The Mystery of Misty Canyon

by Carolyn Keene

  “That’s dangerous,” he said, exploding. “Especially in the state Twister’s in!”

  Nancy didn’t give up. “That’s the night you were supposed to be at the canoe races.”

  His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed a fraction. “That’s right. What were you doing in the barn?”

  “Looking for clues,” she explained.

  “Oh, right. I’ve heard you think Renegade was stolen.” He laughed and shook his head. “There’s no mystery here, Nancy, so quit trying to create one.”

  “I was knocked out that night,” she said boldly. “Someone came up behind me and hit me on the back of the head.”

  Mike’s laughter died. “This is crazy. I never heard about any attack!”

  “I decided it would be best to keep it quiet.”

  He seemed about to argue but finally asked, “What happened?”

  “My friends found me.”

  “Did you see your attacker?”

  “No. But as I was falling to the floor, I did catch a glimpse of a silver buckle—a buckle just like yours.”

  Mike’s jaw worked angrily. “So you think maybe I knocked you out?” He pointed to his belt. “This buckle was a prize I won at a local rodeo a few years back. Everyone who wins at the county fair gets one. A dozen people here tonight have one.”

  “Who?” Nancy prodded.

  “Tammy, Jimmy, and Hank, for starters,” he said, thinking. “A couple of the stable hands, too. And that doesn’t count the hands from other ranches in the area.”

  “Like the Circle B?” Nancy asked, her mind leaping ahead.

  His brows drew together over his eyes. “I suppose a few of the guys who work for Nathaniel Baines have won.”

  “How about Stella?” Nancy asked, remembering the first time she’d met Stella. She had been wearing a silver buckle then.

  Mike’s eyes softened a little. “She’s got several,” he allowed. Then his voice grew bitter. “So does her old man.”

  Great, Nancy thought. If what Mike is saying is true, half the people in the county have buckles like the one I saw!

  Mike started toward the barns. “Look, I’ve really got to feed the stock—”

  “Just one more thing,” Nancy said quickly. “You used to work for Nathaniel Baines, didn’t you?”

  Mike stopped dead in his tracks. Every muscle in his body tensed as he turned. “How’d you know about that?” he demanded.

  “I read about it in the papers.”

  “Ancient history,” Mike muttered. Then he scowled angrily. “Big deal! You probably know I did a little time for theft.”

  “Mr. Baines is probably disappointed it wasn’t more.”

  Mike clenched his fists. “There’s no love lost between me and Baines. He never liked me. He didn’t think I was good enough for Stella. He still doesn’t. When he found out about the things I’d lifted off the guests, he fired me on the spot, pressed charges, and told me never to see Stella again.”

  Nancy saw his anger become hatred. “So you got a job here?”

  “Hey, look, it’s not like Tammy was thrilled with me. She just took me on as a hard-luck case. My aunt talked her into it.” His eyes glittered. “I’ve been straight, trying to prove to Aunt Peggy, Tammy, and the whole state that I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  Nancy wasn’t quite ready to trust him. “So you don’t know why the Masons’ things were stolen and left in my room?”

  “You think I was involved in that?” he asked incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? This might not be the best job around, but I’m not about to blow it now. Besides, nothing was really stolen, right? The Masons’ money wasn’t touched.”

  “Someone tried to frame me,” Nancy pointed out.

  “Well, it wasn’t me! Now, if that’s all—” He stomped furiously away toward the stables.

  Nancy watched him disappear through the door. Was he telling the truth? He’d been convicted of theft before. Would he steal Renegade? But what about Twister? Mike seemed to genuinely like horses. Would he drug the stallion or terrify Twister in some manner? Or was Hank West right—had Twister gone bad? Where was Renegade? Somewhere up in the hills—or hidden in a private barn?

  “You look like you’re a million miles away,” Bess observed as Nancy rejoined the party.

  “Not that far,” Nancy replied. “I was just thinking that maybe it was time to visit some of the neighboring ranches and speak with the owners.”

  Tammy caught the end of Nancy’s conversation. “Most of them are here,” she said, pointing out Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, who owned the ranch south of Calloway’s, and Edna Peterkin, a widow who owned the spread to the west of the Circle B.

  Nancy mingled with the guests, speaking with each person. She learned nothing—only that none of the neighboring ranchers had seen Renegade.

  But Edna Peterkin said, “You mark my words—even though Renegade is a devil, I’ll bet he liked being fed twice a day. Out there”—she crooked her thumb toward the hills—“the pickings are slim. Horses are smart, mostly too smart to just disappear. Oh, listen, the band’s tuning up.”

  On a platform near the back porch of the main house, three country musicians had begun warming up. Nancy moved closer to the stage, where Tammy was talking with Stella Baines. “You’re really going to go back to riding?” Stella asked just as Nancy joined them.

  “It looks that way. I plan to start on Independence Day.”

  “Isn’t that a little soon?” Stella asked. “You haven’t been in a rodeo for more than a year.”

  “The prize money and commercial endorsements are worth it.”

  “Worth risking your life on that crazy horse?” Stella asked.

  “Twister’s not crazy—”

  “Hank’s been talking with my father, and Mike even said that Twister has turned bad,” Stella insisted. “I wouldn’t trust a horse that’s unpredictable.” Without a backward glance, she walked haughtily away.

  “What was that all about?” Tammy asked.

  “I’d like to know, too,” Nancy murmured, watching as Stella linked her arm through Mike’s. Nathaniel Baines was close by, and he scowled when he saw his daughter with his ex-employee. “I heard that Mike used to work for the Circle B.”

  Tammy nodded. “Do you know why he was fired?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” Tammy said, grimacing. “I guess I should have told you that he had stolen from guests at the Circle B, but I really don’t think Mike had anything to do with Renegade’s disappearance or the Masons’ stolen purse and wallet. Since nothing was taken, I didn’t see any reason to dredge up Mike’s past.”

  The band started playing a favorite country ballad, and Tammy said, “That’s my cue. After this song, I’m going to announce the end of my retirement.”

  “Good luck,” Nancy said encouragingly. Then she saw something from the corner of her eye. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” Tammy followed Nancy’s gaze to the lane, where a long white sedan rolled toward the ranch house. It was Rob Majors’s car. “Not again,” Tammy muttered.

  The car slowed to a stop, and Rob Majors left the engine idling as he climbed from behind the steering wheel. Vern Landon peered through the passenger-side window but didn’t open his door. Majors walked briskly past the barbecue pits, beneath the swinging lanterns, and straight to Tammy.

  “I told you this would happen,” he said, slapping a thick envelope into her palm.

  “What’s this?” Tammy asked.

  “I’m calling the loan. You have one month to pay everything back or clear out.”

  “You can’t do this!” Tammy exclaimed as the music died and all the eyes of the guests turned toward Tammy and the banker.

  “Sure I can,” Rob taunted. “Read it, and don’t forget the fine print. By the way, I called the insurance company. They told me they weren’t about to pay you for Renegade. They don’t believe he’s dead, injured, or stolen. They think you’ve got him hidden somewhere!”

 
Tammy’s shoulders stiffened. “I haven’t talked to anyone at the insurance company!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t even try, because they’re on to you.” He turned on his heel and strode back to his car.

  “What was that all about?” George asked, coming up to Nancy.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but I’m going to find out.”

  Peggy hurried up to Tammy. “There’s been a mix-up! Mike forgot to pick up the soda at the store this afternoon. Just drove off and left it! And I’m all out of iced tea. Thank goodness I was able to reach the grocer. Carl Williams said he’d keep the store open until we pick up the pop.”

  Tammy surveyed the hot crowd. “It’ll only take twenty minutes or so. I’ll go.”

  “No, you stay here,” Nancy insisted. “I’ll drive.”

  “Would you?” Tammy seemed relieved.

  “It’s Williams Market, just this side of town,” Peggy explained. “He’ll be waiting for you.”

  Tammy fished into the pockets of her jeans. “Take my station wagon,” she offered, then motioned to the band. The lead singer nodded, and a few seconds later the strains of another country ballad filled the night.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nancy said, pocketing Tammy’s keys.

  “What’re you planning?” George asked Nancy.

  “I’m just running an errand for Tammy. There’s been a mix-up with the drinks. Want to come along?”

  “Sure.”

  They told Bess what they were going to do, then dashed across the yard to the battered old station wagon parked far from the festivities. The car was painted with Calloway Ranch’s logo—a big green C and a black stallion.

  “I wonder if Mike just made a mistake with the soda—or if it was intentional.”

  “Why would he?” George asked.

  “Beats me,” Nancy said, climbing into the car. “Maybe just to cause more trouble.” She flicked on the ignition.

  The engine coughed, then caught. Nancy put the car into reverse. The car shimmied strangely. Warning bells went off in Nancy’s head. She grabbed George with one hand and tried to open the door with the other. “Let’s get out of—”

  Before she could finish, an ear-splitting blast ripped through the metal frame.

  10

  Hiss!

  Nancy and George shoved open the car doors and leapt to the ground. “Run!” Nancy yelled.

  They scrambled to their feet, raced across the yard, and climbed up a grassy embankment away from the car. Gasping for breath, Nancy turned and saw orange and red sparks shoot high into the sky. Black smoke billowed from the hood. Horrified guests ran in all directions.

  “That was too close for comfort,” George murmured shakily.

  Hank West ran from the tack room, carrying a fire extinguisher. “Out of the way!” he yelled at people blocking his path as he sprayed the car. He shouted more commands to some of the hands who had gathered near the blazing station wagon.

  “Nancy! George!” Bess ran up to them. “Are you okay?”

  “We’ll survive,” George replied.

  “What happened?” Bess was pale, her eyes round.

  “I don’t know.” Nancy shook her head and watched as Mike Mathews ran from the stables with another fire extinguisher. Jimmy Robbins turned a large gardening hose onto the burning car. A few minutes later, the flames were reduced to smoldering, charred metal. “I stepped on the gas pedal, and something went wrong.” She frowned. “It was just like a bomb.”

  “No!” Bess cried, clamping a hand over her mouth.

  Tammy sprinted across the gravel-strewn yard to the hill where Nancy, George, and Bess were huddled together. Peggy Holgate was right on Tammy’s heels.

  “Are you all right?” Tammy asked anxiously, eyeing George and Nancy.

  “I think so,” Nancy replied.

  “You were lucky. I can’t imagine what went wrong,” Tammy said. “The car was fine when Mike went into town for groceries.”

  “Has anyone used it since?” Nancy asked.

  Tammy shook her head. “No. He gave the keys back to me.”

  Nancy frowned thoughtfully at the car, “I think someone put some sort of bomb under the station wagon.”

  “No!” Tammy cried. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”

  “Not me,” Nancy said slowly. “Who usually drives the car?”

  “I do,” Tammy started, “but—”

  “Then it looks like you were the target.”

  Tammy closed her eyes, and Nancy placed a steadying arm around her shoulders. “I can’t believe it,” Tammy said.

  “Seems like there’s more than enough proof,” George pointed out, gesturing toward the charred body of the car.

  Bess shuddered. “This is getting serious!”

  “Someone has to call the police,” Nancy said.

  “I called the police and fire departments when the car exploded,” Peggy explained. “They should be here soon.”

  A few minutes later, Nancy heard the wail of distant sirens. A fire truck and a car from the sheriff’s department raced into the yard. Firefighters jumped to the ground and ran to the car.

  Detectives started asking everyone questions.

  “Didn’t you see anyone hanging around the car earlier?” a red-faced deputy named Dennis McMillan asked Nancy and Tammy.

  “No—” Tammy began.

  Mike Mathews sauntered up. “I drove that car into town this afternoon. I parked it right there, near the stables.”

  “And you didn’t have any trouble with it?” Deputy McMillan asked.

  “None at all.” Mike’s face was drawn, and beneath his tan, his skin seemed to have whitened.

  “It was fireworks,” one firefighter cut in as he approached the deputy. He was holding a blackened casing. “This was lit on a long fuse and rolled under the front of the car. I think it caught fire on oil dripping from the engine.”

  “Then it could have been an accident?” Tammy asked.

  The fireman shook his head. “A prank that went bad, maybe. But I doubt it.” His eyes were serious.

  “That does it,” Tammy decided solemnly. She turned to Nancy. “You’re off the case. I can’t have you taking any more risks!”

  “Case?” Deputy McMillan asked. “What case?”

  Nancy explained about the missing horse.

  The officer snorted. “Well, a stallion’s disappearance isn’t exactly priority one. Horses get lost all the time.”

  Nancy wasn’t about to be put off. “I think he was stolen.”

  “If you can prove it,” McMillan said skeptically, “call me.”

  “I will,” Nancy promised.

  “In the meantime, be careful. In my book, that skyrocket wasn’t an accident, or a prank.” He glanced meaningfully at Tammy. “You have any enemies here?”

  “No one who would want to hurt me,” Tammy said.

  Deputy McMillan glanced at his notes. “Some of the guests said a man from one of the banks in town had been here and insisted that you pay a bad loan.”

  Flushing, Tammy told him about her situation with Rob Majors and Vern Landon, and the officer scribbled more notes. A few minutes later, he turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. Another deputy searched the stables and house.

  Tammy turned to the three friends. “I should never have involved you, Nancy,” she said. “You’re a guest at the ranch, and I want you to quit worrying about Renegade, Twister, and that—” She motioned helplessly to the still-smoldering car.

  Nancy didn’t agree. “I don’t want to give up on this,” she told Tammy. “Don’t you see? We must be close to solving the case. The culprit is getting desperate.”

  “And dangerous.” Tammy sighed. “Because of me, you and your friends were almost killed! This is supposed to be your vacation—not a deathtrap!”

  “I know I’m close,” Nancy insisted. “Whoever is behind Renegade’s disappearance is starting to panic. I’m sure we can find him if we just have a little more time.”
<
br />   Tammy glanced at the deputies still poking around the burned car. “Okay,” she finally said. “But if anything else happens, that’s it!”

  • • •

  The next morning, Nancy examined the blackened car but found nothing the deputies had overlooked. She spent the rest of the day packing for the overnight campout planned for that night and searching the hills on the western edge of the Circle B on horseback. The area surrounding the Baineses’ property—the westernmost portion of Misty Canyon—was particularly hilly, and General H lost his footing on the trail several times along the steep ridges.

  But there was no sign of Renegade.

  By late afternoon, Nancy returned to the ranch, only to saddle the pack horses and climb again onto General H’s back. She and the rest of the campers rode single file up a steep trail to the campsite, a small clearing near a stream in the hills.

  “I should’ve stayed back at the ranch,” Bess complained as she untied her bedroll, then yanked the saddle from Marshmallow’s back. “Every muscle in my body aches!”

  George chuckled. “Think of all the fun we’re having, sleeping on rocks, cooking sourdough biscuits over an open fire, listening to the sounds of the night.”

  “Give me a break,” Bess muttered.

  Nancy placed her rolled sleeping bag on a bed of pine needles between the two cousins’ bedrolls. Tucked in a private spot not too far from the campfire, their bags were sheltered by pine trees overhead.

  While Mike, the Andersons, and a few men set up camp, Nancy, Bess, George, and the Hobarts searched for dried branches and twigs for the campfire.

  Mrs. Mason flatly refused. With a sour look on her face, she plopped onto a tree stump. “I came here to relax, not to work,” she stated, crossing her arms firmly over her chest.

  “We all pitch in,” Hank West told her as he tethered the horses.

  “Some fun she’s going to be,” George remarked.

  Bess swatted at a bee buzzing near her head. “Maybe she’s got the right idea. Bees, mosquitoes, coyotes, and who knows what else seem to thrive around here.”

  “Probably cougars, bears, and wolves,” George remarked.

  “Thanks a lot,” Bess replied. “Now I probably won’t sleep a wink tonight!”