The Saddle Club waited impatiently for what seemed like hours. Finally Max reappeared, holding a card key.
“Okay, you’re all set,” he said. He handed the key to Lisa. “You’ve got only one of these for the three of you, so don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” Lisa promised.
“Now, if you’re interested, we could just drop your bags off in the room and head straight over to the track,” Max said with a twinkle in his eye.
“If we’re interested? You’ve got to be kidding,” Stevie exclaimed. “Lead the way—and hurry!”
HALF AN HOUR later, The Saddle Club and Max entered the stable area at Pimlico racetrack, after a short stop at the gate to pick up the special passes Mr. McLeod had arranged for them. The passes would allow them free access to the stable area as well as the public areas of the track.
Carole looked around as they walked, trying to take everything in. There were busy people bustling about everywhere, just as there had been at the other racetrack, but everything seemed to be on a much larger scale. Everywhere she looked she saw something interesting. And everywhere she looked she saw tall, elegant Thoroughbreds, so beautiful they took her breath away. Carole loved all kinds of horses equally, but she had to admit that there was something very special about this aristocratic breed, the rulers of the racetrack.
“Come on, let’s try to find Mr. McLeod’s stable shed,” Max said. He dug a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and peered at it. “Deborah called last night with directions.”
After a few false turns they found it. Judy Barker was outside the stable row, watching as a groom walked a handsome stallion in slow circles. Mr. McLeod was there too. The girls recognized him from their last trip to the racetrack.
“Hi, Max. Hi, girls,” Judy called when she saw them.
“Hi!” Carole replied, gazing at the horse. “That’s Hold Fast, isn’t it?”
“You have a good memory,” Judy replied with a smile. “I’m just doing one last check on his feet. I’m happy to say that they’re completely healed. He’s in good shape for race day tomorrow.”
Mr. McLeod nodded hello to the girls and Max, but most of his attention was focused on Hold Fast. “You’ve finally convinced me, Judy,” he told the vet. “He really does seem to be in perfect condition. Barring anything unforeseen, he’ll race tomorrow.” He nodded again to the group from Pine Hollow. “I’m glad you all could make it. Judy knows the layout around here pretty well, so I’m sure she’ll show you around. But if you have any questions, just ask.”
“Um, I have one,” Lisa said shyly.
“Yes?” Mr. McLeod said.
“Could I take a picture of Hold Fast?”
Mr. McLeod laughed. “Of course you can!” he said. “You can take pictures of anything you want while you’re here.” He gestured to the groom, who turned Hold Fast to face Lisa.
Lisa raised her camera and fiddled with the lens. “Just a second,” she mumbled. “I’m almost ready.…”
Mr. McLeod leaned over and removed the lens cap from Lisa’s camera. “I think this might help,” he said with a smile.
Lisa blushed as the others laughed. Then she laughed too. “I guess I’m still kind of a beginner,” she admitted. She quickly focused the camera and took the picture.
Mr. McLeod walked over and spoke to the groom, who led the stallion away. “Have fun,” he told the girls and Max. “Judy, I’ll see you later.”
“What did he mean by what he said—that barring anything unforeseen, Hold Fast will race?” Carole asked as soon as Mr. McLeod was out of sight. “I thought he was already entered in a race tomorrow.”
“He is,” Judy replied. “He’s been entered in the race for weeks now. Mr. McLeod had to pay an entry fee to qualify him. But he’s been pretty worried about the hoof problem Hold Fast has been having lately. He was still considering scratching him—taking him out of the race—until today. But I think Hold Fast and I finally convinced him that everything’s fine.”
“Would Mr. McLeod have gotten his entry fee back if Hold Fast didn’t race?” Stevie asked.
“I’m really not sure,” Judy said. “I think he might have gotten part of it back, but not all of it.”
“But he still would have kept him out of the race because Hold Fast might injure himself if he wasn’t completely healthy, right?” Carole guessed. “Even if it meant losing money.”
“Right,” Judy said. “After all, if Hold Fast injured himself, Mr. McLeod would miss out on a lot more money, especially if Hold Fast couldn’t race for a long time.”
“Or forever,” Lisa added, thinking of Prancer.
“Oh,” Carole said. She hadn’t been thinking of the money Mr. McLeod would lose if Hold Fast was injured. She had been thinking of Hold Fast. Judy’s answer reminded her once again that the horses here at the track had to earn their keep by winning races.
“Hey, are we going to stand around here chatting forever, or are we going to meet the star?” Max interrupted.
“Okay, okay,” Judy said with a smile. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Monkeyshines.”
She led them into the stable and down the aisle, stopping in front of a large stall. A tall bay colt was peering out of it, his large, intelligent eyes watching the approaching group curiously. Both halves of the stall’s door were open, and a nylon web was strung across the doorway at chest height to keep the horse inside. He let out a snort as they stopped in front of him.
“Is that him?” Carole whispered. “He’s beautiful!”
“He sure is,” Max said appreciatively. “Girls, take a good look. This is probably one of the most valuable horses you’re ever going to meet in person.”
“Look at his eyes!” Lisa exclaimed softly. “He’s so sweet!”
Max rolled his eyes. But Judy chuckled. “He is sweet,” she told the girls. “And he’s very even-tempered. Racehorses aren’t bred or trained to be friendly, but this one came by it naturally.”
“Just like Prancer,” Lisa said.
“Right,” Judy said. “But unlike Prancer, this colt is all business once he steps onto the track. He’s got a real drive to win. When he’s not racing, though, anyone would think he was some old coddled saddle mare—he loves people, and he’s very gentle. You can pet him if you want.”
Eagerly the girls reached forward to pat the colt’s soft nose. Monkeyshines snuffled at each of them in turn.
“He’s wonderful,” Stevie said. “Lisa, you should definitely get a picture of this.”
“Good idea,” Lisa said. She raised her camera and peered through the viewfinder. But after fiddling with the lens for a moment, she lowered it again. “It’s no good,” she announced. “It’s too dark here. And I left my flash attachment back at the hotel—I didn’t think I’d be able to use it here. It might spook the horses.”
“Don’t worry,” Max told her. “You’ll have plenty of photo opportunities tomorrow.… Hey!” Suddenly he jumped forward, looking startled.
“What is it, Max?” Carole asked.
But Judy was laughing. “I know,” she said. “Look.”
The girls looked where she was pointing. There behind Max, gazing up at them and chewing thoughtfully on Max’s sunglasses, was a small white goat with brown spots.
“That’s Blackie,” Judy explained, reaching down and gently prying the glasses away from the goat. “He’s Monkeyshines’s best friend.”
“Really?” Lisa said dubiously. “A goat?” She had heard of horses becoming attached to individual animals—cats, dogs, even chickens. But she had never met one who had adopted a goat.
“Sure,” Judy said. “It’s really not that uncommon. The great racer Seabiscuit had a goat as a companion. Some horses pick even stranger creatures—for instance, War Admiral, a very famous racehorse from the 1930s, had a pet rabbit. It traveled everywhere with him, and even followed him into retirement. These companion animals keep the horses happy—and if the horses are happy, they’re likely to run better.”
“Hey! Did you hear that?” Stevie said. “It sounded like he just said hello!”
“Don’t get carried away, Stevie,” Max said. “You know horses don’t understand English, and they certainly can’t speak it.”
“True, Max, true,” Judy said with a grin. “But I think I may have to side with Stevie on this one. That sounded like a hello to me too.” She turned to the girls. “That’s why they always leave Monkeyshines’s door open like that, with just the webbing across it. They want to make sure Blackie can get in and out of the stall.”
“That’s really neat,” Lisa said. “I have just one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Why is he named Blackie?” Lisa asked logically. “There’s not a speck of black on him.”
Judy laughed. “Good question,” she said. “Actually, Blackie is a nickname. His full name is Black Hole.” She gestured to the goat, who had wandered over and started nibbling on a corner of Lisa’s camera bag. “It’s because everything disappears into his stomach. He’ll eat anything and everything he can get his lips around. I lost a perfectly good ham and cheese sandwich to him yesterday when I set it down for half a second.”
“I have to get a picture of him!” Lisa pulled her camera bag away from the goat and pointed the camera at him before she remembered the light problem. “Oh, rats. I guess it’ll have to wait until tomorrow too,” she said. She bent down and patted the little goat on the head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take a picture of you first thing tomorrow, I promise.”
“Hey, Judy, who are all these strangers hanging around our goat?” a playful voice called out from behind them.
The girls turned to see a dark-haired young man approaching. He was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, and his face was stretched wide in a big grin.
“Hi, Eddie,” Judy said. “Everyone, this is Eddie Hernandez. He’s Monkeyshines’s groom. Eddie, this is Lisa, Stevie, Carole, and Max—Deborah’s fiancé.”
Eddie nodded at the introductions. “I see you’ve already met my better half,” he said, nodding toward the stall behind them.
“You mean Blackie?” Stevie joked.
Eddie laughed. “Very funny,” he said. “I can see I’ll have to keep an eye on you—Stevie, was it?”
“Nope,” Stevie replied promptly. “My name is Carole.”
“I think Eddie was referring to Monkeyshines—Stevie,” Judy said pointedly. “Come on, girls. Let’s get out of the way. I suspect Eddie has some work to do.”
“Always,” Eddie replied. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to leave. Blackie and Monk can entertain you.”
“You call Monkeyshines Monk?” Lisa asked. “That’s cute!”
Eddie laughed again. “I guess you could say that. It’s also short. A lot of racers have nicknames. Makes things easier around the stable.”
“That’s right,” Judy said. “Tell them Hold Fast’s nickname.”
“He’s called Stretch,” Eddie said. “That’s because in his very first race, he came from behind in the homestretch—that’s what we call the final straightaway before the finish line—and took home first-prize money.”
“Wow,” Stevie said. “That’s wild.”
“Well, most of the names aren’t so interesting,” Eddie admitted. He walked over to a mare in the next stall. “For instance, this is Ladyfingers. We call her Missy. And right next door to her is a gelding named Chestnut Cal. His stable name is Red.”
Just then someone called for Eddie from farther down the shed row. “Whoops. That’s the trainer,” Eddie said. “Gotta go. But you’ll be here for the big race tomorrow, right?”
“Definitely,” the three girls said in one voice.
“Good,” Eddie said with a grin. He gave Monkeyshines an affectionate pat. “You’ll have fun watching old Monk walk away with it, then. He’s a shoo-in to win, you know.”
The three girls glanced at the tall colt, then grinned back at Eddie. “Definitely!” they all said again.
Carole watched Eddie hurry away. “I like him,” she declared. “You can tell he really loves horses. Especially Monk.”
“He’s a good guy,” Judy said. “Now, come on, I’ll show you around the rest of this place.”
“Great,” Carole said. She’d been glancing curiously around the stable. At Mr. McLeod’s stable, Maskee Farms, she’d been amazed at the spotlessness and order she’d seen. Now, even in this temporary home, the same sort of cleanliness and organization reigned. The path in front of the stalls was swept clean. The straw on the stall floors was fresh and new. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place.
She mentioned this to Judy.
Judy laughed. “It’s true,” she agreed. “Mr. McLeod is practically fanatical about that stuff, and it’s a good thing. Like most horses, Thoroughbreds are delicate creatures despite their size and power. One loose nail lying around in their path or one stray bit of a food they’re not used to can keep them off the track for days, weeks, even months. In the late 1970s a horse named Spectacular Bid had to be scratched from the Belmont after stepping on an open safety pin—and that was after he had already won the Derby and the Preakness. Mr. McLeod wants to do everything he can to avoid that kind of thing, so he’s careful to take every precaution.”
“Wow,” Lisa said. “There seems to be so much to worry about with racehorses.”
“That’s for sure,” Judy agreed, leading the girls down the shed row. “It’s just like it is with any stable, except that in terms of money, the stakes are a lot higher.”
“Speaking of high stakes, can we check out the competition now?” Stevie asked.
“You mean Garamond?” Judy said. “Sure thing. Right this way.”
She led them out of the Maskee Farms stable shed and into the one next door. A young woman was sitting in a folding chair in the aisle near the entrance, reading a magazine. Behind her, a big bay colt with a gleaming mahogany coat stood quietly looking out over the half-door of his stall. The girls instantly guessed by his handsome head and regal bearing that this was the famous Garamond.
“Hello there,” Judy greeted the other woman. “I’m Judy Barker, the vet for Maskee Farms. I’m showing these girls around and they asked to have a look at Garamond.”
The young woman looked up and shrugged. “Be my guest,” she said, gesturing lazily at the colt behind her. Then she seemed to remember her manners. “Oh, I’m Kelly Kennemere. My father owns Garamond.”
Meanwhile, Stevie, Carole, and Lisa were gazing at the colt in awe.
“He’s gorgeous,” Carole breathed. “Can we pet him?”
“Better not,” Kelly Kennemere replied dryly. “Not unless you want to lose a finger or two. He’s not a pet, you know.”
Carole frowned. She had just been asking; she knew very well that a lot of colts and stallions were unpredictable, especially with strangers. Kelly Kennemere didn’t have to act as if the girls were kindergartners who had never seen a horse before.
Stevie wasn’t impressed with Kelly Kennemere’s attitude either, but she decided to try to be friendly. “Does Garamond have a stable name?” she asked. “If I worked here, I think I’d call him Prince. He looks so royal and proud and noble.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Kelly replied with another shrug. “I’m just visiting from college. You’d have to ask one of the grooms.” Even though the words were neutral, Carole once again thought she detected an unfriendly tone in the young woman’s voice.
Meanwhile, Lisa was busy focusing her camera. “Hey, you guys,” she said excitedly. “I think it’s lighter in this stable. The ‘insufficient light’ signal isn’t flashing. It must be because we’re closer to the door.” She carefully adjusted the lens. Finally she had the perfect shot in frame. She concentrated, checking th
e view for another second, then gently squeezed the button.
There was a whirring sound as she took the picture. But at the same precise second, Garamond suddenly tossed his head to dislodge a fly.
“Oh, rats!” Lisa cried.
“Tough luck,” Carole said sympathetically. “Better try again.” She turned to look at Garamond and noticed Kelly Kennemere smirking. “After all, it’s not your fault the horse moved,” she added loudly, feeling a little defensive of her friend.
Lisa nodded and peered through the viewfinder again. This time Garamond stood perfectly still while Lisa snapped his picture. “Great,” Lisa said happily, replacing the lens cap.
“What’s this, Kelly,” came a loud, abrasive nasal voice from behind the girls. “You letting some kiddie-school paper scoop me or something?”
The Saddle Club turned to see a tall, lanky man approaching. He was wearing a rumpled suit and an insincere smile.
“Oh, hi, Kent,” Kelly greeted him. “No, it’s just some tourists from Monkeyshines’s stable who wanted to see what a winner looks like.”
The man raised his eyebrows and looked over the Pine Hollow group. “I see. Well, I’ve got work to do here. I have an interview scheduled with Miss Kennemere. So if you wouldn’t mind running along now, I can do my job.”
Carole frowned. If she had thought Kelly Kennemere a little cold, it was nothing compared to the outright rudeness of this man. He seemed like a real jerk.
“Hey, listen here …,” Stevie began hotly, but Judy put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “We were just leaving.”
As Judy led them away, Stevie turned to glare back at the rude man. “I can’t believe that guy’s nerve,” she fumed. “Who does he think he is?”
Meanwhile, Lisa was putting two and two together. “Hey, Judy, is he by any chance the reporter who’s been giving Deborah a hard time?”
“Bingo,” Judy said grimly. “Kent Calhoun. He’s a good enough reporter, but he sure can be unpleasant when he wants to be.”
“You’re not kidding,” Stevie said. “He and that Kelly Kennemere are a perfect pair though. She was awfully unfriendly, wasn’t she?”
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