McKenzie’s Branson Brainteaser

by Shari Barr

  Minutes later, McKenzie arrived at the doors leading into the show arena. She heard the thundering hooves of the horses in the ring and the loud music playing. The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. The audience yelled, stomped their feet, and applauded.

  A young man, one of the horse trainers, arrived with a dark brown quarter horse named Azur. He held it for her while she stuck her boot in the stirrup and swung herself onto the saddle.

  Her hands felt clammy as she clutched the reins. I wonder where Miss Val and Sydney are sitting. I hope I don’t mess up, she thought nervously. She glanced at the other three girls on their horses. Their matching green dresses hung softly over the sides of the horses. Each girl had a partner on his own horse that rode beside her in the performance.

  McKenzie glanced at her partner, a high school-aged boy named Nick. He stared straight ahead, an anxious look on his face. Any second now the doors would burst open, their cue to spur their horses into action.

  Whoosh! The doors flew open. McKenzie dug her heels into Azur’s side. Neck and neck, she and Nick darted into the arena following the other costumed riders.

  Fiddle and banjo music blared over the loudspeakers. Two couples danced in a gazebo in the center of the arena. The gentlemen wore trousers and topcoats while twirling their partners in colorful bouncy hoopskirts.

  McKenzie concentrated on her routine, barely noticing the twirling dancers. She and Azur darted among the other performers. Confederate soldiers wore gray uniforms for the South. Yankee soldiers wore blue for the North. Some rode horses, and some were on foot. Men and women wearing red, white, and blue outfits raced about on quarter horses. Screams and applause from the audience rang out as they entered.

  McKenzie’s hair flew behind her as the horses thundered around the ring. Are Sydney and Miss Val watching? she thought. Don’t look for them. Stay focused.

  When they brought their horses to a halt, Nick glanced at her and smiled. They reached out and held each other’s hand—all a part of the act. Then in unison, the southern belles and their gentlemen rode out of the arena.

  McKenzie sighed with relief when the doors closed behind them. She stretched her fingers to release the tension. A trainer grabbed Azur’s bridle, and McKenzie slid from the saddle.

  “Great job,” a voice sounded beside McKenzie.

  Turning, she looked into the blue eyes of a husky boy about her own age of thirteen. A sprinkling of light brown freckles on his nose matched his hair showing beneath his cap. He wore a gray Confederate uniform and carried a drum on a strap about his neck.

  “Thanks,” McKenzie said with a smile, feeling her face grow warm. “Are you new at this, too?”

  “Yep, first year.” The boy nodded. “I’m Nat McCoy. I live outside of Branson a couple of miles. How about you?”

  “I’m McKenzie Phillips from White Sulfur Springs, Montana.” She headed down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. “I’m working at the Showcase for a month performing at the 5:30 performance each day.”

  Nat grinned at her. “I get the 5:30 show, too. But I’m working here all summer.”

  McKenzie stared straight ahead, feeling her hands getting sweaty. She wished she could think of something to say. How about, “It sure is a nice day out, isn’t it?” she thought. Yuck! That sounds way too mature.

  They walked silently down the hall until they reached the dressing room. McKenzie swallowed the knot forming in her throat. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Nat.”

  Oh, now that was a boring remark. McKenzie groaned. Dear God, help me not to act like a doofus.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” Nat tossed a drumstick in the air and caught it on the way down. He flashed her another grin before walking away.

  McKenzie’s heart fluttered. No boy has ever told me he’d see me around, she thought. She smiled to herself as she stepped into the dressing room. Boys don’t usually even talk to me, except to ask for help with homework. Maybe this is my lucky day. There’s no homework at the Dixie Showcase.

  “You were great, McKenzie,” Sydney said on their way back to Miss Val’s house. “I’ve never eaten so much at one meal before. And I’ve also never been to a restaurant that doesn’t use silverware. It was fun eating with my fingers.”

  “That’s what the Dixie Showcase is all about,” Miss Val said, steering the SUV onto a gravel road outside of town. “Gorgeous horses, fancy costumes, and great food but no silverware.”

  McKenzie brushed her hair furiously, trying to comb the ringlets and hairspray out. She winced as the brush caught on a glob of gunk. “Eeeerr,” she groaned as she gave up and twisted her hair into a ponytail.

  “I wish Shara wasn’t so busy with work. Then she could help us look for her uncle.” McKenzie shoved a lime green baseball cap with Tweety Bird on the front onto her head. She explained Shara’s situation to Miss Val as she pulled her ponytail through the hole in back.

  Grabbing a tissue from the console, McKenzie rubbed her face mercilessly. Wearing makeup was kind of fun at the performance, but it drove her nuts the minute she walked out of the Showcase. She spit on the tissue and rubbed her eyes until the blue eye shadow and black eyeliner came off in streaks.

  “We need to go online to the Camp Club Girls chat room and talk about our new mystery,” Sydney said, looking at McKenzie. “Ooh, let me help. You look awful.”

  “Thanks a lot,” McKenzie muttered as Sydney grabbed another tissue and wiped the spots she had missed.

  Miss Val turned into a driveway and parked in front of a new, large log home surrounded by oak, hickory, and pine trees. McKenzie unlatched her seatbelt and grabbed her pile of dirty tissues.

  A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the treetops. A bluebird sitting on Miss Val’s birdbath fluttered away at the sound of the car door slamming. Miss Val’s cat, Mr. Pibb, sat in the front window, looking out and swishing his tail.

  “You girls can use the computer if you want to get in touch with your friends. I’m going to shower and change. Then we’ll head back into Branson to do some shopping. Maybe you can find some souvenirs.” Miss Val led the way up the front steps.

  Once inside the house, the girls headed for the computer in the corner of the family room. Mr. Pibb, a large, furry black and white bundle, jumped onto McKenzie’s lap as she logged onto the Camp Club Girls’ chat room. The other four girls were already online.

  McKenzie: Hi, everybody.

  Bailey: Tell us all about this mystery.

  McKenzie: It’s a missing persons case.

  Kate: Tell us more.

  McKenzie: I met a girl who works at the Dixie Showcase, Shara Hayden. Her uncle has been missing for thirteen years. She thinks he might be in Branson, so we’re going to try to find him.

  Kate: What do you know about him?

  McKenzie: His name is Reggie Ford, and he’s an artist, mainly interested in woodworking. When Reggie gave up his lawyer’s job to become an artist, his family got upset. Except Shara’s mom, anyway. So, Mr. Ford left. The family thinks he may be down here in Branson, so we want to help Shara look for him.

  Kate: I’ll start surfing the Internet and see what I can find out. I’ll Google him.

  Bailey: Why don’t you start checking out woodcrafting shops and artist’s studios?

  McKenzie: Sounds good to me. We’re going shopping in a few minutes. Maybe we can start investigating.

  Elizabeth: This is such an important case. I think God really wants us to find this man. I’m sure his family misses him so much. I’ll pray that we don’t miss any clues.

  Kate: Me, too. If we all pray and work together, I bet we can find him. Of course, good ole Biscuit will help us. He’s quite a talented pup, you know.

  McKenzie: How can we solve mysteries without Biscuit to help us? He’s no ordinary dog. I’m sure glad you found him at Discovery Lake.

  Kate: Best dog I’ve ever had.

  Alex: Nancy Drew was always solving mysteries about missing people. I bet I can get a clue
from some of the old TV shows or books.

  McKenzie: Thanks, guys. We’ll let you know if we find any clues. TTYL.

  After McKenzie signed off, Miss Val stepped back in the room wearing a fresh change of clothes. “I’m ready if you are, girls.”

  McKenzie ruffled Mr. Pibb’s head and headed out the door with Sydney and Miss Val.

  A short time later, they arrived back in Branson. Miss Val parked along the Strip, what the locals called Highway 76, the main street through town, which was lined with shops, restaurants, and theaters.

  “There’s an outfit at the clothing store across the street I want to try on. You girls have about an hour to shop before the stores close. I’ll meet you at the flea market on the corner at 8:45. Okay?” Miss Val said.

  The girls agreed, and Miss Val headed up the street. Shoppers of all ages walked up and down both sides of the Strip. Delicious smells wafted out of the food and candy shops as the girls walked by.

  McKenzie glanced at the go-cart track across the street. The carts rumbled as their drivers sped up a spiral track. She thought of her little brother, Evan. We’ll have to go there when he gets here. That looks like a blast. Dad would really like it, too. But, Mom—well, she could ride in one of the two-seater carts beside Dad.

  “Are we shopping or investigating first?” Sydney asked, pulling a package of bubble gum from her pocket.

  McKenzie thought for a moment. “How about if we look for a woodcrafter’s shop? There are all sorts of crafters’ signs around here.”

  Sydney pointed at a sign on the corner. “That sign says, ‘The Treasure Trove: Woodworking Wonders.’ The arrow points down a side street. Shall we try that one?”

  “Sure, let’s go,” McKenzie said, tugging Sydney’s arm.

  McKenzie and Sydney hurried down the sidewalk. The late-day sun hung low in the sky. After turning the corner, they saw another sign and a lane leading to the Treasure Trove.

  The shop sat far off the Strip, away from the hustle and bustle. The girls hurried up the lane away from the traffic. A split-rail fence lined one side of the driveway. Orange and yellow marigolds grew at the bottom of each post. McKenzie was surprised that no shoppers had ventured this way.

  As they came to the end of the lane, she saw why. The Treasure Trove was the only business located at the end of the narrow drive.

  “Uh-oh, I think they’re closed,” Sydney said as they approached the parking lot. No cars were in the parking lot, and all was dark inside the shop. No shoppers lined the sidewalks back here. The girls continued up the lane to the front porch of the rustic building. An old wooden bench sat near the front door. A painted sign hanging in the window read, SORRY WE MISSED YOU, COME BACK AGAIN.

  “They closed at 7:00,” McKenzie said, peering at the notice on the door. “I was hoping to look inside and talk to the owner.”

  “We’ll have to come back,” Sydney suggested as she turned and stepped off the porch.

  An automatic streetlight flickered on near the front of the building. McKenzie walked down the wooden sidewalk to the edge of the shop. A narrow pathway ran along the side of the building. A sign invited customers to browse through wooden statues located behind the shop.

  “Let’s go look,” McKenzie said, scurrying down the path. “Maybe there are signs on some of the artwork with the artist’s name.”

  “Wait for me!” Sydney called, running after her friend.

  The sun had dropped over the horizon as the girls wandered to the back side of the shop. Shadows fell across the rows and rows of wooden statues. Some of the sculptures are taller than me, McKenzie thought. She stood beside a wooden bear and looked into his dark eyes. She walked among life-size wooden eagles, wolves, and deer. One side of the yard had all sizes of wooden wishing wells.

  “Can you believe these woodcarvings?” McKenzie called to Sydney, who was busy looking at trolls and gnomes in the next row.

  “I wonder how long it takes to carve one of these,” Sydney said with awe as she studied a troll sitting on top of a huge wooden toadstool.

  Dusk deepened as McKenzie moved away from Sydney and peered at the statues. Though only a block away, the car horns honking on the Strip seemed far away from the isolated shop. The shadows deepened. The statues looked grotesque and forlorn. The claws and fangs on an angry wolf sent a shiver up her neck.

  Something rustled in the bushes on the edge of the yard. Glancing around her, she shivered despite the warm evening. Nothing was there. Hopefully it’s just a rabbit, McKenzie thought nervously. She kept her eyes on the shrubs, but she saw no movement.

  Suddenly she felt like they shouldn’t be here when the shop wasn’t open. I feel like we’re trespassing. She told herself to finish looking through one more row of woodcrafts. Then we’ll leave, she thought. She walked through a group of wooden angels of all sizes. Nothing looked similar to the carvings on Shara’s necklace.

  Sighing, McKenzie turned to look for Sydney. She spotted her in the shadows next to the shop. McKenzie hurried through the maze of statues toward her friend.

  A corner of a statue caught her toe. As she stumbled, a figure caught her eye in the fading twilight. A statue of a fairy stood about two feet high. Her long wavy hair flowed about her face. It was almost too dark to see the tiny carvings, but as McKenzie bent closer she gasped.

  She blinked and shook her head to see if she was reading the letters correctly. Yes, the initials SS were carved into the base of the statue!

  Capsized!

  “Sydney!” McKenzie cried. “Come here! You’ve got to see this.”

  Excitement raced through McKenzie’s veins. I can’t believe the initials are the same as on Shara’s necklace! Could this be her Uncle Reggie’s artwork?

  “What is it?” Sydney asked breathlessly as she raced to McKenzie.

  “Look!” McKenzie pointed at the initials barely visible in the fading light.

  Sydney’s eyes grew wide as she read the lettering. She lifted her gaze to the fairy’s face and cocked her head to one side in surprise. “Look at the face on the statue. Doesn’t she kind of look like Shara?”

  McKenzie stared at the fairy. She hadn’t noticed it until now, but it did look like Shara. The fairy had the same small features and lively eyes. “Oh, Sydney, I think we’ve found our first clue. It sure looks like Reggie Ford’s work.”

  “Too bad the shop isn’t open,” Sydney said. “We could ask the employees about the artist.”

  The honking of a car horn and the screech of tires floated up the lane from the Strip. For a minute McKenzie had forgotten how close they were to the busy downtown street. The backyard of the little woodworker’s shop seemed so isolated.

  The uneasiness she had felt earlier returned. She glanced down the lane toward the busy intersection. Cars streaked through on the green lights, screeching to a halt at the next block. The neon lights of the storefronts flashed off and on, enticing the customers to come inside.

  “It’s already 8:45,” McKenzie said anxiously, pushing the light button on the side of her watch. “Miss Val is probably waiting on us.”

  The towering woodcarvings looked like an enemy army in the deepening shadows. The life-size wild animals seemed to come alive, ready to pounce.

  I’ve had enough of this, McKenzie thought. She whirled and fled through the array of woodcarvings, stopping when she reached the front of the building. A cloud of frenzied moths fluttered about the streetlight high above her. She turned to make sure Sydney was following.

  Side by side, the girls hurried toward the Strip, their tennis shoes slapping the sidewalk as they jogged. They stopped and caught their breath when they arrived at the street corner. The string of headlights in the bumper-to-bumper traffic looked like a ribbon of white Christmas lights stretching up the street. Blaring rock music sounded from open car windows. McKenzie felt the vibrations coming from the subwoofers.

  “Where are all the people coming from?” Sydney asked in amazement. “The traffic wasn’t this bad when
we got here.”

  “The shows are all getting out,” McKenzie explained. “Branson has tons of entertainers who have their own theaters. There are gobs of musical groups, magicians, dancers, light and water shows, and of course the Dixie Showcase. Plus, White Water—the water park—is closing for the night, too. I’ve got to go there before I go home. I hear they have the wildest water slides ever.”

  “I’ve never been to a small town with so much to see and do,” Sydney said. “I could stay here a month and not see everything.”

  The girls hurried up the sidewalk to the flea market. Branson was a town that catered to families, so kids of all ages roamed the streets with their parents. The crowds of shoppers had thinned, though, since most shops would close within minutes.

  Once inside the flea market, McKenzie saw Miss Val looking at some antique dishes. “Sorry we’re late. We were busy and didn’t realize how late it was.”

  “I don’t see any packages,” Miss Val said with a smile, not seeming to mind that they were late. “You must not have found anything you can’t live without.”

  “Actually, we didn’t even look for souvenirs,” McKenzie blurted out. “We may have found a clue to finding Shara’s uncle.”

  On the way to the car, McKenzie told Miss Val about their discovery. Sydney interrupted occasionally to add a few details.

  “Well, it sounds like you may have found some of Mr. Ford’s work,” Miss Val said. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean he lives here. He could ship his artwork in from another state.”

  McKenzie frowned. I didn’t think of that, she thought. Shara did say that her family couldn’t find his phone number in the Branson directory. Maybe he doesn’t live here after all.

  “I don’t mean to discourage you,” Miss Val continued as they reached the outskirts of town. “But Branson is known for its crafters. If someone was going to sell their artwork, this is the town to sell it in.”

  McKenzie groaned inwardly. The girls said little the rest of the way home. McKenzie wanted to have faith that they would find Reggie Ford. But she also knew how disappointed Shara would be if they couldn’t find him. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed. Dear God, please help us find Reggie Ford. It would mean so much to Shara. If he’s in Branson, please let us find him.