“Me, too,” Bess offered.
Colleen sighed. “You and Dr. Hall are probably right, Nancy. Someone must have put the weed in Nightingale’s hay.”
“But who would deliberately want to hurt your horse?” Bess asked.
“The San Marcoses were here long enough to throw something in the stall,” Nancy said. “And you mentioned that some trainer visited earlier. What did you say her name was?”
“Gloria Donner.” Shaking her head, Colleen slowly began to walk down the aisle. “I can’t believe the San Marcoses or Gloria would be involved. I mean, they have no reason. If someone wanted Nightingale, why would they put her in danger? I’d say it was just an accident, except . . .” She hesitated.
“Except what?” Nancy prodded gently. “Did something else happen to Nightingale?”
Colleen nodded. “Last week, when I went into the barn one morning, she was wandering loose in the aisle.”
“Couldn’t she have gotten out of her stall by mistake?” Bess asked.
“No,” Colleen said firmly. “Right now, Nightingale’s worth over one hundred fifty thousand dollars. If she does well in the Midwest International, her price will jump to two hundred thousand.”
Bess sucked in her breath. “You’re kidding!”
Colleen shook her head, her expression dead serious. “And when you own a horse worth that kind of money, you don’t make mistakes like forgetting to lock the stall.”
“Then how did Nightingale get out?” Nancy asked.
Colleen shook her head. “I have no idea. My dad and I don’t keep the outside doors padlocked, in case a fire breaks out. But one or both of us is always home.”
Nancy thought for a moment. “Then it sounds as though someone sneaked in at night.”
Colleen nodded. “That’s what my parents and I think. The row of white pines along the drive could have muffled a car motor. Since the night we found Nightingale loose, we’ve installed an alarm system. It buzzes in the house if anyone comes up the drive.”
“Do you think someone tried to steal Nightingale?” Bess asked, her eyes wide.
“We don’t know,” Colleen replied. “My dad remembers hearing a noise that night and turning on the outside light. That may have been enough to scare off whoever it was.”
“Wow.” Nancy folded her arms across her chest. “This is developing into quite a mystery.”
Bess shook her head. “They seem to follow you around, Nancy Drew.”
“Any idea who—?” Nancy started to ask, but the roar of a car motor and the grate of tires on gravel stopped her in mid-sentence.
A car door slammed loudly. “Colleen!” an angry male voice hollered from outside the barn.
Colleen clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! It’s Phil! I forgot to call him about missing lunch.”
“Well, surely if you explain about—” Bess began.
“What is going on!” Phil Ackerman stood in the doorway of the barn. His fists were propped on his hips. Nancy thought he looked like a gunfighter about to shoot. “I waited for over an hour for you!” Phil thundered.
“Oh, Phil, I’m so sorry.” Colleen ran toward him. Nancy and Bess stayed back by Nightingale’s stall. “You’ve got every right to be angry,” Colleen said quickly. “We were on our way, but Nightingale got sick, and the vet just left. I completely forgot to call you.”
Phil Ackerman’s face went from pink to red. He glanced at Nancy and Bess, then grabbed Colleen by the elbow and pulled her outside.
“You could have called,” he said, his voice a low growl. Nancy tried not to listen, but it was hard not to overhear.
Colleen murmured something, and then Phil’s voice rose to an angry shout. “That’s all you think about, isn’t it? Well, this is the last time that stupid horse comes between us, Colleen. If you’re going to be my girlfriend, you’ve got to give up Nightingale—or else!”
3
A Nasty Trick
Nancy watched in shocked silence as Phil Ackerman stormed across the gravel drive. Moments later his sports car zoomed down the drive in a cloud of dust. She couldn’t see Colleen.
“Wow,” Bess whispered. “What do you think that was all about?”
“I don’t know, but he sounded plenty angry,” Nancy whispered back. “Angrier than someone who’d just been stood up for lunch.”
Bess nodded. “Maybe we’d better see if Colleen’s okay.”
Nancy and Bess walked to the outside door and peeked around it. Colleen was leaning against the barn wall, wiping tears from her eyes. With a halfhearted smile, she waved to them.
“So much for first impressions,” she said with a sniff, taking the tissue Bess had hurried to hand her. “You guys must think Phil’s a real jerk.”
“We’re not going to think anything until we hear what’s going on,” Nancy said.
“Thanks.” Colleen blew her nose, then breathed deeply. “There, I feel better.” She flashed a big smile, but Nancy could tell it was forced.
“How about some lunch?” Colleen asked, changing the subject. “If you don’t mind tuna fish and carrot sticks, Healeys’ Kitchen has great food.”
“Sounds good to me.” Bess linked her arm through Colleen’s. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse!” Realizing what she’d said, she clapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “Oops.”
Nancy and Colleen burst into laughter as the three of them went into the barn to check on Nightingale. But when they passed the pile of hay in the middle of the aisle, Colleen’s laughter died. “What a morning,” she said under her breath.
Ten minutes later the girls were in the Healeys’ kitchen, making tuna sandwiches.
“I’m sure glad Nightingale’s better,” Nancy said. “That was quite a scare.”
“Boy, was it.” Colleen poured out three glasses of juice and placed them around the table. “From now on I’m going to watch Nightingale like a hawk. Especially since . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Since you don’t think it was an accident?” Nancy asked as the girls sat down to eat.
Colleen nodded. “Something weird is definitely going on, but I have no idea what or why or who’s behind it.”
Bess glanced at Nancy, then back at Colleen. “Maybe telling us what’s up between you and Phil might help,” she suggested gently.
Colleen smiled. “Phil has nothing to do with Nightingale getting sick, believe me. He loves horses. That’s how we met. We used to compete against each other in shows when we were younger. Then he quit riding.”
“Why did Phil quit?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, he started playing soccer, and that took up most of his time. I’d practically forgotten about Phil until I bumped into him at the mall last year. Since then we’ve been going out—or trying to, anyway.” Colleen frowned. “I spend so much time riding, preparing for shows, traveling, and helping my parents keep the farm up that our dates are pretty few and far between. It’s no wonder Phil gets angry.”
“I take it he’s not interested in horses anymore,” Nancy commented, reaching for a carrot stick. “Otherwise, maybe he could pitch in.”
“He does help,” Colleen said. “But you really have to give all of yourself if you want to get to the top in show jumping. Even my parents aren’t as involved anymore. Your life becomes consumed by horses. Phil doesn’t want that.”
Nancy nodded. Now she understood why Colleen was thinking about selling Nightingale. “And you’re not sure you want that kind of life anymore, either?”
“You guessed it.” Colleen pushed her plate away. Bess hungrily eyed her leftover half of a sandwich. Colleen laughed. “Take it, Marvin. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
“Thanks.” Bess reached for the sandwich. “So the problem is, you don’t want to sell Nightingale, but you don’t want to spend so much time riding, either.”
Colleen nodded, then stood up and went over to a cookie jar on the counter. “Right.”
“Why don’t you just keep your horse and ride fo
r fun?” Bess asked.
“Because Nightingale’s too talented to waste as a pleasure horse,” Colleen replied. “I also have this dream of going to medical school. But that takes big bucks and major commitment.”
“I’ll say.” Bess rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t your parents help out?”
“Most of their money’s tied up in the farm.” Colleen set the cookie jar on the table and took off the lid.
Bess peered into the jar. “Mmm, chocolate chip. My favorite.”
“And selling Nightingale would finance school,” Nancy guessed. “Though you could postpone med school for a year or two.”
Colleen sat heavily in the chair. “It seems as if I’ve waited long enough. My showing schedule is so crazy, I don’t even have time to take classes. And the prize money isn’t enough to cover Nightingale’s expenses. She’s actually costing me money. Besides, I love Phil, and I’d like to go to college with him. Campus life sounds fun.”
“But you love Nightingale, too,” Bess said with a sad smile.
“Yeah.” Colleen looked gloomily down at the cookie in her hand.
For a few moments the three girls munched on cookies in silence. Nancy couldn’t help but wonder if Colleen’s information was tied in somehow with the poisoned hay. Could it have been Phil’s way of discouraging Colleen from going to the show? Nancy sat back in her chair, her brow furrowed.
“Uh, oh,” Bess groaned. “I recognize that expression, Detective Drew.”
“Well, it is strange,” Nancy said. “Why would anyone want to hurt Nightingale?”
“Maybe no one does want to hurt her,” Colleen said. “I’ve been under such pressure lately, I could just be imagining things,” she added, running her fingers through her hair.
Nancy went over and gave her friend a quick hug. “I don’t think the bouncing bet was in anyone’s imagination.”
“Not mine, anyway,” Bess joked. “I tend to imagine things like winning a million dollars.”
The three girls laughed, and for a moment the tension was broken. Colleen began picking up dishes and rinsing them off. Nancy cleared her plate and glass and handed them to her friend.
“You know, Colleen, I’d like to help if . . .”
“Gee, Nancy I sure would appreciate it if . . .” both girls started to say at the same time.
Bess brought over her dishes and handed them to Colleen. “I guess you two are trying to say the same thing,” she explained. “And yes, it’s a good idea for Nancy to take on the case.”
“Though I’ve never had a horse as a client before,” Nancy said with a grin. She turned to Colleen. “But seriously, if there is something strange going on, I’ll try and track it down.”
Colleen sighed. “That really would take a load off my shoulders. Maybe you can come out Monday to the barn and snoop around. Nightingale should be okay by then.” She stuck the last plate in the dishwasher. “Right now I’d better check on my patient. Dr. Hall will be back soon.”
“We should be going, too,” Nancy said.
Five minutes later the girls said their goodbyes at the driveway. Nancy watched Colleen go into the barn, then slid into the passenger seat of Bess’s red Camaro.
“She sure does spend a lot of time with that horse,” Bess commented as they drove down the long, winding drive. “I can see why Phil gets mad.”
“Though it did seem as if he went a little overboard,” Nancy said with a thoughtful frown. “I mean, I have to wonder what he meant by ‘you’ve got to give up Nightingale or else.’ ”
“That’s easy. He meant, ‘or else we’re breaking up.’ ”
Nancy folded her arms and rested her head back against the car seat. “Maybe.”
Bess shot her a curious look. “You’re not thinking Phil had something to do with Nightingale getting sick, are you?”
“It might make his life easier if the horse was out of the picture.”
“No way.” Bess shook her head emphatically. “I can’t picture a guy being jealous enough to do in a horse.”
“You’re probably right.” Nancy sighed. “I’m just glad we promised to come back Monday and do a little more investigating.”
• • •
On Monday morning Bess and Nancy stood outside Nightingale’s stall as Colleen finished putting on the mare’s bridle. Nightingale’s ears were pricked in eager anticipation.
“Boy, Nightingale sure looks different than when we left her on Saturday,” Bess said.
“Dr. Hall said she’s fully recovered,” Colleen told her. “She checked Nightingale out yesterday afternoon.” Colleen took the saddle off the door and threw it on the mare’s back.
“And I’d say by the grin on your face that you and Phil made up,” Nancy said in a teasing voice.
Colleen flushed. “You’re right. Last night we went out to dinner. It was very romantic. I guess I needed the break. I just didn’t realize how much pressure I’ve been under lately, getting ready for the upcoming show and trying to make a decision about selling Nightingale.”
“Has anything else unusual happened since Saturday?” Nancy asked.
“No. Things have been real quiet. Last night Dad stayed home and kept an eye on Nightingale.” Colleen crossed her fingers. “Let’s hope things have returned to normal. Right, girl?” She kissed Nightingale on her soft nose, then led her from the stall. But as the mare stepped into the aisle, Nancy could see that she was favoring her right front leg.
“She’s lame,” Nancy said, frowning. “Her front leg.”
“What?” Colleen walked the horse two more steps down the aisle. Nightingale was clearly limping.
“I can’t believe it!” Colleen’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “What is going on?”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Bess tried to reassure her friend. “A pebble or something.”
Colleen sucked in her breath. “You’re probably right. I’m just overreacting. Oh, no!” Handing the reins to Nancy, she suddenly bent down and ran her hand down Nightingale’s right foreleg.
“Look at this!” Colleen cried, straightening abruptly. She was staring down at the palm of her hand. Nancy came over to stand next to her. There was reddish-brown gunk and horse hair on Colleen’s fingers.
“What’s that?” Bess asked, peering around Colleen’s other side.
Colleen held out her hand. “Smell.”
“No way!” Bess stepped back, but Nancy leaned over and sniffed. “It smells like strong pine tar,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s called a blister,” Colleen answered in a bitter voice. “You rub the substance on a horse, and it burns its skin sore. My fingers are tingling right now.”
Puzzled, Nancy frowned. “If you didn’t put it on Nightingale, then who did?”
Colleen’s eyes glimmered angrily. “I don’t know. But whoever did it was trying to make Nightingale lame on purpose!”
4
A Painful Surprise
“Someone deliberately rubbed the blister on Nightingale’s leg?” Nancy repeated, shocked.
Colleen nodded. “And it must have been late last night or sometime this morning. Nightingale was fine when I put her in the barn early yesterday evening.”
“But why would someone want to hurt your horse? And where’d they get that blister stuff?” Bess asked two of the questions that were spinning in Nancy’s mind.
Colleen threw up her hands. “Who knows!” she exclaimed. “If I knew who it was I’d . . . I’d . . .” Suddenly her voice trailed off and her shoulders slumped. “I’d better get some warm soapy water and wash off the blister before it makes Nightingale’s leg swell,” she said finally. “It’s already burning my own fingers.” She held out her hands. Her fingers were reddish brown. “The stuff stains your skin, even if you wash it off.”
By the time Colleen returned with a bucket, Nancy and Bess had untacked Nightingale and put on the mare’s halter. “I figured you wouldn’t be riding today,” Nancy said to Colleen.
“That’s for sur
e,” Colleen said grimly. “I just hope Nightingale’s going to be in shape for the show. It’s only four days away.” Bending down, Colleen began sloshing the sudsy water onto the mare’s legs. “Fortunately, one application of a blister doesn’t really hurt a horse. And whoever put it on didn’t use much. It probably made Nightingale’s skin tender, so she didn’t want to bend her pastern.”
“Uh, I don’t want to sound too dumb,” Bess said hesitantly. “But what’s a pastern?”
Colleen pointed to what looked like the horse’s ankle. “It’s between the hoof and the fetlock.” Colleen stood up, and Nancy caught a whiff of the strong scent of the blister.
“The blister will wear off overnight,” Colleen said with a sigh. “But this makes three days in a row I haven’t worked Nightingale. And she needs to be in super shape if she’s going to do well at the show.”
“What exactly is a blister and where could someone get it?” Nancy asked.
“A blister is a counterirritant that you rub on a horse’s leg. It’s supposed to make sprains and pulled tendons heal faster.”
“Huh?” Bess looked confused. “How can making a horse’s leg sore help it heal?”
“When the blister burns the area, it supposedly speeds up the flow of blood to the leg, which promotes healing. It’s used a lot on racehorses. Most people who show horses don’t use it, because it can peel off the hair.”
“Do you keep a bottle in your tack room?” Nancy asked.
Colleen nodded. “In the medicine chest. I haven’t used it in ages.”
Nancy handed Bess the lead line. Inside the tack room she found the medicine chest mounted on the wall. Opening the door, she read the various labels. Finally she found the blister tucked behind a box of cotton. When she pulled out the bottle, she checked for signs that it had recently been opened. But there was no telltale scent of the strong-smelling liquid, and the top was screwed on tightly.
“Whoever put the blister on Nightingale didn’t get it from your medicine chest,” Nancy said when she rejoined her friends, who were standing outside in the driveway. Colleen was hosing off Nightingale’s legs.