals should be set free?”

  George asked.

  “I guess so,” Kincaid said with a shrug.

  “Hey,” Bess said, jumping up from her chair. “What

  about buffalo on a ranch?”

  “You mean that she might have . . . Oh, Bess!”

  Kincaid exclaimed, her eyes wide. “What if Antoinette

  Francoeur stole Lulu and Justice?”

  “But she wouldn't steal them,” Nancy pointed out.

  “Isn't it her idea to let them run free?”

  “Who knows exactly?” Kincaid said. “A lot of people

  think she's not really an activist—she's just a nut. There

  have been a lot of rumors about her past. Somebody

  said she got in trouble the last place she lived because

  she released horses from riding academies. Then I

  heard she was letting guard dogs loose and breaking

  monkeys out of their cages at a zoo somewhere.”

  “That doesn't sound like someone who really cares

  about animals,” Nancy said. “Some animals couldn't

  survive in the wild after they'd been taken care of all

  their lives.”

  “Sounds like she doesn't care much for humans,

  either,” Bess said, making a face. “I wouldn't be too

  thrilled to be living somewhere with a lot of guard dogs

  running around loose.”

  “Those are just rumors,” Kincaid reminded them. “I

  know the pet shop stuff happened, but I'm not sure

  about the rest. But I do know Lulu. If that woman let

  her go, Lulu would lead Justice back to the herd. That's

  one of the reasons I separated them. I wanted to be

  able to raise Justice myself and train and groom him for

  the fairs.”

  “Maybe Antoinette learned a lesson from the pet

  shop incident,” George offered. “Suppose she decided

  it would be better to kidnap animals and release them

  in a totally different area. That way, there would be less

  chance they'd be recaptured and returned. If all those

  stories are true, she sounds a little weird. Who knows

  what she might do.”

  “But would she hack the shelter to pieces?” Nancy

  wondered. “And make threatening calls?”

  “You know, she might,” Kincaid said. “I saw her on

  TV last year when she was being arrested. She was like

  a wild animal herself—kicking and yelling. It's amazing

  she didn't get jail time.”

  “Maybe we should see what she has to say at this

  press conference tomorrow,” Nancy said. “I also want

  to check out Badger Brady.”

  “Sounds like it's going to be a busy day,” George

  said. “Good! I'm ready for some action.”

  “Then let's do something fun tonight,” Bess said.

  “Maybe go to the Stomp. Do they still have that great

  band there?”

  “Yep,” Kincaid said. “That's a good idea. I could use

  a little noisy music.”

  The Stomp was a young-adults club in a small strip

  mall perched on the edge of a mountain overlooking

  Rapid City, about ten miles from the Turners' ranch. A

  seven-piece band filled the wood-and-glass building

  with music, from country-western to reggae.

  When they walked in, Kincaid spotted some friends

  in a booth and led the others over to them.

  Kincaid led them to the table. “Hi, guys, you

  remember Bess from last summer. This is her cousin

  George and her friend Nancy. Girls, this is Angie,

  Clayton, and Gregg.”

  “Great to see you back, Bess,” Angie said. “Hi,

  Nancy and George. Welcome.” Angie had dark wavy

  hair and a friendly smile. Nancy smiled back.

  A cute, brown-haired young man stood to let the

  girls slide into the booth. “Hi, I'm Clayton,” he said.

  “Bess, I knew you'd be back.”

  Within a half hour more of Kincaid's friends joined

  them. They pushed several tables together and spent

  the next couple of hours hanging out, ordering sodas

  and fries, and dancing.

  Finally Nancy suggested breaking it up. “We have a

  lot to do tomorrow,” she reminded them.

  “Yeah,” Kincaid agreed. “That's fine with me.”

  Suddenly she gasped. She stared over Nancy's

  shoulder. Her next words shot out like little darts

  between her clenched teeth: “It's him, Nancy. Badger

  Brady. Walking past the window.”

  “George, you and Bess pay the bill,” Nancy said.

  “We'll meet you at the car.”

  Nancy and Kincaid raced out the door. Brady was

  halfway down the block. He was not very tall, but his

  body was stocky, so he seemed big. He walked with a

  long stride, and Nancy and Kincaid had to hurry to

  keep up with him.

  When Brady reached the end of the strip of shops,

  he paused for a moment. Nancy and Kincaid stepped

  behind some shrubs that bordered a fountain. After a

  few moments, Nancy peeked around the green

  branches. There was no one in sight.

  “Come on,” Nancy whispered. “He must have

  turned the corner.” She and Kincaid stepped back onto

  the walkway.

  “Just a minute,” a brusque voice thundered. “Don't

  take another step.”

  5. A Reflection of Danger

  In the glaring wash of the shop lights, Badger Brady's

  face was dark red and twisted with anger as he stepped

  from around the corner to face Nancy and Kincaid.

  “What are you two doing, chasing after me?” he

  demanded. “Kincaid, you're just like your father.

  Always after me. Well, I'm going to put an end to it, do

  you hear me?”

  “We're not afraid of you,” Kincaid said in a low

  voice. Nancy put a hand on her friend's arm.

  Brady's eyes narrowed as he looked at Nancy. She

  listened closely to his voice. Was he the one who made

  the threatening phone call? she wondered.

  “We'll just see about that,” Brady said. “You tell your

  father you saw me. You tell him what I said. The

  trouble between us is not over.”

  Brady glared at them for a few moments. People

  wandered onto the walkway from the shops. Brady

  glanced at them, then back at Nancy and Kincaid. With

  one final menacing glance, he bolted away.

  Nancy and Kincaid retraced their steps to the Stomp

  parking lot, where Bess and George were waiting.

  During the drive back to the ranch, Nancy related

  the encounter she and Kincaid had experienced.

  “Sounds like Badger is a good name for that guy,”

  George said.

  Tuesday morning, over breakfast in
the Turner

  kitchen, the girls made plans to attend Antoinette

  Francoeur's press conference that morning.

  “Here, Nancy,” Kincaid said. “You and I can wear

  these.” She took out two official-looking press badges.

  “These are from my high school. I was the editor of the

  school newspaper.”

  Nancy changed a few letters so they read RHI. “We

  are now members of the press corps for the River

  Heights Independent,” she said, and handed one of the

  badges to Kincaid before pinning a duplicate on her

  own blue blazer.

  “Is that your hometown newspaper?” Kincaid asked,

  pinning her badge on her jeans jacket.

  “Made it up,” Nancy said, grinning. “Bess, you have

  a camera. Kincaid, do you have one George can

  borrow? They can be press photographers.”

  “Let me at your computer, Kincaid,” Bess said.

  Within minutes Bess's computer design talent paid off,

  and she had created two impressive press pho-

  tographer passes.

  “All right,” Nancy said. “Off to the press confer-

  ence.”

  Kincaid drove them into the Black Hills in her

  heavy-duty, all-terrain vehicle. “You're not going to

  believe it up here,” Bess told Nancy and George. “Wait

  until you see the houses. We're not talking mountain

  cabins, folks.”

  “I didn't know what to expect when we were talking

  about coming here,” George said. “First of all, I

  thought the Black Hills were hills. I didn't realize they

  were mountains.”

  “It's one of the oldest mountain ranges in the

  world,” Bess said. “Older than the Alps or the

  Himalayas.”

  “And it's the highest range in the U.S. east of the

  Rockies,” Kincaid said proudly. “The Black Hills cover

  an area the same size as Delaware.”

  “There—look at that,” Bess said, pointing out the

  window. “Would you believe you'd see a house like that

  in the middle of a mountain forest?”

  Nancy and George followed Bess's gaze over to a

  huge mansion. It was built in the southern style—

  redbrick, with two-story white columns and long

  verandas on both floors filled with wicker furniture.

  “Whoa—how about that one,” George said as they

  drove up the road. An enormous glass-and-steel flat-

  roofed house jutted out over the side of the mountain

  cliff. It was supported from below by diagonal steel

  beams.

  As they climbed farther, they saw more incredible

  homes. Some were in the open, showy and extravagant.

  Others they had to squint to see because they were set

  back from the road. Shielded behind a curtain of dense

  dark green pine and spruce trees, they seemed to be

  purposely hidden.

  “I expected log cabins and maybe a few chalets,”

  Nancy said. “Nothing like this.”

  Kincaid drove around two more winding curves,

  then slowed the car. “Here we are,” she said. Two

  guards stopped the vehicle as she pulled up to a gate.

  The girls showed their badges and passes, and the

  guards motioned them through.

  After another short winding climb, they came to a

  small parking area, where they were waved into a

  parking place. Then the four joined the group of about

  fifty media people climbing the steps from the parking

  lot to Beauforêt, Antoinette Francoeur's mansion.

  “Beauforêt,” Nancy murmured. “That means

  beautiful woods.' Well, she sure has that right.” Nancy

  looked ahead to a huge house. It had eight sides and

  was constructed of wood and glass.

  The front of the house hung out over the valley,

  supported by huge log braces that angled back into the

  cliff.

  Ushers guided the crowd around the house to the

  rear terrace from which they had a marvelous view of

  the surrounding mountains and canyons. Nancy

  noticed several other buildings on the estate— barns,

  stable, smaller houses. Could one of them hold a

  buffalo cow and her calf? she wondered.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a flutter of

  commotion as the huge double doors opened onto the

  terrace. Through the doors swooped a strikingly tall

  woman, at least six feet tall, with a long neck and long

  arms. “How old is she?” Nancy whispered to Kincaid.

  “I read once that she was in her fifties,” Kincaid

  whispered back.

  “Welcome to Beauforêt,” Antoinette Francoeur said

  with a slight accent. “I am pleased you have joined us

  this morning,” she added, shaking her thick mane of

  long silvery blond hair, which fell down her back. She

  wore a gauzy purple dress, with a long full skirt. The

  only jewelry she wore were lacy gold earrings that hung

  to her shoulders.

  Nancy felt a gentle poke in her ribs from Bess. “Did

  you catch her feet?” Bess said. Nancy moved so she

  could peer through the crowd to see the woman's feet.

  They were bare. An elastic bandage was wrapped

  around her right ankle.

  “This is a grand moment for me,” the unusually

  dressed Frenchwoman continued. “I am happy to

  announce the creation of Justice for Animals.” Nancy

  heard Kincaid gasp behind her.

  “I doubt that it means anything,” Nancy whispered.

  “Justice for Animals is a logical name for an animal

  protection group. It probably doesn't have anything to

  do with your calf.”

  Ms. Francoeur continued her prepared statement

  about the organization and how she wanted to form a

  coalition with other groups so she could set up an

  international network.

  “This will be my finest deed, to establish and

  provide financial backing for this organization,” the

  woman said. “We will search out and find animals that

  need our help—and then do what we need to do. I

  hope you all will stay to view a short video that has

  been prepared for your enlightenment. After that you

  are invited to a light buffet where we may talk more

  informally about Justice for Animals.”

  “Ms. Francoeur, is it true you believe all animals

  should live free and none should be contained for any

  reason?” asked one reporter.

  “That is basically my desire, yes,” the Frenchwoman

  replied.

  “And is it true that you released gibbons from a zoo

  in Colorado?” another woman asked.

  “I have never done anything so foolish,” Ms.

  Francoeur said. “Such an animal could probably not

  survive on its own. I would like to see them out of zoos,

  of course. But first I would find a better place for them

  to be.”

  “What about buffalo?” Kincaid called out.

  “Interesting that you should mention them,”

  Antoinette Francoeur said. “We use two beautiful

  South Dakota bison in our logo.” She held up a poster

  for Justice for Animals. The logo included an artist's

  watercolor of a female
bison and a calf grazing, with

  the Black Hills in the background.

  Nancy heard Kincaid gasp again. “How do you feel

  about ranching bison?” Nancy asked, stepping forward.

  “About breeding them in captivity?”

  “Enough questions for now,” Ms. Francoeur said

  with a flip of her long fingers. “Let us go to my theater

  and watch the video. Then we will have a lovely buffet

  and talk some more.”

  She turned and sailed back through the large

  doorway. Slowly, the crowd filed in behind her.

  As the others moved forward, Nancy began backing

  up. “Come on,” she said, “this way.” She moved

  quickly, followed by Bess, George, and Kincaid. Nancy

  never took her eyes off the guards standing by the

  doorway. No one saw her or the others as they

  separated from the crowd.

  “We're not going to watch the movie, I take it,”

  George said as the four eased behind two large blue

  spruce trees.

  “I think I'd rather look around the grounds,” Nancy

  said.

  “Won't they miss us?” Bess asked. “After all, you and

  Kincaid asked questions.”

  “Probably not,” Nancy explained. “I saw people pick

  up press kits from the table, then walk to the parking

  lot. Apparently, they weren't staying for the video and

  buffet. As far as anyone knows, we could have done the

  same.”

  They stayed behind the trees until they saw the two

  guards go inside the house.

  “Now be quiet and be careful,” Nancy warned the

  others. “There might be other guards or employees

  wandering around the grounds.”

  “Nancy . . . that poster,” Kincaid said. “It looks just

  like Lulu and Justice. And the name for the group—

  Justice.”

  “I know it seems odd,” Nancy said. “But it's probably

  just a coincidence.”

  “I agree,” George said softly. “Justice for Animals is

  a pretty logical name, Kincaid.”

  “But the poster,” Kincaid protested. “I could only

  see it from a distance, but it looks so much like Lulu

  and Justice. What if Antoinette took them?”

  “You mean to let them run free?” Bess asked.

  “Maybe,” Kincaid said. “Or maybe she's going to use

  them as mascots. As symbols of majestic animals that

  shouldn't be in a pen.”

  “But she couldn't show them anywhere,” George

  said. “If she did, your family or friends would recognize

  them—and she'd be busted.”