Mystery of the Midnight Rider (Nancy Drew Diaries #3)(16)

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 farfetched. 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?”

"Okay, 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.”