Mrs. Rogers bent down and snatched up the note. Then she fished for her spectacles in her skirt pocket and jammed them onto her face. She squinted at the paper in her hand.
Suddenly her eyes hardened. She crumpled the paper angrily and thrust it into her pocket. “Girls and boys,” she began, holding up her hand for silence. But the campers had erupted in a flurry of questions and speculations, and it took a moment to gather their attention.
“I wonder what that note said,” George whispered to Nancy.
“You and me both,” Nancy said. “We’ll ask Mrs. Rogers when we’re alone with her and can talk about the case.”
“Excuse me!’ ” Mrs. Rogers shouted. She took a whistle out of her pocket and blew it. Everyone instantly hushed. “That’s more like it! Anyway, I’m sorry to tell you kids that someone substituted a very inappropriate message for the names of the team. I’d like to postpone the announcement of the team until dinner tonight, when we’re in a better mood to celebrate. We’ll break up now into our regular afternoon activities. I believe the Gold Group has dressage, while the Green Group swims. Later there’s cross-country for both groups.”
A groan of disappointment filled the tent. Nancy watched Mrs. Rogers trudge into the house carrying an empty salad bowl and a platter of cookie crumbs. The campers began clearing their plates in silence. Everyone seemed too stunned to speak. Nancy and George followed Mrs. Rogers inside with empty pitchers and plates of leftover watermelon slices.
Nancy and George set the dishes on the kitchen counter where Mrs. Rogers had cleared a space. “Thank you so much for your help, girls,” she said. She glanced sideways at the cook, who was putting food away. “Let’s go into the dining room,” she murmured. “I want some privacy while we discuss the note.”
The girls sat down beside Mrs. Rogers at the dining room table. “Let me know what you make of this, Nancy,” she said, pulling the crumpled paper from her pocket.
Nancy scanned the message, with George looking on. “Close down your camp—or tragedy will strike!” it read.
Nancy handed the paper back to Mrs. Rogers. “This message is threatening more danger. I think we should call the police. But I’ll continue with my investigation.”
“I’ll call them right away,” Mrs. Rogers said. Just then, two girls who were fourteen years old entered the room. One girl looked defiant, and the other was rubbing tears from her eyes.
“Mrs. Rogers, Rebecca and I want to go home,” the first girl said. “It’s getting too creepy around here. Camp ends tomorrow, anyway.”
“I’m really scared here,” Rebecca whimpered.
Mrs. Rogers looked crushed, but she forced a smile. “I’m sorry you girls want to leave. But by all means, call your parents to bring you home if you feel in danger. I think you’re safe here, though. And I’m about to call the police, to ensure our safety.”
Rebecca shuddered. “The police? Things must be even worse than I’d thought. I’d like to call Mom and Dad right now, if you don’t mind.”
As Mrs. Rogers led them into the kitchen, Nancy and George exchanged glances. “If I don’t solve this case soon, Mrs. Rogers won’t have a camp,” Nancy said gravely.
“We need more clues,” George said, “and more suspects. Clare’s our only one.”
“She and JB,” Nancy said. She briefed George on Rafael’s saddle, and finding the letter opener with the JB monogram. Just as she finished her story, Mrs. Rogers returned to the room.
“Chief McGinnis is on his way here with an associate, Officer Rivken,” Mrs. Rogers explained. “Unfortunately, Rebecca and Natalie have gone upstairs to pack.” She threw up her hands in a weary gesture. “I guess the only thing for us to do now is get on with our afternoon activities.”
Chief McGinnis soon showed up with Officer Rivken, a slim, dark-haired young man with alert brown eyes. Nancy, who was helping the Gold Group prepare for dressage, waved to the officers as they approached the ring. “I can give you all the information I have so far,” she offered.
“Don’t blow your cover by talking to us for too long,” Chief McGinnis warned. “Mrs. Rogers has already given us the lowdown.”
“My cover’s blown already,” Nancy said. She told the officers about the soaped message on her windshield. “But you’re right, Chief McGinnis. It’s better if most of the kids don’t realize I’m a detective.”
Officer Rivken nodded in agreement. “If they feel like you’re a regular person, you’ll catch more gossip from them. And the more information you can get, the better.”
Nancy told them her suspicions about Clare, and also about finding the letter opener. Then the policemen set off to search the house and barn for clues.
The Gold Group finished its dressage session with Rafael taking Clown through his paces. Nancy watched the horse execute tight circles and loops in various gaits, from a walk, to a trot, to a slow canter. Letters posted around the ring marked places where the horse should change its gait.
Rafael shifted in his saddle, giving his horse subtle commands. Every movement of horse and rider was pitch perfect. “It’s like a dance, like an old-fashioned minuet done by a horse,” Nancy whispered to James, who was coaching.
“I prefer stadium jumping and cross-country,” James said. “They’re more exciting. But dressage is just as important to the overall rally score.”
Suddenly they heard a voice behind them. Nancy recognized Clare’s nasal tone. Turning, she saw Clare talking to a blond girl as they sat on their horses waiting for dressage to finish. “Will Rafael ever get Clown to go from a walk directly into a canter? He always lets him trot in between,” Clare complained.
“Give him a break, Clare,” the blond girl said. “Clown is Mrs. Rogers’s horse, anyway. Rafael isn’t used to him the way you’re used to Victoria.”
Clare rolled her eyes. “I don’t care, Emmy. He thinks he’s this great rider and he’s not. I’m glad his saddle got trashed. Serves him right for being such a jerk.”
“Wow, Clare, stop right there. That’s harsh,” the blond girl said. “Anyway, Rafael’s finishing up, and he was the last of our group to go. It’s our turn to swim.” The girls took off for the barn at a brisk trot. Nancy and James exchanged glances.
“That Clare is something, huh?” he said.
“At least her friend told her off,” Nancy remarked.
“Are you kidding?” James said wryly. “Emily’s comment meant nothing to Clare. Clare never clues in when she’s being dissed. I guess she thinks she’s too cool for criticism. It goes right over her head. Though I don’t now how, because it’s so big.”
Nancy laughed. “Anyway, it’s a hot day. I’m looking forward to that swim.” With that, she followed Rafael out of the ring.
• • •
Swimming and cross-country practice went smoothly that afternoon. At the end of the day Nancy returned to the house to shower. Dinner was informal, but Nancy put on a short, peach-colored skirt, white tank top, and sandals. It was just so hot. She swept her reddish-blond hair off her neck and secured it with a black elastic band.
Downstairs, she found George in white jeans and a black tank top serving herself tomato salad and a cheeseburger. “Get in line quick, Nan, before the hordes arrive,” George advised.
Nancy slipped behind George just before a group of campers streamed into the tent. The two girls took seats at one of the picnic tables and began to eat. Nancy could tell that everyone was eagerly waiting for Mrs. Rogers to attempt once again to announce the team.
The camp director arrived in the midst of a dog pack. They all made their way to the front of the tent. “They want dinner, too,” she explained as the dogs panted and wiggled around her. “But I don’t want to keep you kids in suspense any longer. This time, we don’t have a list to read. I’ve told Akiyah who her teammates are. She’ll make the announcement now.”
As Mrs. Rogers sat down from the small podium, Akiyah stepped up. “I’m proud to announce the Green Spring Pony Club’s thirtieth annual rally team. Besides myself, we have”—she cleared her throat, then finished—“Katie O’Donovan, Rafael Estevez, and Clare Wu—with Cordelia Zukerman as stable manager.”
Cheers and claps erupted through the tent as the rest of the team moved up to the front and joined Akiyah. There were only a few muffled moans of disappointment. As the team thanked Mrs. Rogers, Nancy leaned toward George. “I’m pretty full—and right now I’d really like to search Clare’s room while I’ve got the chance.”
“I’ll save you a Popsicle,” George promised. “Grape or orange?”
“Orange,” Nancy said, smiling. “Thanks, George. And I’ll let you know what I find.” After clearing her plate, Nancy went upstairs. She remembered that Clare’s room was on the third floor.
Nancy reached the third-floor hall without being seen by anyone. She peered into the room nearest the stairs. Her heart beat faster. Taped onto one of the dresser mirrors were several snapshots of Clare riding Victoria. This is it! Nancy thought, excited.
A sudden gust of wind whipped through an open window and swirled the pages of a comic book lying on a nearby table. Nancy glanced outside. Black clouds covered the sky, and a streak of lightning zipped to the ground. The world lit up like an X ray, then instantly darkened. Nancy had to turn on a light to search Clare’s dresser—and she knew she had to work fast. Once it started raining, the campers would come inside.
The top two drawers of the dresser held clothes, but the third drawer was a jumble of papers, letters, more snapshots, and a notebook with Clare’s name on the front. Nancy picked it up. On the first page, the words MY DIARY were written in capital letters. But the rest of the page was in code! Not exactly pig latin, Nancy decided, but close.
Lightning streaked through the sky again, and the lights flickered. Gasps came from downstairs as the electricity died. Nancy bit her lip in frustration. Now it was too dark to read, much less decipher Clare’s code. She put the notebook back and shut the drawer. Why would Clare bother to write in code if she wasn’t guilty of something?
• • •
A refreshing breeze woke Nancy the next morning. Storms from the night before had wiped out all the heat. At breakfast, Mrs. Rogers announced that the team would separate from the rest of the campers for intensive practice. They’d leave for the rally tomorrow.
As she helped clear the breakfast dishes, Nancy told Mrs. Rogers about Clare’s diary. “I’m getting nowhere with Clare, Mrs. Rogers,” she added. “I’d like to widen my investigation. Maybe George and I could ride over to Josh Bryant’s house and hunt around for clues. I’ll bring the letter opener and ask him if it’s his.”
“Oh Nancy, be careful!” Mrs. Rogers cried. “Josh Bryant can be a spirited, mean man if ever there was one. Also, if you go on horseback, you’ll have to cross the Kinderhook Creek that separates our farms. After last night’s storm, the water will be turbulent.” She pursed her lips. “Come into the kitchen with me—I’ll draw you a map. I know a shallow spot where you should be able to cross the creek safely.”
An hour later, Nancy and George were on their way to Josh Bryant’s farm on Tristram and Derby. George had offered to carry a small backpack filled with bottled water, halters, lead ropes, and the silver letter opener. The girls rode through fields and down forest trails, always following Mrs. Rogers’s map that Nancy had tucked in the waistband of her chaps. About twenty minutes into the ride, the woodland trail forked. “Which way?” Nancy whispered. She stopped Tristram and consulted her map. “We’re in a patch of woods called Thunder Forest,” she told George behind her, “but I don’t see a fork on the map.”
“I guess Mrs. Rogers forgot to put it on,” George said.
Nancy shrugged. “The trail on her map seems to veer right, so let’s go that way and see what happens.”
A few minutes later, she and George heard rushing water. “We must be close to the creek,” George called. Sure enough, the trail soon came to a steep bank leading down to a river about forty feet wide. Mrs. Rogers was right, Nancy thought. The creek was totally raging. Muddy water swirled over rocks, and the noise made it difficult for the two girls to talk.
Nancy had to shout over the rushing water. “Look to the right, George. There’s a waterfall.” About fifty yards away, spray shot up toward the sky where the creek crashed over a rocky cliff.
“If this is the shallow place Mrs. Rogers described, I’d hate to see what she calls deep,” George said.
“It might be shallow. We just can’t see the bottom because of the mud,” Nancy said. “But just to be safe, let’s go one at a time.” Tristram hesitated at the water’s edge, but Nancy urged him on. If the water was shallow like Mrs. Rogers had said, Nancy knew the horse would be strong enough to cross.
Tristram plunged in. The water splashed around his knees, and Tristram stepped carefully. “We’re halfway there, boy,” she told him soon, eyeing the trail on the other side.
Tristram tentatively took another step, but he slipped. Nancy grabbed his mane as Tristram’s legs thrashed against the swift current. He struggled to swim forward, but it was no use. A wave of brown water crashed over a rock and swept Tristram and Nancy downstream. The spray from the falls fell on Nancy’s face in a fine mist as they shot toward the precipice.