148 On The Trail Of Trouble
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them—and she'd be busted.”
“She couldn't show them around here,” Kincaid
agreed. “But she's setting up an international network.
What better animal to take around the world as a
symbol than the American bison? People in other
countries have never even seen one. Lulu's so tame.
She wouldn't give anybody any trouble. And Justice
will go anywhere Lulu goes.” Her voice was low as she
looked away.
Then she turned back to Nancy, her voice sounding
frantic. “I'll bet she took them. They're probably here
on the estate, waiting to be shipped to Europe for
some Justice for Animals fund-raiser.”
“Oh, Nancy, what if she's right,” Bess said, her eyes
wide with concern for her friend.
“Stay cool,” Nancy warned. “We'll never find them if
we take dumb chances. Everybody take a deep breath
and calm down.” She waited, then said, “Okay, let's
look in that barn over there.”
Nancy darted quickly from the house to a huge barn,
always staying low and behind a clipped hedge or
flowers for cover. One by one, the others followed.
When they reached the barn, they circled around to
the back. “We might attract attention if we open the
front door,” Nancy explained. “Let's see if there's
another way in.”
She finally found a service door at the rear of the
building, but it was locked. She dug her lock pick from
her purse and, within seconds, the door opened with a
creepy creak.
“This doesn't smell like a barn,” Bess said, closing
the door. It made the same creaking whine.
The light was dim, but it got brighter as they moved
to the front of the building. There, the large windows
let in the sun, which bounced off dozens of shiny
vehicles.
“Wow,” George said in a soft voice, peeking into a
pale blue sports car.
“It's filled with cars,” Kincaid moaned. “The place is
full of antique automobiles.”
Lined up in perfect rows were Dusenbergs,
Bugattis, Rolls-Royces, and other vehicles. They were
all restored and polished until they gleamed.
“I sure picked the wrong barn,” Nancy said. “Well,
let's—” Her words stopped cold as the hair on the back
of her neck frizzed up, as if she had gotten an electric
shock. Bess grabbed Nancy's arm, her nails digging in,
as they heard the rear door creak open again.
Bess and Kincaid darted to the rear of a car. George
was still by the blue sports car. Nancy motioned to
them to get down. All four crouched between the cars.
For a moment everything was still.
Then the door creaked again, and she heard it latch
shut. More silence spread over the room. Who opened
and closed the door? When it was closed, was the
person on the inside or back outdoors? Nancy strained
to hear something . . . anything.
She kept her nerves steady as she hid behind a red
sports car. She leaned into the car, and her face peered
back at her from the mirror of shiny paint. As she
looked at her reflection, she saw a shadow form behind
her.
6. The Puzzle Deepens
Nancy's breath caught in her throat as she stared into
the shiny finish of the red antique sports car. She saw
her own face up close. And she saw the shadow
looming behind her, moving closer.
Still crouched, Nancy wheeled around to find
Antoinette Francoeur standing over her. Her long face
was twisted into an angry frown. Her hands were
clenched into tight fists. “Who are you . . . and what are
you doing in here?” she demanded.
Nancy stood slowly, her breath coming in gulps.
“I'm Nancy Drew. I'm a reporter, here for your press
conference.”
“And what are you doing sneaking around my
automobiles?” Ms. Francoeur asked. Her voice was
loud as it boomed through the huge car barn.
“I wasn't sneaking around,” Nancy said. She spoke
slowly and deliberately, determined to convince the
woman that she was not a threat. “My friends and I—”
She stopped, saying, “Stand up, everyone.” One by one,
George, Bess, and Kincaid popped up from between
the rows of cars.
Nancy turned back to Ms. Francoeur. “My friends
and I decided not to stay for the video and buffet,” she
said, thinking fast. She knew she had to give the
woman a reasonable excuse for being in here. But she
could not let her know that she might be under
investigation for rustling.
“We headed back to the parking lot, but we got
turned around and ended up in the garden. As we
came by the rose trellis, we noticed the back door of
this building was ajar.”
Antoinette Francoeur folded her long arms across
her chest. She was still frowning.
“We couldn't imagine you wanted that door open.
We peeked in to see if there was anything wrong—to
see if there might be an intruder. When we heard the
door open again, we ducked down, because we didn't
know who it might be. We're so happy it was you and
not an intruder.”
Nancy gave her hostess a big smile, but it didn't
work.
“I do not believe you,” Ms. Francoeur said. “I
believe you are the intruders. Where do you work?
What is this RHI?” she demanded, reading Nancy's
badge. “Is it a newspaper? A magazine?”
“We are reporters and photographers for the River
Heights Independent,” Kincaid said, stepping forward
boldly.
“I'm sure your organization will go far in helping
animals,” Nancy continued, changing the subject. “We
love the logo and cover painting on your brochure. Was
this painted from live models? Local bison, perhaps?
They're so beautiful.”
Nancy held up the brochure as she spoke.
“They really are beautiful,” Bess murmured, as she
and George joined Nancy and Kincaid.
“Painted from real life, yes,” Ms. Francoeur said, “by
a dear friend. He donated his talent for the cause. We
are so grateful.”
“Is he a local artist?” Nancy asked. She was trying to
divert the woman by talking fast and bombarding her
with questions. Maybe if she could distract Ms.
Francoeur enough, the woman would overlook that she
had found them trespassing. Nancy also hoped she
would find out something about Lulu and Justice.
“Where did your artist find these wonderful
models?” Nancy asked quickly. “Are they yours? Or
animals you saved and are keeping close by until they
can be released?”
Antoinette Francoeur's eyes narrowed. “Who are
you really?” she asked in a low voice.
“We're members of the press who are very inter-
ested in your cause,” Nancy said. “That's why we were
eager to attend your press conference.”
“And yet you faile
d to stay for the video,” Ms.
Francoeur said. “I think you are not telling me the
truth. I want you off my property now. Go! Out of this
building!”
She made a sweeping gesture with her arms,
ushering Nancy and the others toward the back of the
building. When they were out the door, she continued
to herd them around to the parking lot. She stood
watching while Kincaid unlocked her vehicle and the
four climbed in.
“Let's get out of here,” George said.
“I agree,” Bess said, “before she changes her mind.
Nancy, don't you think it's weird that she didn't call any
of her guards or the police or anything when she found
us snooping around?”
“Very weird,” Nancy agreed. She turned and looked
at Antoinette Francoeur as Kincaid pulled out onto the
drive. “I was sure we were in big trouble when I saw
her standing there in the car barn. I wonder why she
just let us go.”
“Maybe she has something to hide,” George said,
raising an eyebrow.
“It's possible,” Nancy said. “Maybe she doesn't want
the sheriff snooping around up there.”
“Yeah,” Kincaid said. “Maybe she does have
something to hide—like Lulu and Justice. So, what do
we do next, Nancy? I just have to do something. I can't
stand the idea that my bison are trapped up there by
that crazy woman.”
“First of all, we don't know that she has them,”
Nancy said gently. “Our next step is to get more
information.”
“How about lunch for our next step,” Bess said.
“After all, we missed the buffet at Beauforêt.
Remember, Kincaid, an army needs food.”
“Good idea,” George said. “I second it.”
“We'll go to Gina's,” Kincaid said as she expertly
guided her vehicle down the mountain road. “Best
pizza in town.”
By the time they reached Gina's, it was after noon.
The small restaurant was filled. “No problem,” Kincaid
said. “There's Clayton. Let's sit with him.”
She waved to the young man they had met the night
before at the Stomp. “Kincaid,” he said. “I'm so glad
you're here. I had a date and she stood me up. Now
you can keep me company.”
Clayton smiled and motioned the waitress over as
Nancy and her friends sat down. “So, what's hap-
pening?” Clayton asked after they had ordered.
Kincaid briefed Clayton on Lulu and Justice's
disappearance.
“Wow, that's rough,” Clayton said, concern shining
in his dark eyes. “I know how much they mean to you,
Kinc. How come you didn't mention it at the Stomp
last night?”
“Because I went there to try to escape from what's
been happening,” Kincaid said. “I just didn't want to
talk about it last night.”
“Wait till you hear about this morning,” Bess said.
She and Nancy told him about their experience at
Beauforêt.
“Amazing,” Clayton said, leaning back in his chair.
“Hey, Kinc, where did you get the idea to be a
detective? That's pretty awesome.”
“Actually, Nancy is a detective,” Kincaid said. “She
has many cases under her belt and is in charge of our
investigation. And stop calling me Kinc,” she added
with a mock frown. Nancy could see there was real
affection between the two.
“Count me in on the case,” Clayton said. “I've always
thought Francoeur is half nuts. I mean, it's great to
care for animals and all that, but her remedies are
pretty extreme.”
“Remember, we don't know that Antoinette
Francoeur has any connection to the rustling,” Nancy
warned. “We have to have more evidence.”
“But the name of her group and the picture in her
logo—” Kincaid said.
“And her track record of taking animals and setting
them free, no matter whom they belong to,” added
Clayton earnestly.
“And the fact that she didn't call the authorities
when she found us hiding in her car barn,” concluded
Bess.
“These could all be clues pointing to her guilt . . .
but they also could be coincidences,” Nancy said. “We
need proof, not guesses.”
The pizza arrived and everyone dug in.
“So, you guys have known each other a long time,”
George said to Kincaid and Clayton.
“Forever, it seems,” Kincaid said, her eyes twinkling.
“But we got to be really good friends the summer we
were interns at the geology museum.”
“Yeah, that's when we started working together on
archaeology digs,” Clayton said. “Kinc's a real South
Dakota Jones.' ” He grinned at Kincaid. His teasing
seemed to cheer her up.
“We almost caught a poacher that summer we were
interns, remember?” Kincaid said.
“And he was practically one of us,” Clayton pointed
out.
“Sounds like a story,” Bess said. She put down her
pizza and leaned forward.
“Well, remember that half a mammoth jawbone I
used for my national science project?” Kincaid asked.
“That was the summer we worked as interns at the
museum. We had an instructor.”
“Jasper Stone,” Clayton said, reaching for another
piece of pizza.
“Right,” Kincaid said. “He was a professor's assistant
at the university. Well, he bragged about finding half a
jawbone from a mammoth—the half—but he wouldn't
show it to us.”
“We thought that was pretty weird,” Clayton said,
“so we stayed late one night, sneaked into his desk, and
looked at his find.”
“It was an upper jaw,” Kincaid said, “and a perfect
match for my lower. You can really tell a lot about a jaw
fossil by the way the teeth are worn. Jasper Stone's half
was definitely the upper half of mine. And I had dug
mine up on our ranch, remember? That meant he was
poaching stuff from my dig and from our property.”
“We confronted him about it the next day,” Clayton
said. “But he said he didn't know what we were talking
about. He opened his desk and the jawbone was gone.
We never saw it again.”
“Whatever happened to him?” Nancy asked.
“I don't know,” Kincaid said. “I never saw him after
that summer. Did you, Clayton?”
“No,” Clayton answered. “I heard a rumor that he
had been caught poaching from a university dig in
Wyoming, but I don't know if it's true.”
“We had another interesting experience that first
summer when we were interning,” Clayton said, his
eyes widening. “Remember?”
“I'll never forget it,” Kincaid said with a shudder.
“We were on a dig, and a coyote kept circling us.”
“A coyote!” George said. “You're kidding.”
“Nope,” Clayton said. “They're all around. They
usually just run away
if they see people. They're not a
problem unless they feel threatened,” he added, taking
a bite of pizza.
“But it was night and this guy just kept circling,”
Kincaid continued. “I got pretty nervous, so we finally
left the dig. Hey, Clayton,” Kincaid said, a smile
lighting her face. “Why don't you come back to the
ranch with us. Stay for dinner. My folks would love to
see you.”
“Sure,” Clayton said. “I'd like that.”
They all left Gina's and headed for the ranch. Bess
and George rode with Clayton. In Kincaid's vehicle,
she and Nancy talked over the day's adventures as
Kincaid drove.
“I want to track down the artist who did the
brochure cover,” Nancy said. “His name isn't on it, but
we can check printers and galleries in town. Maybe
someone will recognize his work.”
“My mom's a sculptor in her free time and is real
involved with artists around here,” Kincaid said. “She
volunteers at the Art Guild a few days a month and is
also a docent at the art museum.”
“Great!” Nancy said. “She may know who did the
picture on the cover just by looking at it.”
“Nancy, I really want to go back up to Beauforêt,”
Kincaid said. “Maybe I'm way off base, but I just have
to make sure that Lulu and Justice aren't up there—
that they're not going to be used as some sort of
mascots for her cause.”
She picked up the brochure with the painting of the
bison cow and calf. Nancy could see tears in her eyes.
“I'm going back up there,” Kincaid said. “I think I can
get into the back of the estate without being seen. You
can come with me if you want, but I'll go alone if I
have to.”
“We'll go,” Nancy assured her. “I was going to
suggest it myself. I don't really think we'll find Lulu
and Justice there, but something didn't feel right, and
I'd like another look around.”
They drove under the high wooden gate of the
Turner ranch, up the drive, and into the large parking
circle. Clayton's car followed closely.
As they all walked toward the ranch house, the
squeal of tires filled the air behind them. Nancy
wheeled around and saw a dark truck barreling up the
drive.
“Somebody's sure in a hurry!” George said.
“Uh-oh,” Kincaid said, running toward the house. “I
think I know who it is. Dad! We've got company,” she
yelled through the open door. “It looks like Badger