Trixie considered the question for a few minutes as they walked, then shook her head. “I don’t think so, Honey. I still think that if Regan had thought your parents could help him with whatever his problem was, he would have asked for help instead of leaving the Manor House. I think he’d want us to keep this to ourselves, at least for now.”
Honey nodded her agreement, although the look on her face said that she was uncomfortable about withholding the information from her parents.
The girls walked quickly out of the shabby district of Saratoga and back into the cheerful, immaculate heart of the town, both lost in thought.
Suddenly, Trixie stood still and slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Gleeps!” she shouted. “How dumb can two would-be detectives get!”
“What is it, Trixie?” Honey asked. “What did you think of?”
Trixie grabbed Honey by the shoulders and looked at her triumphantly. “Honey, don’t you see? We both agreed back there that we’d try to look at the bright side of things, but we forgot the brightest side of all!” Honey stared at Trixie in bewilderment, unable to follow her best friend’s train of thought.
“Don’t you see?” Trixie repeated impatiently. “Up until a few minutes ago, when we saw those boots, we didn’t really know if we were on the right track in coming to Saratoga to find Regan. Those boots prove for a fact that Regan is here—or was. And tomorrow we can really begin to look for him!”
“That Redheaded Sneak” • 9
BACK AT THE HOTEL, Honey and Trixie found a note waiting for them at the hotel desk. The note said that the Wheelers were in their room resting before dinner and that the girls should join them in the hotel dining room at seven o’clock.
“Oh, woe,” Trixie sighed. “You know that I wasn’t exactly overenthusiastic about going out for a fancy dinner before. And now that I know we can really start looking for Regan tomorrow morning when we go to the track, all I want to do is go to the room, pull the covers over my head, and stay there until morning.”
“Not me,” Honey disagreed. “Your way, it would take ages for morning to arrive.” She giggled. “Not to mention the fact that we’d be suffocated from being under all those covers by that time. I think the best thing we can do, under the circumstances, is to meet Mother and Daddy in the dining room at seven and have a perfectly perfect dinner. Then, with our stomachs so full of good food that our minds can’t worry about finding Regan, we can come back to our room and fall right to sleep.”
“You’re right, Honey,” Trixie admitted. “We did come to Saratoga for a vacation, after all, so we might as well enjoy ourselves. I’m sure I will enjoy myself, too, once the dinner gets started.”
“Goodness!” Honey exclaimed as she glanced at the clock above the desk. “Dinner gets started in less than an hour! We’d better get up to the room right away, so we’ll both have plenty of time to shower, dry our hair, and change clothes!”
Forty-five minutes later, Honey was ready to go, her hair brushed and shining, her white pleated skirt and lime green top looking crisp and cool. Trixie was standing in front of the mirror, looking critically at her reflection. She was wearing a gingham sundress, but the navy pantsuit that was lying on her bed was evidence that the dress hadn’t been her first choice.
“I think you look fine, Trixie,” Honey said.
“I don’t know, Honey,” Trixie said. “It still seems too casual, compared to what you’re wearing, even though it is a dress. The pantsuit really seems dressier, but that’s pants, and— Oh, never mind. Let’s just go downstairs. It’s so dark in that restaurant that nobody will be able to see what I’m wearing, anyway.” Turning resolutely away from the mirror, she snatched the pantsuit off the bed, put it on a hanger, and hung it in the closet.
Honey took Trixie’s place in front of the mirror, smoothing her skirt and giving her hair one more sweep with the brush. Trixie stood behind her and looked at their reflections in the mirror. Her eyes moved from Honey’s hazel eyes, smooth blond hair, and slender body to her own curly hair, snub nose, and stocky figure. Then she crossed her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and stuck her tongue out. As Honey burst out laughing, Trixie let her face relax in a smile. “See?” she said. “No matter how funny I look ordinarily, it’s nice to know that I can look even funnier if I really try.”
“You’re not funny-looking, Trixie,” Honey protested. “You’re very nice-looking. If you don’t believe me, you should hear what Jim said about you right before he left for camp.”
“What did he say?” Trixie demanded. “No, don’t tell me.” She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes. Then, realizing that she was overreacting, she lowered her hands, opened her eyes, and repeated nonchalantly, “What did he say?”
“What he said,” Honey drawled slowly, knowing that her friend was itching with impatience, “what he said,” she repeated, “was, ‘As pretty as Trixie has been getting lately, I’m almost afraid to leave for camp for three weeks. When I come back, she’ll probably be the belle of Sleepyside, with so many boyfriends lined up that she won’t have time for old friends!’ ”
Trixie blushed violently. “Jim didn’t say that,” she said. “Even if he did, he was just teasing. He couldn’t have meant it.”
“I don’t think Jim really meant that you wouldn’t have time for him,” Honey agreed. “He knows you’re too loyal a friend to let that happen. I do think he was being perfectly serious about how pretty you’re getting, though.”
Trixie looked at her blushing face in the mirror and sighed. “Right now, I must admit that I have an all-American look, Honey: blue eyes, white teeth, and bright red face! Let’s go, before you make me so embarrassed that I go back to my original plan and spend the rest of the night hidden under the covers!”
Laughing, Honey picked up her purse and followed Trixie to the door. Pausing in the doorway, Honey suddenly turned serious, and she reached out and put her hand on Trixie’s arm. “Before we go downstairs,” she said, “I just want to ask you one more time: Do you still feel that we should keep the fact that we found Regan’s boots a secret from Mother and Daddy?”
“Do you want to tell them, Honey?” Trixie asked. “I don’t know,” Honey said, shrugging. “What you said before is true. A lot of people looking for Regan while he’s trying to stay hidden could drive him away. I just hate to think that he could need food or money, or even a doctor, and not be able to get what he needs until we find him—if we find him.”
Trixie looked solemn, and she was silent for a moment as she thought over what Honey had said. Finally she shook her head. “We have to keep the secret a little longer, Honey. I don’t know why I feel that way, because everything you say is true. But I just think keeping quiet about the boots is the right thing to do.” She forced herself to look directly into Honey’s worried hazel eyes, hoping she was projecting a confidence that she didn’t entirely feel.
“Let’s go to dinner,” Honey said, replacing her worried look with a cheerful smile. “We’re on vacation, after all!”
The girls were subdued when they entered the dining room and took their places at the candlelit table where Honey’s parents were already sitting. After the girls assured Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler that the drive up from Sleepyside had been a pleasant one and that they had enjoyed their walk around Saratoga that afternoon, conversation ceased as everyone studied the huge, leather-covered menus.
“Do you girls know what you’d like?” Mrs. Wheeler asked after a few moments.
Trixie giggled. “It takes me a long time to get through a menu like this, Mrs. Wheeler, because I have to read all the descriptions of the dishes; none of them are things I’m familiar with. Even so, instead of one of the fancy dishes with French names, what I’d like is prime rib. It’s something I don’t get at home, where there are six mouths to feed.”
“I’m in the mood for fish, so I’ll have the red snapper,” Honey said.
“Fine,” Mr. Wheeler said, beckoning to the waiter. “Your mother an
d I decided this afternoon that we were both hungry for lobster, so I guess we’re ready to order.” He gave the waiter their orders, then turned back to the girls. “I think you’ll both enjoy the plans I’ve made for tomorrow, if you don’t mind getting out of bed at the crack of dawn.”
“The earlier we get started, the more we’ll be able to see,” Trixie told him.
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Mr. Wheeler said. “So I’ve arranged for the three of us to attend the workouts at the track tomorrow morning, while my wife indulges her love of shopping. It’s something that most visitors to Saratoga don’t get to see, because the security restrictions at the track are pretty tight. But Mr. Worthington was able to get clearance for us, so you’ll get to see the horses and jockeys working out in the morning and then watch them race in the afternoon.”
“That sounds super, Mr. Wheeler. I hope you’ll thank Mr. Worthington for us,” Trixie said.
“Oh, you’ll be able to do that yourself,” he assured her. “Mr. Worthington will be at the workout tomorrow morning; he has horses racing at Saratoga this week.”
“I was hoping I’d get a chance to ask him some questions,” Trixie blurted. “I—I mean, to ask someone some questions about horse racing,” she finished lamely.
Mr. Wheeler didn’t seem to notice Trixie’s near slip of the tongue. “Mr. Worthington would be a good person to talk to about racing,” he told her. “He’s been racing horses at the finest tracks in the country for a number of years.”
At least seven years, anyway, Trixie thought, because that's when Regan worked for him. I wonder if I'll be able to find out anything from talking to him.
Trixie was so lost in thought that she didn’t even notice the waiter standing beside her, holding the tray of food. When Honey called her name across the table, Trixie started, then blushed and stammered, “I—I’m sorry. I was thinking about—-about the track.”
Mrs. Wheeler laughed. “It’s a true horse lover who’d rather think about horses than eat, Trixie.” Trixie looked at the huge slab of beautifully cooked, lean, pink meat on her plate and at the baked potato topped with sour cream and a sprinkling of finely cut chives. “Then I guess I’m not a true horse lover,” she said ruefully, “because now that I’ve seen this food, I’d much rather eat!”
“Me, too!” Honey agreed enthusiastically. “I didn’t realize it until I saw the food, but I’m starved!” The two girls turned their total attention to their food, trading portions of fish and prime rib and sampling some of the lobsters that the Wheelers skillfully extracted from the shell and gave to them.
After dinner, the girls left Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler to enjoy their coffee while they went to their room for a good night’s sleep before their early wake-up call. Honey fell asleep almost immediately, but Trixie stared at the ceiling, trying to decide if she’d done the right thing in persuading Honey to hide their new evidence from her parents. I’d rather face a gang of crooks with their guns drawn than have to decide what’s best for someone else, she thought. What if Regan does need help—needs it right now—and my decision keeps him from getting it?
“Well, right or wrong, the decision has been made,” she murmured finally. “I’ll just have to live with it until something happens to change my mind.” Then she rolled over and went to sleep.
The two girls were sleepy-eyed the next morning as they dressed, met Mr. Wheeler in the lobby, and rode with him to the track, but the excitement of the workouts soon had them wide-awake.
“This is like a sixty-two-ring circus!” Trixie exclaimed as she tried to get her bearings in the bustle of activity.
Mr. Worthington, who had been on hand to greet them and was now standing with them near the fence that bordered the track, chuckled at Trixie’s amazement. “It is that,” he agreed. “You see, Trixie, these workouts are extremely important for many reasons. They limber up the horses, helping to prevent injuries during the races. They give the horse and jockey a chance to get to know each other. They also give the trainers a chance to detect injuries that mean the horse shouldn’t be run that afternoon. But those of us who have a stake in the outcome of the day’s races view these workouts as a necessary evil, at best.”
“Evil?” Trixie questioned. “With everything you’ve just said, the workouts sound like a good idea to me.”
“There’s another side to the workouts, too,” Mr. Worthington continued. “They provide an opportunity for other trainers and owners to see all the horses before they race. They provide an opportunity for the timers who work for the racing sheets to time the horses and publish the workout times the same day, which can affect the betting on a race. In short, they lessen the element of surprise, which is vital in racing. That’s why there’s such a hubbub at the track during the workouts: Everyone is trying to give his horse a good warm-up without giving away any information.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand how the need for secrecy creates so much activity,” Honey said. “I mean, I always think of secrecy as being something—well, quiet. It certainly isn’t quiet here,” she concluded, looking around her.
“The best way to explain is to show you some examples,” Mr. Worthington said. “Example number one. Do you see that chestnut horse down at the turn? His jockey is walking him quietly, as though he had nothing on his mind but a leisurely ride. But do you see those two men over there, who seem to be absorbed in conversation? They’re the owner and the trainer of that horse. Now, I’ll make a prediction. When the horse rounds the turn, the jockey will suddenly urge him into a full gallop, the men’s conversation will cease, and they’ll each pull a stopwatch out of their pocket. The jockey will run the horse for a half-mile, the owner and trainer will have a time on him, and if they’re lucky, their little game will have worked and no one else will have seen what they were doing in time to clock the horse.”
Trixie and Honey both looked at the horse and rider, then at the two men Mr. Worthington had pointed out, then looked back at their host as if they were a little worried about his sanity. The two men were completely absorbed in their conversation, not even glancing at the horse; and the jockey was slouching in the saddle as if he were not even aware that he was riding. Mr. Worthington, sensing their disbelief, just smiled and signaled to the two girls to pay attention as the horse came round the turn.
Suddenly, the horse burst into a run and Mr. Worthington’s prediction came true before the two girls’ startled eyes. They watched, awestruck, as the horse completed the half-mile run. Glancing over at the two men, the girls saw them checking their stopwatches. When the girls turned back to Mr. Worthington, they chuckled as they saw that he, too, had pulled out a stopwatch and was now calculating the horse’s time. “It was only an average run,” he said with exaggerated calm, enjoying the astonishment he had created in his two young guests. “It’s really much more exciting when you manage to see through the charade and clock a horse that you realize is going to be a sure thing in his race that afternoon.”
Trixie grinned up at Mr. Worthington. “If you’re apologizing for not providing more excitement, please don’t bother. I think my heart missed about three beats when that horse broke into a gallop.”
“The two men who know all the games that go on at the track are sitting on the fence over there,” Mr. Worthington said, pointing to two men Trixie hadn’t noticed before. “They’re the timers for the racing sheets. You’ll notice that each of them is holding two stopwatches and a thick book. The book is full of Thoroughbred registration forms, because we owners are so secretive that we’ll even try to keep a new horse’s identity a secret during his first workout. Those two men are such experts at playing our games that they can time two horses running two different stretches of track while discussing the possible identity of a strange horse— all at the same time!”
Trixie and Honey found this new piece of information impossible to believe, but after what they’d just seen, they were afraid not to believe Mr. Worthington. They moved closer to the two timers, an
d they were soon spellbound by the rapid chatter that they heard between the two men.
“That chestnut gelding over there is new. Got a line on him? Could be the new South American horse that’s running out of Carleton Farms now. I got one-forty-eight for the half on that bay over there. Could be holding back or just good to run out of the money.”
“Rumor is his shoulder’s gone bad. Could be real time or just a little joke on us so he can open up this afternoon and take the money. The chestnut can’t be the new Carleton horse. The book shows a blaze on the forehead of that one. Better ask around after the workout.”
“I can hardly understand a thing they’re talking about, Honey. Can you?” Trixie asked.
Honey shook her head. “They seem to understand each other, though, Trixie. .And here I thought you and I were the only two people in the world who could talk gibberish and still understand each other perfectly!”
Laughing, the two girls turned their attention back to the timers and listened and watched until the crowd began to thin and the workout ended.
“That was super!” Trixie said when she and Honey rejoined Mr. Worthington and Mr. Wheeler. “Thank you so much for inviting us here!”
“That look of excitement on your face is all the thanks I need,” Mr. Worthington replied. “I’ve devoted a lot of my time and money to racing. It’s good to see someone else catching the spirit that I feel. If you want to reward me, though, there is something you can do.”
“Anything!” the girls chorused.
“Well, then, come back to the stables with me and let me show off my horses,” Mr. Worthington said, his eyes twinkling.
“It does seem like the least we can do for Mr. Worthington, doesn’t it, Honey?” Trixie said, falling in with the joke.
“Oh, certainly,” Honey said. “I didn’t really want to visit the stables and see all those beautiful Thoroughbreds up close and learn more about racing, but I wouldn’t want to be impolite.”
The Mystery at Saratoga Page 7
