The Mystery at Saratoga

by Campbell, Julie

  “But you’d never seen the girls,” Regan pointed out. “You weren’t at the stable when they came out to see me.”

  “But you told me you’d had visitors,” Johnny said. “Remember?” Regan nodded. “So I described how you look, and they all shouted, ‘Regan!’ Then I told them about how you’d come to the stable, and you didn’t talk much about it, but I could tell you were real worried about something. Then I told them about how you were reading the paper a couple of nights ago in the bunkhouse, and about how you got real mad all of a sudden. When I asked why, you just said, ‘Worthington’s done it again!’ and you wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

  “I knew who Worthington was,” Jim said, picking up the story, “because Dad had written to me at camp, saying that he was thinking of buying a horse from him. It was a flimsy lead, but it was all we had, so we took Johnny along with us and drove to the track.”

  “There we discovered that pandemonium had erupted due to the disappearance of two interlinked four-wheel vehicles,” Mart put in.

  “The pickup truck and horse trailer?” Trixie guessed.

  “That’s right,” Brian told her. “One of the track employees had seen a pickup truck with a horse trailer going north out of town late last night. As long as we were following flimsy leads, we decided to head north to see if we could find any trace of those vehicles—or of you and Honey.”

  “That’s when Johnny suggested that we check out that deserted farm,” Jim added.

  “Why that farm?” Trixie asked. “There must be dozens of deserted places around Saratoga.”

  “That used to be my farm,” Johnny said softly. Seeing their surprised looks, he explained, “It was my father’s, really. He raised horses there. Then he got real sick, and when he died, I had to sell the farm to pay the doctor’s bills. The bank bought it, but they don’t use it. It just sits there, all empty. Someday I want to buy it back. I think about that a lot. I—I guess that’s why I thought about it when the boys asked me.”

  “It’s lucky for us you did,” Regan told his friend. “It’s been a lucky day for us all around,” Trixie said as the station wagon pulled up in front of the hotel. “I just hope our luck holds a little longer— until we contact Mr. Stinson, and until the track officials catch Scarface and his friend Louie.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were both pacing the hotel lobby when the Bob-Whites, with Regan and Johnny, walked in. Mrs. Wheeler burst into tears and threw her arms around her daughter. Mr. Wheeler, blinking back tears of his own, forced himself to look angry. “I have a few things to say to you two,” he said.

  “Please, Mr. Wheeler, you’ll have to wait,” Trixie said, amazed at her own audacity. “I don’t blame you for being angry, and as soon as this is all over, you can yell at us, or spank us, or make us stay in our rooms for a year. But right now, we have to save Gadbox.”

  Mr. Wheeler was too shocked to speak. He just stared in amazement as Jim Frayne reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. “We’ll use the pay phones here in the lobby,” he said, handing coins to the other Bob-Whites. “Brian, you call your parents, collect, and tell them that Trixie’s all right. Trix, call Mr. Stinson and stop him from feeding Gadbox. Mart, call the track officials and tell them about Scarface and Louie. And please, try to limit your vocabulary to words that mere grown-ups can understand. Honey, you and Regan and I will stay here and try to explain this mixed-up mess to our parents.”

  A few minutes later, Trixie returned to the couches in the lobby, where the Wheelers were sitting with Regan, Jim, Honey, and Johnny. “I got through to Mr. Stinson,” she crowed. “He hadn’t fed Gadbox yet, and he’s not going to—I mean, he’s not going to feed him the drugged feed in the feed bag. It took me a little while to convince him that I knew what I was talking about, but finally he believed me.”

  “I’m not sure that I believe any of this,” Mr. Wheeler said. “I’m beginning to understand how the sequence of events fits together, but I still don’t understand how you girls managed to be hot on the trail of a mystery, right under my nose, without my being aware of it.”

  “We’ll explain all that later,” Trixie assured him. “You certainly will,” Brian said as he walked up behind her. “I just finished talking to Dad and Moms, and although they’re relieved to find out that your sandy head is still on your shoulders, I’d say you’ll have a lot of explaining to do when you get back to Sleepyside.”

  “Oh, woe,” Trixie groaned. “Even after I finish explaining things, they’ll probably make sure that I don’t leave my room until school starts in September.”

  Trixie’s worries about her fate were interrupted by Mart, who returned from talking to the track officials. “I told them the whole story in words of one syllable,” he said. “They thought it was a crank call, but right in the middle of the conversation, Carl Stinson walked into their office with the feed bag and asked them to have it tested for drugs. That got their attention, all right.” He chuckled. “Anyway, they want Honey and Trixie to talk to the police.”

  “Don’t tell me we have to go to the police station right now!” Trixie protested. “I want to do everything I can to make sure that Scarface and Louie are put behind bars, where they belong. But if I don’t get something to eat, I’ll faint dead away.”

  Mart nodded. “Never let it be said that I am not cognizant of alimentary considerations,” he said, grinning. “The police are going to meet us at the hotel coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yippee!” Trixie shouted, leaping up from the couch. “Let’s eat!”

  Between bites of their food, the Bob-Whites, with help from Regan and Johnny, once again told their story, this time to two plainclothes police officers. The officers listened intently, nodding from time to time and taking occasional notes.

  “Then as far as you know,” Officer Ryan concluded, “these two men, whom you call ‘Scarface’ and ‘Louie,’ have no way of knowing that you three have escaped and warned Mr. Stinson.”

  Trixie shook her head. “I don’t see how they could know,” she said.

  “In that case,” Officer Johnson said solemnly, “we’ll have to ask you girls to do us a favor—unless, of course, you absolutely refuse to work with the police.”

  Trixie and Honey blushed and exchanged guilty looks. “We—We’ll do whatever you say,” Trixie said humbly.

  “Wait until you hear what we’re asking of you before you agree,” Officer Ryan cautioned. “There is a small element of danger involved. We’d like you to go to the track this afternoon, where we’ll position you somewhere near the betting windows. If you see Scarface or Louie placing a bet, you’ll give us a signal. Then we’ll come forward and arrest them.”

  “Couldn’t I do it?” Regan asked. “I hate to see Honey and Trixie taking any more risks.”

  Officer Johnson shook his head. “With your red hair, you’d stand out like a warning flag. Scarface and Louie wouldn’t get within a block of that betting window. Besides, while I can’t say that there’s no risk involved, I can say that we’ll be nearby, ready to intervene as soon as Honey or Trixie gives the signal.”

  “We’ll be all right, Regan,” Trixie assured her friend. “After all we’ve gone through so far because of Scarface and Louie, I’d be downright upset if we didn’t have a hand in their arrest. Right, Honey?”

  Honey nodded. “A few minutes ago, I’d have said I couldn’t even stay awake until race time. But the food has picked me up, and if you’ll just give us a few minutes to shower and change clothes, we’ll be ready to go.”

  Less than an hour later, Trixie and Honey were in their assigned places at a concession stand across from the betting windows. Each girl was holding a hot dog in one hand and a soft drink in the other, and they’d been instructed to eat and drink slowly, so that casual passersby would think they were just having a snack before returning to the stands. “If you see either of the suspects,” Officer Johnson had told them, “don’t act excited. Just throw the remainder of your hot
dog into this trash can. That will be our signal to come forward.”

  The girls stood quiet, their eyes searching the crowd for a sign of the two culprits. The claiming race was announced over the loudspeaker as the next event, and still the two men had not appeared. They only have a couple of minutes left to put their bets down, Trixie thought. What if they somehow found out that we escaped and tipped off Mr. Stinson? What if they don’t show up?

  The line at the ticket windows began to dwindle as the field of horses for the claiming race was led onto the track. The crowd of people who had been placing bets or buying refreshments surged forward to take their places in the stands.

  Suddenly Trixie spotted Scarface approaching the ticket window. She looked at Honey, and the two girls tossed their hot dogs into the trash can; they waited breathlessly. Ten seconds went by, then fifteen, and still the two officers had not come forward to make their arrest.

  With the lines of bettors gone, it took Scarface less than a minute to buy his tickets and turn from the window. “He’ll get away, Honey!” Trixie said desperately. Unthinkingly, she ran toward him. “Somebody stop that man!” she shouted.

  Scarface whirled to face her, drawing a gun from his jacket pocket as he turned. A look of surprise crossed his face as he recognized Trixie. “You again!” he snarled. He raised the gun and leveled it at Trixie. Before he had time to pull the trigger, Regan, emerging from nowhere, forced him to the ground.

  Officers Ryan and Johnson came out of the crowd seconds later and hauled Scarface to his feet, fastening a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

  “Are you all right?” Officer Ryan demanded.

  Trixie gulped and nodded, suddenly weak-kneed.

  “We saw your signal,” Officer Johnson explained, “but we got trapped in the crowd of people going back to their seats before the race. We couldn’t get through.”

  “I’m just glad Regan did,” Trixie said gratefully. “Otherwise, I’d be—” Her voice failed her, and she gulped.

  “Attempted murder—that’s one more charge we’ll book you on,” Officer Ryan told Scarface. “Come on, we’re going downtown.”

  “Wait!” Trixie ordered as a cheer erupted from the stands. “Everybody be quiet!”

  Straining their ears to hear above the cheering of the crowd, the girls and Regan, along with the two officers and Scarface, heard the announcer’s voice over the loudspeakers: “And the winner, by five lengths, is Gadbox!”

  A Celebration Party 17

  THAT EVENING, Trixie and Honey, refreshed after a long nap and dressed in the best outfits they’d brought to Saratoga, entered the hotel dining room. The hostess escorted them to the largest table in the room, where the rest of their party had already gathered for a celebration dinner.

  Jim Frayne held Trixie’s chair as she sat down, then took his seat next to her. Brian did the same for Honey. Looking around the table, Trixie smiled in turn at Mr. Worthington, Mr. Stinson, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, and Mart. Her smile turned into a wide, delighted grin as her eyes landed on Regan and Joan Stinson, sitting side by side across from her. Regan’s friend Johnny, looking uncomfortable in a suit and tie, was sitting on the other side of Joan.

  As soon as the girls were seated, Mr. Worthington signaled their waiter, and he came to the table bearing a tray on which rested twelve champagne glasses, each one filled with bubbling liquid.

  Trixie stared at the glass that was set before her, then looked apologetically at Mr. Worthington. “I can’t—” she began.

  “Yes, you can,” Jim whispered into her ear. “Our glasses are filled with ginger ale.”

  Trixie giggled and lifted her glass. “In that case...” she said, looking expectantly at Mr. Worthington, who had risen to his feet to propose a toast.

  “To Honey and Trixie,” he said, “who saved Worthington Farms from disaster.”

  “And to Brian, Mart, Jim, Regan, and Johnny, who saved Honey and Trixie from disaster,” Mr. Wheeler added.

  Trixie and Honey ducked their heads in embarrassment, then joined in the general laughter.

  “You’ll all be happy to know,” Mr. Worthington said as he sat back down, “that I had a call from Officer Ryan before I came here tonight. He says that Scarface has confessed that he drugged Gadfly seven years ago and attempted to drug Gadbox yesterday.”

  “What about Louie?” Honey asked. “Did he get away?”

  Mr. Worthington shook his head. “The saying that there’s honor among thieves is a great exaggeration,” he said. “As soon as Scarface realized that he was going to be in prison for a good long while, he was only too happy to assure himself of some company. He told the police exactly where to find his accomplice, who is now also behind bars. And Louie, not to be outdone as a traitor, told the police about four other instances in which he and his former friend had pulled the same trick at other tracks around the country.”

  “It’s all my fault,” Carl Stinson blurted suddenly. The others at the table all looked at him in surprise. “That man with the scar talked to me seven years ago. Offered me a lot of money if I’d slip Gadfly some drugs before the race. Explained the whole deal—how they’d wait for a race where there was one heavy favorite, and another sure thing for second place. Then they’d do something to make sure number one was disqualified, and bet heavily on number two at tremendous odds.

  “I turned him down flat, of course,” Stinson continued. “I should have turned him in. But he threatened Joan’s life if I told the police, so I kept my mouth shut. It never occurred to me that he’d sneak into the track in the dead of night and find Gadfly’s feed bag. I always kept it so well hidden.”

  “I was the only other person who knew where the feed was kept, so of course you suspected me,” Regan said, understandingly.

  Stinson nodded. “That’s not all. When I told Scarface I wasn’t interested in his offer, he told me he’d go to you. I laughed in his face. ‘Regan wouldn’t turn against me,’ I said. But then, when the drugs were discovered, I just assumed—I’m sorry. I should have had more faith in you, Regan.”

  “My running away wasn’t a move that would inspire faith, Carl. Anyway, that’s all in the past. Now it’s time to think about the future.”

  Trixie thought she saw Regan glance at Joan Stinson as he said “the future.”

  “That’s right,” J. T. Worthington said heartily. “We can’t relive the past, but we can do what we can to make up for past mistakes. I’ve made quite a few mistakes, but I’m ready to try to make up for them. Carl told me this afternoon that the scarfaced man had approached him seven years ago. I was impressed at the loyalty he showed to me—and to Gadfly—in turning down that offer. After he left, I started thinking, and I realized that I haven’t shown the same kind of loyalty to him. I put my own interests first on two separate occasions, when financial setbacks caused me to enter in claiming races the best horses Carl ever had.”

  “Gleeps!” Trixie shouted, then clapped her hand over her mouth as she realized that shouting was not in keeping with the elegance of the restaurant. “I forgot, in my excitement over Gadbox’s winning the race and not being disqualified, that it was a claiming race. Did someone claim him?”

  Mr. Worthington nodded solemnly. “Someone did, indeed. But I found the new owner and bought Gadbox back.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Worthington brought out two pieces of paper. He handed them to Carl Stinson. “Here are the papers for Gadbox and Gadfly. You’ve been a fine trainer, Carl. Now it’s your chance for you to prove yourself as an owner.”

  Carl Stinson stared at the pieces of paper in his hand, then looked at Worthington. Finally, the reality of what had just happened dawned on him, and he let out a whoop of joy that caused the other diners in the restaurant to turn and stare. Unmindful of the attention he was getting, Stinson turned to Regan and slapped him on the back. “Did you hear that?” he demanded. “We’re in business!” Regan smiled. “I’m happy for you, Carl. But I can’t come to work for you. I have a home now in Sleepysid
e, and I want to go back. That is,” he added, looking at Mr. Wheeler, “if I still have a job to go back to.”

  “You know you do, Regan,” Mr. Wheeler said. Regan acknowledged Mr. Wheeler’s quiet reassurance with a smile. Then, turning back to Carl Stinson, he said, “You know, if you need a good hand with.horses, I’d be happy to introduce you to one of the best. He’s sitting right at this table.” Johnny looked around the table to see whom Regan was referring to, then flushed as he saw everyone staring back at him.

  “I think, too,” Regan continued, “that Johnny could recommend a good piece of property where you could set up Stinson Farms. Right, Johnny?”

  “Right!” Johnny exclaimed boldly. “I’m sure the bank would sell us my dad’s place real cheap, Mr. Stinson. They aren’t using it.”

  “We’ll drive out to look at it tomorrow,” Carl promised, “right after we sit down and discuss your wages. But I wish you’d reconsider, Regan,” he added, turning back to the redheaded groom. “I hate to lose you again.”

  “You won’t lose me entirely,” Regan said. “I plan to be around a lot.” This time there was no mistaking the look he directed at Joan Stinson, a look she returned with a smile.

  “Isn’t it all perfectly perfect?” Honey asked as she and Trixie both lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and reviewing the day’s sometimes exciting, sometimes frightening events.

  “No, it isn’t,” Trixie said. “It won’t be perfectly perfect until the Bob-Whites run two small errands tomorrow morning, just before we all go home to Sleepyside.”

  “Two small errands? What are they?” Honey asked.

  Trixie told her, and when Honey fell asleep, moments later, she was still smiling.

  The next morning, Matthew Wheeler was once again pacing the lobby impatiently. Mrs. Wheeler sat on a couch nearby, twisting her handkerchief. A short distance away, Regan and Joan Stinson stood talking quietly, saying their good-byes and making plans to see each other again.