BEFORE NANCY COULD HEAR another word, the two men moved out of earshot. She did notice, though, that McHugh had turned even whiter at the other man’s words.
“What was that all about?” Bess asked.
Nancy shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, but it sure sounded like a threat to me. What did you think?”
Bess rolled her eyes. “You’re not trying to scare up a mystery by any chance, are you?”
“Maybe,” Nancy admitted, her blue eyes twinkling. “It has been a while between cases.” She glanced at the two retreating figures. “I just wish I knew what they were talking about.”
She and Bess asked directions to the barns. As they peeked in one they could see a long row of stalls. The smell of horses and hay and feed hung in the dust-filled air. Pawing hooves, soft nickers, and snorts mingled with the shouts of stable boys. All contributed to the constant din.
As they approached barn ten, they heard a voice on the loudspeaker announce that the afternoon races would begin soon.
Barn ten was a beehive of activity. Grooms, stable boys, and trainers surrounded each horse.
“Which one is Pied Piper?” Bess asked as they walked in front of the stalls. “Do you think Thea will know us?”
“She told me she’d be—”
“Nancy Drew?” a woman’s voice called out.
“—looking for me,” Nancy finished, smiling at the young, trim, dark-haired woman approaching them.
“Thea Rodriguez.” The trainer introduced herself, shaking Nancy’s and Bess’s hand in turn. Nancy liked the no-nonsense appeal of Thea’s jeans and plaid work shirt. “I’ve been waiting for you. Wait till you see him. Pied Piper’s the best horse I’ve ever trained!”
With no further introduction she led Bess and Nancy toward Pied Piper’s stall. The colt looked at them over the top of the gate, his tail switching nervously. The gloss of his fiery chestnut coat indicated he was well cared for. An off-center white star was nearly hidden by his forelock. As if sensing they were admiring him, he suddenly tossed his head and nickered.
“He’s beautiful,” Nancy said, feeling more than a little proud.
“Oh, I hope he wins,” Bess said fervently. “Wouldn’t that be the best?”
“It certainly would,” Thea answered, her serious face breaking into a grin. “There are a lot of terrific horse races that a champion colt, or filly, can enter, but there’s only one Derby. And only one chance to win it.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bess.
“The Derby’s only for three-year-olds,” Thea explained, “so a horse can enter it only once.”
“How did you become interested in being a trainer?” Nancy asked.
“My father was a trainer. A really good trainer,” Thea added honestly. “I’ve been around horses all my life, and because my father was respected, the Thoroughbred owners respected me, too.” She rubbed her hand down Pied Piper’s long, silky nose. “When my father died, I wanted to take up where he’d left off, but it hasn’t been as easy as I’d hoped. This is mainly a man’s profession still. Some people don’t think a woman can do the job.”
“I know what you mean,” Nancy said with feeling. “I have a similar problem sometimes.”
“Your father told me you’re a detective,” Thea responded. “I’d like to hear about your cases sometime.”
“Nancy’s the best,” Bess put in loyally as a short, wiry young man walked up to Thea.
“This is Jimmy Harris,” Thea said, introducing them all. “Pied Piper’s jockey.”
“I’m heading out to the races now,” he told Thea after saying hello to the girls. “Unless you need anything else.”
Thea shook her head, and Jimmy gave Nancy and Bess a friendly smile before he left. He reminded Nancy of the red-haired jockey she’d seen earlier. She found herself wondering again what his quarrel with the heavyset man had been.
Nancy asked casually, “Is there a red-haired jockey here named McHugh?”
Thea glanced at Nancy with a worried frown. “McHugh rides for Johnson Farms. He’s Toot Sweet’s jockey in the Derby. Toot Sweet is the favorite.”
“Toot Sweet is the horse’s name?” Bess asked.
Nancy smiled. “In French tout de suite means ’right away.’ Is that why the horse is named Toot Sweet?”
“Exactly,” said Thea. “Apparently when Toot Sweet was a foal someone said, ‘That little filly really moves across the field tout de suite.’ So they named her Toot Sweet.”
“Her?” Nancy repeated in surprise. “A filly’s the favorite? Isn’t that unusual?”
“Very,” Thea agreed. “I see you’ve done some research,” she added, obviously impressed. “Only two fillies have ever won the Derby—Regret back in 1915, and Genuine Risk in 1980. The colts are generally bigger and stronger. But Toot Sweet’s a hefty girl.”
Out of the corner of her eye Nancy caught sight of a handsome man in his early twenties moving their way. His blue denim work shirt set off piercing blue eyes and the balmy breeze ruffled his midnight black hair. He wore jeans, like Thea, and he walked with an easy gait that suggested he was part of the horse-racing scene.
“Well, here’s the man to ask,” Thea said, a smile finding its way to her lips. “Cameron Parker, I’d like you to meet Nancy Drew and her friend—”
“Bess Marvin,” said Bess, staring at Parker with stars in her eyes. Trust Bess to zero in on the one sensational-looking guy around, Nancy thought, amused.
“Cam is Toot Sweet’s trainer,” Thea added. Her eyes met Cam’s and held steady on them for a minute.
“So you’re with Johnson Farms, too,” Nancy said. “We saw Toot Sweet’s jockey a little while ago.”
Cam’s dark brows pulled together in a frown. “Where?” he asked tersely.
“Standing by the stable area fence near the racecourse.” Cam’s reaction heightened Nancy’s curiosity. “He was talking to a heavyset man with a flattened nose.”
Cam’s blue eyes turned wintry. “Was he?” he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn’t happy. “Ken’s supposed to be getting ready for Toot Sweet’s public workout between races” was all he said, however. Turning to Thea, he added, “I just came to ask you if you’d like to see her run.”
“In just a minute,” Thea agreed. In a little while she invited Nancy and Bess to join them. “The public workouts are so people at the track can see the Derby horses in action. Toot Sweet’s time will be announced over the loudspeaker. Let’s go check out the competition,” she said, swinging into motion.
On the way to the dirt track, Cam said to Nancy and Bess, “Thea and I pay close attention to all the horses and what they’re doing. It’s all part of the business. It’s better to get the facts from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, than from some misinformed stable boy or racing enthusiast.”
Nancy doubted that was the only reason Cam and Thea paid so much attention to each other, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“There they are,” Cam said as he, Thea, Nancy, and Bess circled the single wooden rail surrounding the track. Cam pointed at the stunning black filly that was thundering toward the back-stretch. She was rapidly approaching the area where they were all standing, her strides eating up the turf. Nancy recognized the redheaded jockey sitting high in the saddle astride her.
Toot Sweet’s muscles gleamed like oiled satin. She looked tough and fit and a match for any of the colts that would be running against her on Derby day.
“Wow,” Bess said, taking a step backward as Toot Sweet swept around the curve, turf kicking up from behind her flashing hooves. Even though the rail separated them from the track, Bess obviously wasn’t taking any chances.
“She looks terrific, Cam,” Thea murmured appreciatively, stepping close to him and away from the girls.
Toot Sweet charged forward, moving toward them. An extra movement beneath her belly suddenly caught Nancy’s eye. The girth had come undone!
“The saddle!” Nancy cried, pointing.
At that moment McHugh pitched forward on Toot Sweet’s neck. Confused, the Thoroughbred pulled sharply to the right, tearing straight toward them.
Bess screamed. Nancy stepped back in horror. A thousand pounds of thundering Thoroughbred was charging out of control. Toot Sweet was about to crash through the rail—straight at Bess and Nancy.