by Shari Barr
But why? McKenzie thought. Why won’t she help us?
“This day isn’t starting out the best, is it?” Sydney’s tone was more of a statement than a question. “How about strawberry smoothies to cheer us up?”
“I can’t pass that up,” McKenzie said with a smile, heading toward the smoothie stand.
With drinks in hand, the girls returned to a tree-shadowed bench near the candle shop. The day promised to be another scorcher, and the shade felt good. McKenzie stretched her legs out and took a sip. She glanced behind her into the window of the shop.
Miss Richardson was ringing up a purchase at the cash register. After her customer left, she pulled the envelope from her pocket and studied it. Then McKenzie saw her slide her finger under the flap and open it. After skimming the contents of the letter, she stepped back and dropped it into the trash can behind the counter.
McKenzie gasped. She grabbed Sydney’s arm. “Miss Richardson just threw our letter away!” she exclaimed.
Sydney’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding! You saw her?”
McKenzie nodded angrily. “Why would she do that? How will we ever get in touch with Mr. Ford?”
McKenzie felt discouragement mounting. In just a few more days, Sydney would head back home to Washington DC. They had little time left to solve the mystery. McKenzie knew she’d never solve the case without her friend’s help.
I can’t believe Miss Richardson would do this, McKenzie thought, heading toward the basket shop. Why won’t she at least try to help us?
The girls stepped through the crowd already filling the park. McKenzie’s stomach churned. It seemed as though all their hard work investigating had been for nothing. The one person who knew where to find Mr. Ford wouldn’t help them.
McKenzie knew she would have to tell Shara, and she knew her friend would be brokenhearted. Would God really let them fail their investigation when they had come this close to solving the mystery? Surely God wants Shara and her family to get back in touch with Mr. Ford, she thought. I just can’t give up yet. God, please help us solve this case.
The girls arrived at the basket shop, already filled with tourists watching the demonstration. McKenzie’s eyes roved the store, looking for Miss Val. Adam, the young man who worked with Miss Val, sat on a stool in the corner of the room, explaining the craft of basket weaving to the onlookers.
“Hi, girls!”
McKenzie turned and saw Miss Val. Though the older woman smiled, her eyes looked sad.
“What’s the matter?” McKenzie asked with worry in her voice.
Miss Val’s eyes looked uneasy. “Ted, the chief woodworker, was in a car wreck on his way to work this morning. He lost control on the roads outside of town. The ambulance rushed him to the hospital. The good news is that he’ll be fine, but he’ll be laid up for a while.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” McKenzie said with relief. “But who will take his place while he’s gone?”
Miss Val glanced from one girl to the other. “That’s the bad news. The park officials are considering closing the woodworking shop for a few months. There is no one to take Mr. Jones’s place.”
Shara Smiles
McKenzie couldn’t imagine Silver Dollar City without the woodworking shop. She knew Mr. Jones would be terribly disappointed when he learned there was no one to run the shop.
“Are you sure Mr. Jones will be okay?” Sydney’s voice trembled.
Miss Val nodded. “Yes, God was looking out for him. Besides being bruised, he broke his arm and a couple of ribs, so he won’t be able to work for a while.”
“Isn’t there someone who can run the shop?” McKenzie asked.
“An older gentleman, Mr. Chase, who worked here years ago, is coming in to help out,” Miss Val said. “But he won’t be able to work many hours. The park manager is concerned—it will take a skilled craftsman to take Mr. Jones’s place. People expect quality woodwork from Mr. Jones’s shop, and we’re right in the middle of the busiest time of the tourist season.”
“He doesn’t have an assistant either, does he?” Sydney asked.
“Not anymore. The park hasn’t found anyone to replace the previous intern,” Miss Val explained.
If Mr. Jones is gone for several weeks, who will build the crafts? McKenzie thought. It would take a special person to do his job.
“I’d better get to work,” Miss Val said. “You girls have plenty of time to do whatever you want. Just check in with me once in a while.”
While Miss Val worked at the basket-weaving demonstration, the girls stepped outside. They spotted a bench beneath a flowering shade tree and sat down, a warm breeze ruffling McKenzie’s hair. Crowds of people flocked by on their way to the different rides and exhibits. The scent of caramel apples and cotton candy filled the air.
“Too bad we can’t find Mr. Ford. Then he could come and help out.” McKenzie leaned her elbows unto her knees, cupping her chin in her hands.
“That would sure be an answered prayer, wouldn’t it?” Sydney said with a sigh.
McKenzie watched the families walking by, laughing and chatting. A little boy licking a chocolate ice cream cone had brown goo dripping off his chin. McKenzie jumped when her phone rang in her pocket.
“It’s Kate,” she said, turning to Sydney. She flipped open her phone and answered.
“Hey, McKenzie,” Kate said. “I’ve been searching the Internet trying to find out if Reggie Ford changed his name. I wasn’t having any luck, but then Biscuit jumped onto my lap with a newspaper in his mouth. There was an article about a Web site to find free public records, so I went to it, and guess what? You were right. Reggie did change his name to Dwight Cramer!”
“Great!” McKenzie cried, giving Sydney a thumbs-up sign. “Biscuit does great work!”
“I’ll let the other girls know what’s going on. Have you got any more leads?” Kate asked.
McKenzie quickly told her about Mr. Jones’s wreck and how important it was to find Mr. Ford soon. After a moment, the girls hung up.
“Let’s go to the woodworking shop,” McKenzie said, shoving her phone back in her pocket. “Maybe someone knows how Mr. Jones is doing. Besides, I don’t feel much like riding rides.”
“Me neither,” Sydney grumbled.
The girls solemnly stepped into the woodworking shop, which was filled with browsing customers. An older man leaned on his cane, watching a young woman at a worktable carve a design into a piece of wood. He gave her a few suggestions then hobbled to a nearby table and sat down.
As the girls approached, he lifted his cap and wiped his sweaty brow. He smiled as they sat down beside him. After introducing themselves, they asked him if he was Mr. Chase.
“I sure am,” he answered, his blue eyes sparkling beneath his thinning white hair. “How can I help you?”
“We were wondering if there is anything we can do to help. Sydney helps out in the basket shop and fills in other places once in a while,” McKenzie said. “We know you’re short of help in here.”
“That’s awful nice of you girls. But what we really need is a good woodcrafter. Mr. Jones is one of the best I’ve seen. We’re going to miss him around here.” Mr. Chase hung his cane on the edge of the table.
“Are you a woodcarver?” McKenzie placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands.
“I was indeed, young lady,” the older man leaned back in his chair. His eyes drifted off like he was remembering something. “But my hands are too shaky now to work with those knives and saws. I’ll leave the carving to the younger folks.”
“I’ll bet you were really good, weren’t you?” Sydney asked, flipping her dangling earring with her finger.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said humbly. “But I taught one of the best students I’ve ever seen. Ten or fifteen years ago, a young fellow was working for me as an intern. I think his name was Cramer. He had talent like I’ve never seen before, but he spent way too much time carving cute little girls’ faces, and I
told him so. He wouldn’t listen to me though, and he quit.”
McKenzie stared at Sydney with astonishment. Could Mr. Chase possibly be talking about Mr. Ford? “Do you know where this Mr. Cramer is now?”
Mr. Chase tapped his knuckles on the table. “Last I knew he was still out in the hills somewhere around here—out on the ridge, if I remember right. He doesn’t even advertise; he depends on people driving by on their way to other attractions.”
“Did he say why he moved to Branson?” McKenzie asked, flicking a wood shaving off the table.
Mr. Chase thought for a moment and shook his head. “I think he had troubles back home. He was such a nice young man. He carved all his little girl faces to look like a particular girl—a daughter, maybe?”
“How about a niece?” McKenzie asked, feeling excitement mount inside her.
The older man looked at her quizzically. “Yes, I think you’re right. I think it was a niece. How did you know?”
McKenzie jumped from her chair, its legs scraping against the hardwood floor. “We’ll explain it later, Mr. Chase. We’ve got to go.”
Grasping her friend’s arm, McKenzie pulled Sydney toward the door. Darting through the crowd, she headed toward the park entrance.
“Where are we going?” Sydney asked, hurrying to keep up.
“To the administration building,” McKenzie answered, swerving to avoid a woman pushing a baby stroller. “They surely keep records of former employees. Maybe we can find out where Mr. Ford lives.”
The girls rushed onward, arriving breathless and sweaty at the park’s offices. A blast of cool air rushed out the front door as they stepped inside. A middle-aged woman with short brown hair looked up from her desk behind the counter.
“May I help you, girls?” the woman asked with a smile.
“We’re looking for a man who used to work at Silver Dollar City,” McKenzie said breathlessly. “His name was Dwight Cramer.”
“Or Reggie Ford,” Sydney piped in.
“Do you know when he worked here?” The woman rose and approached the girls.
“We think ten or fifteen years ago.” McKenzie drummed her fingers on the countertop.
The woman frowned as she looked from one girl to the other. “I’m afraid we don’t have employee records that far back. We had a fire, and all the paperwork and the backup files from former employees were destroyed. Are you sure your friend worked here that long ago?”
McKenzie nodded dismally. The girls thanked the woman for her help and stepped back outside.
“Now what?” Sydney asked.
McKenzie sighed as she headed toward the funnel cake stand. “I don’t know,” she answered as she handed over some money for the pastry.
The girls plunked down at a table beneath a large green umbrella. McKenzie popped a piece of the cake in her mouth and offered some to Sydney.
“Every time we find a clue, we come to a dead end,” Sydney said, wiping powdered sugar off her chin. “I go back home the day after tomorrow. I really wanted to find Mr. Ford before then.”
McKenzie nodded as she pulled off another bite of funnel cake. Her cell phone rang as she chewed. “Hi, Bailey. What’s up?”
“You guys aren’t home, are you?” Bailey asked.
“No. Why?”
“I’ve been looking through those pictures you scanned and e-mailed to us. Do you remember the pictures you took at the top of the lookout tower behind Miss Val’s house?”
“Sure.” McKenzie popped another piece of cake in her mouth.
“In the distance, down in the hills, I can see two small waterfalls falling over a rocky cliff,” Bailey continued.
“I remember that picture.” McKenzie tossed her paper plate into a nearby trash can.
“Maybe that’s where Twin Falls Crafters is located. You know, the place that man Mr. Landers was talking about.”
McKenzie was speechless for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was excited. “That could be! I never thought of that. How many twin falls can there be around here? Surely not very many!”
“Can you and Sydney find that place with the two waterfalls?” Bailey asked.
“We’ll try.” McKenzie felt excitement mounting. “I’ll ask Miss Val if she can take us there. Thanks a lot, Bailey. This is our best clue yet!”
After hanging up, McKenzie explained the phone call to Sydney as they headed back to the basket shop. Miss Val was rearranging a display as they walked in.
Hurriedly the girls told her about Bailey’s clue. “I don’t get off work until later this afternoon. I’d be glad to take you out there, but I think someone else may want to take you.”
McKenzie took a deep breath. “Shara! Why didn’t I think of her?”
Seconds later, McKenzie had called Shara. The older girl said she got off work in an hour and would pick them up at the Silver Dollar City entrance.
The hour crept by slowly, but finally Shara arrived, and the girls climbed into her car.
“Why don’t we stop at Miss Val’s place first?” Shara said. “I’d like to go to the top of the tower so I can see the twin falls. Then I can figure out what road leads to it.”
Twenty minutes later, the three girls had climbed to the top of the lookout tower. Shara pushed her curly hair out of her eyes as she stared down into the lush green hills. “I see the falls!” She pointed her finger at two narrow waterfalls barely visible among the trees. “I see a road winding around down there. I think I can get there. Let’s go.”
McKenzie’s stomach churned as Shara drove down the curving gravel road. I can’t wait to find out if Mr. Ford lives back here, she thought. Please, please, please, God. Let it be him.
McKenzie glanced at Shara. The older girl’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. She wasn’t as excited as McKenzie thought she would be; she simply looked nervous and scared.
Sydney tapped her finger on the window. “Hey, McKenzie. Doesn’t that look like our campsite from the other night?”
McKenzie agreed, staring out the window at the fire pit next to a creek. Across the stream, a narrow path disappeared into the woods.
Shara slowed down as the car approached a lane leading into a valley. On one side, two small waterfalls cascaded over a rocky cliff, flowing into a narrow stream. A rustic wooden bridge spanned the creek leading into the hills.
“Look,” Sydney cried, pointing at a carved wooden sign next to the lane. “It says ‘The Falls Crafters.’ Mr. Ford did change the name of his business.”
McKenzie leaned over and whispered into Sydney’s ear. “I bet that path we just saw leads right up to this house. And I bet this is the same stream we were going to camp beside. Miss Val must have been right when she suggested that the stranger could be a landowner. Mr. Ford probably saw the fire and walked down to check it out.”
Shara turned onto the shaded lane and drove slowly across the narrow bridge. She steered the car around a curve, stopping when the lane ended in a small, graveled parking lot. A small modern log home sat nestled into the hills, the side yard filled with woodcarvings of every size and shape.
“I’m so nervous, I can’t stand it,” Shara said, wiping her hands on her jeans.
“Why don’t Sydney and I go check the place out? You can wait here, if you want,” McKenzie suggested.
Shara nodded as the younger girls hopped from the car. Several other vehicles sat in the parking lot, and several customers were browsing among the array of woodcarvings and figures.
“Look at all these statues,” McKenzie said as she and Sydney edged through the sea of monuments. She reached out and touched a carved eagle on a stand. “They’re gorgeous.”
“There’s a little garden over there.” Sydney pointed at a fenced-in flower garden. A dozen or more fairy statues rose from the garden of yellow and orange marigolds. A shimmering goldfish pond lay in the center of the garden at the end of a short, rocky trail.
McKenzie gasped as she read the words carved into a log lying on
the ground. “Look, Sydney! It says, ‘Shara Smiles.’”
Sydney’s eyes glistened. “We’ve found the right place! Let’s look for Mr. Ford.”
The girls saw several customers coming out of a building next to the house. “That must be the shop,” McKenzie said, hurrying toward the door.
Inside, a man with a beard sat at a bench, carving a design into a small wooden plaque. He looks like the man in the picture at the photography shop! McKenzie thought.
She cleared her throat to get his attention. “Mr. Cramer?” she asked softly.
The man looked up at her. “Yes,” he answered. “May I help you?”
McKenzie looked at Sydney and back to the woodcarver. “Uh, we just wanted you to know that your niece, Shara, is looking for you. She really misses you and wants to see you again.”
The man laid down his carving knife. His eyes narrowed as he spoke. “What do you know about Shara?”
“She’s here in Branson looking for you,” McKenzie said, feeling her stomach begin to churn.
“Here? Are you serious?” he said, his eyes flashing beneath bushy eyebrows. “But how did you find me?”
A movement to McKenzie’s side caught her eye. Turning, she saw Miss Richardson come into the shop from a back room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, glaring at the girls. “I told you to stay away.”
The woodcrafter stood and raised his arm to Miss Richardson. “It’s okay. Let the girl talk. She has news of my niece.”
“Don’t let your family hurt you again,” Miss Richardson said to the man approaching her. “I tried to stop these girls from getting to you.”
“You knew my niece was looking for me?” he asked with dismay. “Why didn’t you tell me? I got the postcard you girls sent. When I went to look for Shara, it wasn’t her.”
He looked at Tessa Richardson. Finally she spoke softly. “I was afraid you would leave and go back to them.”
“But why would you—”
A familiar voice called out, interrupting him. “Uncle Reggie? Is it you?”
