“Hi,” I said as my friends and I stepped in. “Have either of you guys seen Dana lately? Or Payton?”
The girls spun around. “Nancy!” Rachel exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it!”
“Can’t believe what?” I asked.
“Come look!” She grabbed my sleeve, dragging me to the saddle rack. “Can you believe someone did this to Payton’s saddle?”
I gasped. The saddle’s seat had been slashed to ribbons!
CHAPTER SIX
Vandal Scandal
“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS PAYTON’S SADDLE?” I asked the girls.
“Definitely,” the younger one spoke up. “It’s practically brand-new, too. Her dad bought it for her after she won a big class at Devon.”
“I already texted Dana to tell her,” Rachel put in. “She’s on her way.”
“Good.” I leaned closer to the saddle for a better look, but didn’t touch it. If Dana called the cops, I didn’t want to mess up any potential evidence.
“Pretty thorough job,” Bess said over my shoulder.
“Yeah.” The leather seat was a total loss. Every inch of it was sliced all the way down to the padding underneath.
“Who would do something like this?” the younger girl wondered, her voice shaking a little.
I turned to face her. “I was just going to ask you two the same thing,” I said. “Do you know of anyone who dislikes Payton?”
Rachel and the younger girl traded a look. Then they both shrugged.
“Out of the junior riders on the circuit, it’s mostly just Jessica,” Rachel said. “Jessica Watts. She’s this rider from another barn near ours. She’s always super rude to Payton when they compete against each other.”
“Or even see each other,” the second girl added.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve seen her in action.” George grimaced.
“She’s around Payton’s age, right?” I said. “Brown hair, narrow chin, rides a tall gray horse?”
“That’s her,” Rachel confirmed.
“Why doesn’t she like Payton?” Bess asked.
“We don’t know,” Rachel said, as the other girl nodded. “Probably just because Payton usually beats her, I guess.”
“Does Jessica hate Payton enough to do something like this?” George waved a hand at the ruined saddle.
Rachel glanced at it, looking dubious. “I don’t know. I always thought she was just kind of snotty. But you never know, I guess.”
A thought occurred to me. “That big jumper class Payton won—the one you mentioned just now—did Jessica ride in that class, too?”
“You mean the one that got Payton’s dad to buy her the saddle?” the younger girl asked. “That wasn’t a jumper class, it was an eq class.”
“A what class?” George asked.
“Eq—that’s short for equitation,” Rachel explained. “That’s where the rider is judged instead of the horse. You know—for having the proper riding position and stuff.”
“Okay,” I said. “But was Jessica in it too?”
“Jessica doesn’t do eq,” Rachel said. “She only rides jumpers.”
“And hunters, sometimes,” the other girl put in. “At least she used to, before she sold her pony.”
My head was spinning with all the horse show jargon. But the one fact I needed seemed clear enough regardless of the details. “So Payton didn’t beat Jessica out for some big prize in that particular class?”
“Not that one.” The younger girl giggled. “Just, like, every other class Jessica’s ever been in.”
So the saddle probably wasn’t some kind of symbol of a particularly heinous defeat. That didn’t necessarily mean Jessica couldn’t still be the culprit. But I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
“Anyone else you can think of who might have it out for Payton?” I asked, waiting for Rachel to mention Lenny Hood. After all, she was one of the ones who’d told us about his history with Payton.
Instead it was the younger girl who spoke up. “Um, maybe,” she said hesitantly. She paused, shooting a look at Rachel. “What about Cal?”
At that moment Dana burst into the room like a small tornado. “This is the absolute last straw!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “I’m serious. Payton has to stop messing up my life, or I won’t be around to live it! Then where will you all be? Who will be there to fix all your disasters and help pick up the pieces, huh? I ask you!” She glared at the two girls, who didn’t answer. In fact, both of them were inching backward toward the door.
“Did you find Payton?” I asked, stepping forward. “What did she say about—”
“No, I didn’t find Payton!” the trainer cut me off irritably. “You’d think at a small-town show like this, she wouldn’t be so hard to track down. Just one more way she’s making my life difficult.”
She pushed past Bess and snatched the ruined saddle off the rack. Then she stomped toward the door.
“Wait!” I said. “I need to ask you—”
“Sorry,” she cut me off again. “I need to find Payton. Like, seriously, now.”
“Wow,” Rachel said once the trainer was gone. “She seemed really mad.”
“Yeah.” The younger girl grabbed Rachel’s arm to check her watch. “We better go start tacking up, or she’ll be mad at us next.”
The two of them rushed out of the room without another word. “Leave it to Nancy,” George said.
“Leave it to Nancy what?” I asked, distracted by my thoughts.
George smirked. “To show up at an innocent, fun-filled day at the horse show, and have everything go down the drain.”
Bess rolled her eyes. “You’re blaming Nancy just because a mystery happened to show up where she happened to be?” she said. “That makes about as much sense as Dana blaming Payton because someone vandalized her saddle.”
“Right.” I was kind of disturbed by the trainer’s reaction myself. “It’s like Dana can’t wait to criticize everything Payton does.”
“Think she should be a suspect?” George asked.
“You never know,” I said. “But there are a few better ones I want to check out first. Like Jessica Watts, and Lenny Hood, and maybe this Cal that girl just mentioned, whoever that might be.”
Bess nodded. “And what about the animal rights group from the parking lot? They’re the ones who tossed that tomato.”
“True, though I haven’t seen any sign that any of them has actually been inside the show grounds, which would make it hard for them to slash the saddle.” I paused. “Besides, I can’t imagine why they’d be targeting Payton in particular.”
“Maybe because she wins a lot?” George suggested. “They might figure it’ll make more of a splash for their cause or whatever.”
“I don’t know. Sounds a little far-fetched. Still, you’re right—let’s not cross anyone off the list just yet.” Spotting Midnight’s groom hurrying past outside, I stepped into the aisle. “Hey, Mickey!” I called.
The groom stopped and glanced at me. “Yes?” he said politely, no hint of recognition on his weathered face. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Payton’s friend,” I prompted him. “Nancy. We met yesterday.”
“Oh.” Mickey didn’t seem interested. But that didn’t matter—I wasn’t looking for small talk. Just information.
“You’ve probably seen the animal rights people protesting outside, right?” I said. “I was wondering if you’ve noticed them at any other shows in the past couple of months. Especially the recent one where Midnight got drug tested?”
For the first time, the groom showed a glimmer of emotion. Namely, confusion. “I don’t know. I don’t usually leave the grounds much during a show.” He shrugged. “Didn’t hear anything about any protesters the past few shows, though.”
“Did you hear about the ones at this show?” George asked.
“Yeah.” The groom shot her a look. “I heard. Had to clean their mess off Midnight’s coat yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Oka
y, one more question,” I said. “Do you know of anyone around here named Cal?”
“Cal?” Mickey blinked. “The only Cal I know of is Cal Kidd. He’s a jumper rider—and he’s the one who sold Midnight to Payton.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Research and Gossip
BEFORE I COULD QUESTION MICKEY FURTHER, his cell phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said after glancing at the screen. “I have to go.”
He hurried off. “He’s not exactly Mr. Chatty, is he?” Bess said.
“It’s okay. At least now we have a name.” I glanced at George. “Feel like looking up Cal Kidd on your smartphone?”
“On it.” George pulled out her fancy phone, a gift from her parents for her last birthday. Her fingers flew over the keypad.
“So this Cal is Midnight’s former owner,” Bess mused, leaning against the door frame of the tack room as we waited. “If he sold the horse to Payton, why would he be mad at her now? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “Maybe he thinks she cheated him on the price somehow? Although that wouldn’t make much sense either, since her parents would have been the ones actually paying, right?”
“Got it,” George spoke up. “There are quite a few articles about Cal Kidd on the web.” She held the phone’s tiny screen closer to her face, scanning whatever was on there. “Whoa. Looks like he’s had some gambling problems. Got in a bunch of debt, even went to prison for a bit. Was out of the whole horse show scene for a couple of years and is just now getting back into it.”
“Really?” That sounded interesting. I leaned closer. “Anything about Midnight on there?”
“Hold on, I’m reading. . . .” George went silent.
Bess glanced down the aisle. “Someone’s coming,” she said. “Maybe we should find a more private spot to talk about this.”
I nodded, following her gaze. A gaggle of tweens in riding clothes were coming our way, chattering excitedly at one another.
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing George’s elbow and steering her down the aisle in the opposite direction. She didn’t say a word—just kept reading, occasionally hitting a key with her thumb.
The show grounds were getting busy by now, and it wasn’t easy to find a spot where we wouldn’t be overheard. Finally we happened upon a small courtyard behind the show office. Nobody was out there, and it was hidden from the main path by a line of shrubs and a large Dumpster.
“Yuck, not exactly my favorite,” Bess said, glancing at the flies buzzing around the Dumpster.
“Never mind, we won’t be here long.” I turned to George. “What’ve you got?”
George looked up from her phone. “Okay, here’s the gist of this Cal Kidd guy’s history.” She started pacing back and forth like an overcaffeinated university lecturer. “He was some big-time jumper rider for years—started winning big classes when he was almost as young as Payton. Everyone thought he was destined for the Olympic show-jumping team.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bess put in.
“Yeah. He had lots of sponsors buying him horses and riders wanting him to be their trainer. Only then, like I said, he got mixed up in gambling. Ended up in serious debt, lost all his supporters and clients, and had to sell off his horses.”
“Including Midnight?” Bess asked.
“Yeah. That’s the weird thing, though.” George stopped pacing and glanced down at the phone in her hand. “It sounds like Midnight wasn’t even one of his better horses. In fact, it sounds like he didn’t have much success with him at all, even though he won everything there was to win on every other horse he rode.” She shrugged. “Midnight didn’t start winning anything important until after Payton bought him.”
“Interesting.” I stared at the brick wall of the office building, trying to fit this into what we knew about the case so far. “Could Cal be trying to get Midnight back now that the horse is a superstar—a potential Olympic horse?”
“Could be,” George agreed. “That would be a good way to jump-start his return to the sport.” She grinned. “Did you see what I did there? Jump-start?”
“Yeah, you’re a comic genius,” Bess said dryly. She turned to me. “But would he really want Midnight back? George just said Cal didn’t have much luck with him the first time. Maybe they didn’t get along.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s worth checking out.” I chewed on my lower lip, trying to figure out how to proceed. “I should’ve asked Mickey if Cal is at this show.”
“One way to find out.” Bess pointed at the building in front of us. “Let’s go ask at the office.”
Within minutes, we had the information we needed. The pleasant woman manning the show secretary’s desk told us that Cal Kidd had reserved a block of three stalls at the show. She even pointed us in the right direction.
My friends and I headed that way. “So what are you going to say to Cal Kidd?” Bess asked me.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “I guess I’ll just mention Midnight and then—hold on, is that my phone?”
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket. A text had just arrived from Ned:
FOUND P. SHE & D ARE TALKING PRIVATELY IN THE TACK RM.
George peered at the screen. “Yikes,” she said. “I’m surprised we can’t hear Dana yelling from here.”
I grimaced, then sent a quick response:
KEEP US POSTED. B, G, & I ARE CHECKING OUT A LEAD.
“I wonder how Payton is taking the news about Midnight’s drug-test results,” Bess said. “She seemed pretty broken up by that drugging accusation yesterday—this is much worse.”
“Yeah.” I squinted at the number on the barn we were approaching. “Look, I think we’re almost to Cal Kidd’s stalls.”
It took another few minutes of wandering around and asking people for help before we found our way to the very back of the barn, where Cal Kidd’s three stalls were tucked into a corner. Unlike Dana’s section in her barn, which was spotless and fully decked out in her barn colors, Cal’s area here seemed a bit shabby and bare. However, the horses looking out of the three stalls appeared healthy and well groomed.
“Hello?” I called as Bess patted a curious chestnut mare. “Mr. Kidd?”
There was no response. A woman sweeping the aisle in front of the next block of stalls looked our way. “You looking for Cal?” she called in a friendly tone. “He’s not here.”
I stepped closer. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Not sure. Haven’t seen him all day, actually,” the woman said. “I talked to him a bit yesterday, and I don’t think he has any classes today, so I guess he might not be back until feeding time tonight. Want me to let him know you were looking for him if I see him then?”
I was disappointed, but tried not to let it show. “Um, that’s okay. We’ll just check back later. Thanks.”
Returning to my friends, I told them what the woman had said. “Guess there’s no point hanging around here, then.” Bess gave the chestnut one last pat, then stepped back. “Maybe we should head back and see what’s going on with Payton.”
“Hey, did you guys see this?” George was peering up at a cork bulletin board hanging between two of the stalls. It was the only bit of decoration in Cal’s area, containing several ribbons and photos, though I’d barely glanced at it before. “This must be Cal Kidd. Look familiar?”
I stepped closer. “Yeah,” I said. “That looks like the same guy we saw yesterday. The one who seemed so angry when Payton beat him in that first class we watched.”
George nodded. “I think you guys are right. The photos on my phone were so small that I didn’t recognize him before.”
“So that’s interesting,” Bess said. “First Payton turns Cal’s old horse into a big success, then she starts beating him during his big comeback.”
“That can’t be easy to take, especially since she’s, like, half his age,” George added. “Think it’s enough of a motive to mess with her?”
“Maybe.” I stared at the photo
for a moment, then turned away. “Come on, let’s go find Ned.”
As we walked out of the barn, George started fiddling with her cell phone again. “What are you doing?” Bess asked.
“Looking up our other suspects,” George replied. “Lenny Hood and Jessica Watts.”
“Finding anything interesting?” I asked.
“Not yet—just regular stuff about their show results or whatever.” George tapped a few more keys. “I’ll let you know.”
She was still searching when we neared the building where Dana’s block of stalls was located. Just outside, half a dozen teenage riders were gathered by the benches outside the barn entrance. As we neared them, I was pretty sure I heard Payton’s name.
“Hold up,” I whispered, stopping my friends.
George looked up from her phone screen. “Huh?”
I shushed her, trying to hear what the teens were saying. A pretty brunette was talking. “. . . and if she gets suspended, there’s no way they’ll even consider giving her a chance at the team this year.”
Another girl pursed her lips. “I bet she did it. She’s so intense—like she’d do anything to win.”
“Yeah,” a third rider put in. “Plus, if you ask me, there’s no way someone her age could win all those big jumper classes without a little, you know, extra help.” She smirked as several of the others giggled.
“Come on, you guys,” a petite blond girl spoke up. “I think Payton’s really sweet, and she seems super honest, too. Maybe it wasn’t her fault.”
That was all I needed to hear. I strode forward to confront them. “Are you guys talking about Payton Evans?” I asked.
The girls all looked startled. One of them, a tall redhead with freckles all over her face, met my eye.
“Who wants to know?” she asked.
“I do,” I responded evenly. “I’m a friend of Payton’s. If there’s something going on, I’d like to know about it.”
The redhead considered that for a moment, then glanced at the others. “Whatever,” she said at last. “Everyone is going to know soon anyway. Payton’s Grand Prix horse just flunked a drug test.”