Mystery of the Midnight Rider

  My friends were watching too. “What was that all about?” Ned wondered.

  “Dana was trying to double-check that the girth is tight enough, I think,” I said. “When I was a kid, my riding teacher used to do that before I rode. It’s a safety thing—you don’t want the girth to be too loose, or your saddle might slip.”

  “I guess Payton wanted to check it herself,” Bess said. “Maybe she’s still mad at Dana from that blowup we overheard yesterday.”

  “I wouldn’t blame her,” George put in.

  “Maybe that’s it.” I frowned slightly as I glanced from Payton to Dana. “Or maybe there’s a reason Payton doesn’t trust Dana when it comes to her safety equipment.”

  Ned shot me a worried look. “Do you think so?”

  “It might be worth asking Payton about later,” I answered thoughtfully.

  “Hey, Ned, here come your parents.” Bess pointed.

  Ned stood for a better look. “Payton’s folks are with them,” he said. “That’s good—Mom was afraid their plane would be delayed and they’d miss Payton’s big moment.”

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out to his parents, then waved so they could see where he was sitting. Moments later, the Nickersons and Payton’s parents were squeezing in beside us. Mr. Evans was a big man with a booming laugh, while Dr. Evans was petite and delicate-looking like her daughter.

  “Made it in the nick of time!” Dr. Evans exclaimed, peering down at the ring.

  Mr. Nickerson nodded. “Looks like Payton’s on deck.”

  “Right,” I said, glancing out at the ring. The black horse was gone, and Payton was riding in. She started walking Midnight around at the end of the ring as the crew reassembled the jumps the black horse had knocked over.

  “She’s looking good, isn’t she?” Mr. Evans said. “Focused. Strong.”

  “You must be very proud of her,” I said with a smile. “It’s amazing that she’s competing at this level at her age. That Evans Edge stuff is really working!”

  Payton’s father chuckled. “She told you about that, eh?”

  “Uh-huh. She seems to take it pretty seriously.” I couldn’t help thinking that a certain aspect of the Evans Edge had almost ended up causing her to be suspended from competing. “Especially the part about signing her own paperwork at the shows instead of having Dana do it.”

  “Oh, that.” Mr. Evans rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a pain in the neck if you ask me—it means I’ve had to fax my signature to every dang show for the past three or four months, since she can’t legally sign on her own yet.” He smiled and shook his head. “Still, once Payton gets an idea in her head, there’s no changing her mind.”

  His wife heard him and chuckled. “Yes, I wonder where she got that from?” she quipped, reaching over to squeeze her husband’s hand.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, a little confused. “You mean signing as her own trainer was Payton’s idea? But I thought she said—”

  “Look!” Ned exclaimed, cutting me off. “Payton’s starting!”

  While I was talking with Mr. Evans, the crew had finished rebuilding the jumps. We all watched as Payton finally nudged her horse into a relaxed trot, beginning a big, loopy circle around part of the ring. From watching previous rounds, I knew she was waiting for the buzzer to sound so she could begin.

  I glanced over at Mr. Evans, who was chatting with Bess. Why was his last comment bugging me so much? Okay, so Payton put as much pressure on herself as her parents did. That was obvious. It didn’t have anything to do with the case—did it?

  My mind sorted through the clues and incidents again, looking for patterns. Any of our suspects could be the culprit—right? Except I kept getting stuck on that note in the grill. I tried to picture Lenny Hood following Payton home from the show grounds, then sneaking into the Nickersons’ backyard. Or Jessica. Or Cal or Dana or Mickey.

  It just didn’t compute. How on earth would any of them pull it off? Perhaps more important, why would any of them hide a note in such an out-of-the-way place?

  There was only one logical answer. They wouldn’t. That meant somebody else must have done it.

  I glanced over at Dr. Evans and Mrs. Nickerson, who had their heads close together as they chattered and laughed while waiting for Payton’s round to start. A new idea crept into my mind. Could it be . . . ?

  The buzzer sounded, startling me out of my thoughts.

  “Here she goes!” Mr. Evans exclaimed as Payton cantered Midnight around to the end of the ring, picking up speed as she aimed him toward the timer flags.

  There was a loud whoop from down by the gate. Glancing that way, I saw Dana standing there, watching Payton.

  I gasped as the answer hit me like a horse’s hoof to the gut. “Stop!” I shouted, leaping out of my seat so fast I almost tripped over Bess. “Stop her!”

  “Nancy!” Mrs. Nickerson cried. “What are you doing?”

  The others were gasping and crying out too, but I ignored them. I lunged down the bleachers, almost stepping on the hand of the man sitting in front of me.

  “Stop her!” I yelled as loudly as I could, waving both hands over my head. “Please! You have to stop this round!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Driven

  I RACED FOR THE RING, IGNORING THE shouts and stares from people around me. I had to stop Payton before it was too late.

  There were too many people between me and the gate, so I pushed aside some spectators standing at the fence and vaulted over. I was vaguely aware of people running toward me—jump crew, probably, trying to stop the crazy girl from ruining the show—but I had a head start as I dashed across the ring. Midnight was just a few strides out from the first jump on the course, his ears pricked forward. Was I already too late?

  “No!” I howled, pushing my legs to pump faster.

  Payton heard me and glanced over. A look of confusion crossed her face as she saw me running toward her.

  Midnight heard me coming too. He spooked away from me, losing speed as he lurched sideways.

  “Go!” Payton urged, kicking the horse to get him moving again.

  But the horse’s hesitation had given me the time I needed. I threw myself forward, grabbing for the reins. Midnight tossed his head, almost dragging me off my feet. But I held on, and the horse came to a prancing, snorting halt.

  “Nancy, what are you doing?” Payton’s face was very pale beneath her black riding helmet. “Let go!”

  I met her eye, not backing off. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  Someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. “Come with me, young lady,” a gruff voice said.

  Glancing back, I saw a particularly burly member of the jump crew. A man in a suit was hurrying toward me as well—some sort of official, I assumed.

  “Get her out of here,” the official snapped. He glanced up at Payton. “I’m sorry about this, Ms. Evans. If you need a moment to regroup or settle your horse, of course it’s no problem.”

  “What’s going on?” Dana demanded, rushing over to us. “Payton, are you okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she whirled to glare at me. “What in the world are you doing?” She shoved me back away from Midnight and grabbed his reins herself, running her free hand down the horse’s neck soothingly. Then she glanced at the jump-crew guy. “Get her out of here already!”

  “Wait.” I resisted as the guy started to pull me away. “Look at this, Dana.”

  Slipping out of the man’s grasp, I stepped forward and slid my hand under the girth, giving it a hard yank.

  SNAP! It broke apart just under the saddle flap. The loose end flopped down against Midnight’s front legs, making him jump in surprise.

  “Whoa!” Dana exclaimed, her eyes going wide with alarm as Payton’s saddle, suddenly left with nothing but gravity holding it on the horse’s back, slipped to one side. “Easy, boy . . .”

  I stepped back, shoulders slumping. My hunch had been right. I sort of wished it hadn’t been.


  Dana managed to keep Midnight still long enough for Payton to slide down before the saddle could slip any further. Then the trainer grabbed the girth for a closer look, her expression going grim as she examined it.

  “It looks like this girth was cut almost all the way through. If it had broken while Payton was going over a jump . . . But how did this happen?” she blustered. “I always check all tack myself before my clients go in for—oh. Wait.” She shot Payton a confused look. “Except this time I didn’t . . .”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I urged, suddenly aware of the murmurs of the crowd as they watched. “We don’t need an audience for this.” Noticing that the jump-crew guy was moving toward me again, I gulped. “Um, Dana, can you tell them to back off? Please? I can explain.”

  Dana frowned at me, seeming undecided for a second. Finally she shrugged. “It’s okay,” she told the men. “I’ll sort it out and let you know if we need help.”

  By the time we got out of the ring, my friends, the Nickersons, and Payton’s parents were waiting for us. “What happened?” Dr. Evans cried, wrapping her daughter in a hug.

  “Oh my gosh, Payton!” Bess exclaimed at the same time. “If your girth had broken over the top of one of those huge jumps, you could’ve been killed!”

  George was staring at me. “Nancy, how did you know that was going to happen?”

  “Because I finally figured out who’s behind everything that’s been happening,” I said.

  Ned gasped. “You mean the same person who drugged Midnight and slashed Payton’s saddle did this, too? Messed with her girth so she’d fall off?”

  “That’s cold!” George shot Dana a suspicious glance. “So who was it?”

  “Not any of the people you’re thinking of.” I turned and gave Payton a meaningful look.

  She met my eye, her lower lip trembling slightly. Then she nodded and squared her shoulders.

  “It was me,” she said. “I did it. All of it.”

  “What?” several voices exclaimed at once.

  “That’s right. I messed up my girth, and my saddle, too.” Payton took a deep breath. “And I fed Midnight chocolate to make him flunk that drug test.”

  Dana looked grim. “Payton, you’re the last person I ever thought would cheat to give yourself an edge.”

  “That’s not why I did it!” Payton protested quickly. She pulled off her helmet. “Please, just let me explain.” She shot her parents an unreadable look.

  “Payton?” her father prompted. “What’s this about?”

  “I just wanted a break, you know?” Payton blurted out. Her eyes filled with tears. “From the pressure, the need to be the best at all costs. From not having a life outside of showing. From always being afraid I was going to let someone down.” She paused. “And especially from feeling like I was pushing my horses way too hard. Especially this guy.”

  Midnight had turned his head to stare at the ring as another horse-and-rider pair entered. At Payton’s touch, he turned and nuzzled her hair, the rings of his bit clanking against her head.

  There was a babble of voices, some confused and some angry, as everyone reacted to Payton’s revelation. I ignored them, watching Payton.

  “So you decided to frame yourself,” I said. “Make everyone think you were in danger so they’d let you quit. Maybe even insist you quit.”

  Payton ran her fingers lightly over Midnight’s face. “That wasn’t my first plan,” she said. “First I tried to get myself suspended. I’ve been slipping chocolate to any of my horses that’ll eat it for months.”

  “Ever since you first started signing as your own trainer?” I guessed.

  She nodded. “I definitely didn’t want Dana to get in trouble. . . .”

  After that, the words poured out of her like water out of a broken dam. At first she’d been willing to wait however long it took for one of her “drugged” horses to be selected for random drug testing. But then the chef d’équipe had announced that he was coming to the River Heights show—and Payton’s parents and Dana insisted that Payton skip her cousin’s wedding to attend.

  That had made Payton desperate enough to plant that note on her father’s car. That hadn’t done the trick either, obviously. Payton ended up in River Heights anyway. Even so, she’d decided to do whatever it took to avoid riding in front of the chef d’équipe, which she seemed to see as the point of no return. First she’d called in that anonymous tip to the stewards about herself. Then she’d sneaked the second note into the grill, hoping that when Mrs. Nickerson saw it, she’d put pressure on her old friend to pull Payton from the show.

  That didn’t work either, so next Payton slashed her own saddle. She tried calling Ned and me, pretending a shadowy man was stalking her. She even let the news about Midnight’s drug test slip to Jessica Watts, knowing the gossip would be all over the show grounds in a heartbeat, which Payton hoped would influence the decision of the officials.

  But when even the long-awaited failed drug test failed to stop her from reaching the Grand Prix ring, Payton had really panicked.

  “I didn’t want to hurt Midnight,” she said, still stroking her horse’s neck. “So I figured it was going to have to be me.”

  Dr. Evans gasped. “Oh, Payton . . .”

  “So that’s what you were doing when we came into the tack room earlier,” George said. “You weren’t cleaning dirt off your saddle with that knife. You were using it to slice through your girth.”

  Payton nodded. “You guys almost caught me.”

  Mr. Evans looked grim. “I wish you’d come to us about all of this, Payton.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Payton whispered. She looked around at all of us, her gaze finally settling on Dana. “I’m really, really sorry. For everything.”

  Dana looked uncertain. “Payton . . .”

  “Will you take Midnight back to the barn for me?” Payton asked her trainer. “Please? I left some carrots for him in my tack trunk.” She stroked the horse’s face one more time. “No more Chocomintos for you, buddy.”

  Mr. Evans turned to face me. “Thank you for stopping her, young lady,” he said. “I—we—really appreciate it. If she’d gone through with her crazy plan . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced at his daughter with a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Well, thanks. Now if you’ll all excuse us, I think it’s time we had a serious family talk.”

  “Are you sure you’re not in the mood for brunch?” I poked my head into my father’s home office. “I could call and see if they have a table for us at that little café on River Street. You love that place.”

  Dad glanced up from his computer. “Sorry, Nancy,” he said. “I already told you, I’ve got to get through these briefs before tomorrow.”

  I frowned, feeling restless. That often happened after I wrapped up a tough case. Not that this one felt very wrapped up. Sure, I’d figured out who was behind all the mischief. But what was going to happen with Payton’s riding career now? That remained a mystery.

  “Well, maybe I’ll just go out for a run, then,” I said, turning away.

  “Wait,” Dad said. I spun around, hoping my father had changed his mind about brunch. But he was frowning slightly. “Actually, would you mind tossing a load into the washer? I’m all out of clean socks, and since it’s Hannah’s day off today . . .”

  I sighed loudly. It was a beautiful day, and I wasn’t in the mood for laundry. Still, Dad rarely asked me to pitch in with extra housework, since our housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, took care of most of it. So I didn’t feel right saying no.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll go take care of it right now.”

  I trudged upstairs to grab the hamper. The doorbell rang when I was halfway back down the stairs.

  “I’ll get it!” I shouted in the general direction of Dad’s office. Hurrying over to the front door, I swung it open. “Payton!” I blurted out in surprise.

  Payton smiled at me. “Hi, Nancy,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by without calling first.
”

  “No, not at all.” I stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go for a ride.” Payton waved a hand at the car parked by the curb. “My parents are letting me use their rental car, and I could use a change of scenery. And someone to talk to.”

  “Sure. Let me grab my purse.”

  Soon we were on the road. I wasn’t sure where Payton was heading, and I didn’t ask. It didn’t really matter.

  “So I wanted to say thanks,” Payton said as she eased the car to a stop at a traffic light. “I mean, at first I was kind of mad at you for stopping me. But it was the right thing to do.” She shot me a look. “I guess I went a little crazy.”

  “I understand,” I said. “And you’re welcome.”

  She drove across the intersection as the light turned green. “Anyway, my mom calls what I did a ‘cry for help.’ I think that means she thinks I wanted to get caught.” She shook her head. “I just couldn’t think of another way to get my parents’ attention—to convince them to let me slow down. They don’t believe in giving up on anything they start.”

  “The Evans Edge,” I murmured.

  She nodded. “Right. That edge can be sharp, I guess. Anyway, they’re paying attention now. I think they’re starting to understand how I feel. Or at least trying.”

  “So they’re going to let you give up showing?”

  “If that’s what I want.” Payton hesitated. “I’m not sure if I want to give it up for good. I mean, I used to love it.”

  She glanced out the side window. We were heading out of town by now, passing by larger properties and small farms. Horses were grazing in some of the fields we were passing.