McKenzie’s Branson Brainteaser (9 page)

McKenzie chewed her bottom lip and then jerked her head toward Sydney as a sudden thought came to her. Grabbing the envelope, her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she glanced at the front.

“I don't believe it,” McKenzie said, her voice low. “How could I have been so stupid? I didn't even notice it until now.”

“Notice what?” Sydney asked, her eyes flashing suspiciously.

“Look.” McKenzie pointed at Miss Val's address printed across it. “How did this person know I was staying with Miss Val? I didn't put my address on the postcard.”

Sydney stared with shock at McKenzie. “You're kidding. How could anyone know that?”

McKenzie swallowed the knot forming in her throat. “Whoever wrote the note must know Miss Val well enough to know I'm staying with her. Anyone could Google Miss Val's name and get her address.”

“Why wouldn't the person just mail the letter instead of sticking it in our mailbox?” Sydney asked, raising her dark eyebrows.

McKenzie frowned. “I don't know. Maybe he or she wanted the letter to get here quicker.”

“Or maybe the person just wanted to make sure we got the note. Sometimes things get lost in the mail,” Sydney suggested.

McKenzie sighed, her fingers trembling as she typed the information to Alexis. Her fingers were so shaky it took several times to get the typing right.

McKenzie rose and stepped into the kitchen. Noticing the mail scattered on the floor, she quickly scooped it up and tossed it on the table. She stood at the window, staring at the garden. Miss Val was busy picking ripe red tomatoes off the lush green vines.

“Should we tell Miss Val about this?” Sydney asked, joining her friend.

“Let's wait until we hear from Elizabeth. I don't want Miss Val to worry about us. That will give us time to think over all our clues in case we're overlooking something obvious.”

McKenzie started to warm up lunch. “The woman who wrote the letter must know Miss Val, and she obviously knows Reggie Ford. But if Miss Val has a friend who knows him, wouldn't Miss Val have heard his name mentioned sometime?”

“You would think so,” Sydney said, setting three plates on the table for lunch. “Unless Miss Val doesn't know this person very well. Miss Val knows a lot of people.”

McKenzie nodded as she stuck a leftover casserole in the microwave. “I think we're onto something. Lots of people could know Miss Val has a couple of girls staying with her, and it wouldn't be that hard to find out our names. Keep your eyes open this afternoon at Silver Dollar City. See who Miss Val visits with. Maybe by the end of the day, we'll know what to do.”

Miss Val stepped through the back door with a small bucket of tomatoes. “I had no idea it was so late. Thanks for heating up lunch.”

When lunch was on the table, Miss Val asked McKenzie to say the blessing.

“Dear Lord,” McKenzie prayed. “Thank You for the meal Miss Val has made for us, and please help us find Reggie Ford. It would mean so much to Shara to find her missing uncle. Protect us all as we go to our jobs today. In Jesus' name, amen.”

Miss Val and Sydney murmured, “Amen,” and Miss Val heaped generous portions of chicken casserole onto the girls' plates. “I work a short shift this afternoon, so I can pick you up, McKenzie, when you're finished with your Dixie Showcase performance. I saw an old friend the other night while we were down on the Strip. She wants to have supper tonight, so you two girls can have the evening to yourself. Any ideas what you'd like to do?”

McKenzie looked at Sydney as she squirted some strawberry syrup into her glass of milk. “Could we camp out in the backyard sometime?” she asked, clinking her spoon in her glass.

“Sure, you can do that tonight. I've got a tent and sleeping bags. If you want to do something in the evening while I'm gone besides sitting around the house, let me know,” Miss Val said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

After lunch the girls cleaned the kitchen while Miss Val went to work in her flowerbeds. McKenzie's phone beeped, signaling a new text message.

“Oh, good. It's from Elizabeth. She wants me to call her,” McKenzie said after flipping her phone open. “Do you want to call woodworking shops while I call her back?”

Sydney plopped onto the couch with the phone book in her lap while McKenzie quickly called Elizabeth.

“Hi, McKenzie. Thanks for calling back so soon. I was afraid you were eating lunch, or I would have called you,” Elizabeth said. “Alexis filled me in on the letter you received. I think the writing looks like a woman's, too. But, I think this woman cares a lot for Reggie Ford, and she probably wrote the letter to protect him. You probably should tell Miss Val about it. She needs to know someone is slipping you notes.”

“I guess you're right,” McKenzie said. “Maybe she would have some ideas as to who might have written it.”

“Just because she hasn't heard of Reggie Ford doesn't mean she doesn't have a friend who knows him,” Elizabeth explained.

“That makes sense,” McKenzie said, scratching a mosquito bite on her arm. “Maybe I should do that now, before she goes to work.”

They chatted briefly and then hung up. “Any luck yet?” McKenzie called to Sydney, sprawled on the couch.

“I've called three different shops. One has never heard of the Shara Smiles man but the other two have. But they have no idea where he lives or his real name. He just brings in his products to sell.”

“We're not getting anywhere very fast, are we? Liz thinks we should tell Miss Val about the letter, and I think she's right. She might be able to help us.”

Sydney agreed, and the two girls stepped outside to look for Miss Val. They found her kneeling by the flowerbeds in the backyard. A garden hose lying on the ground hissed as water leaked around the nozzle.

Miss Val rose and wiped her dirty hands on her shorts as the girls told her about the letter. She brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt across her face. She frowned as she read the letter.

“I don't like the thought of someone leaving anonymous notes to you,” Miss Val said, her eyes growing serious. “Whoever it is probably means no harm, but I'd like to know who wrote this. I know a woman who runs one of the largest craft shops in Branson. I'll ask her if she knows Reggie Ford. She has lots of connections with woodcrafters.”

Miss Val glanced at her watch and continued. “By the time I get cleaned up, it'll be time to go to work. We'll talk more about this later.”

The girls followed her inside and went to their room to change. “I just thought of something,” McKenzie said, dragging a brush through her hair. “Miss Val said she's going out to supper tonight with a woman she talked to the other night on the Strip. That was the night we were at the Treasure Trove looking at statues. Maybe Miss Val mentioned our names to that woman. Maybe she knows Mr. Ford.”

Sydney's eyes flashed. “Yeah, maybe she wrote the letter.”

“Let's mention it to Miss Val.” McKenzie pulled her hair into a high ponytail.

Later, on their way into Branson, McKenzie asked Miss Val about the friend she was meeting that night. “Did you tell her we were looking for fairy statues the other night when you saw her?”

Miss Val thought for a moment before answering. “I'm not sure, but I think I might have mentioned it. Why?”

“We're trying to think of someone who might have written the note.” McKenzie didn't want to think Miss Val's friend was suspicious, but right now everyone was a suspect.

“Libby? Oh, she would never slip an anonymous letter into my mailbox,” Miss Val said, turning the SUV onto the highway. “But I will ask her if she knows anyone by the name of Ford.”

Miss Val dropped McKenzie off at the Dixie Showcase for the performance. McKenzie slammed the car door and walked absentmindedly toward the building. Her cell phone rang, making her jump. “Hi, Bailey,” she said, recognizing the youngest Camp Club Girl's number.

“Hi, McKenzie. I've been looking through the pictures you and Sydney sent. In one of the pictures, you can see a statue in the hills.”

“Oh, I know the one you mean,” McKenzie said. “That was taken from Table Rock Lake when we were riding the Duck.”

“Well, I enlarged the picture,” Bailey added. “I can see the face perfectly clear.”

McKenzie felt a twitch in the pit of her stomach. “And …?” Her voice trailed off, waiting for Bailey to continue.

Bailey spoke in a rushed voice, “The face on the statue looks just like the fairies Reggie Ford carves!”

“I wonder if that statue could possibly be at Mr. Ford's workshop,” McKenzie said, feeling her excitement mounting.

“I was wondering that, too. Maybe you and Sydney could go check it out,” Bailey suggested.

McKenzie thought about that for a second. “I'll ask Miss Val about that when she picks me up.”

McKenzie glanced at her watch as she got off the phone. It was time to get ready for the performance.

The moment she stepped inside the Showcase, her boss, Mr. Stewart, waved at her from the far end of the hallway and hurried toward her.

“McKenzie, I've been waiting for you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We've had a change of plans. Sarah, the girl who rides the ostrich during the ostrich race, called in sick, so I need you to take her place. I have another girl taking your part as a southern belle. Can I count on you?”

McKenzie stared at Mr. Stewart.
He wants me to ride an ostrich in front of hundreds of people?

The ostrich race was a favorite among the spectators. During every performance the crowd had roared with laughter.

He continued, “I saw you riding the other day, and you'll do fine. This routine is supposed to be comical. If you don't do it perfectly, the show will be that much better. How about it?”

After one of the performances the week before, several of the Showcase performers tried riding the ostriches just for fun. McKenzie was one of the few who could stay on the huge bird for more than a few seconds. She'd even managed to guide the ostrich around the arena.

“Sure, Mr. Stewart. It sounds like fun,” McKenzie said with a smile.

“Great,” he said, clutching her shoulder. “Head to wardrobe, and Cecilia will help you find a uniform. She's waiting for you.”

As McKenzie stepped into the wardrobe room, Cecilia Ambruster, a woman with spiked black hair, called to her. “I have several uniforms that may fit you.”

Miss Ambruster held a pair of gray Confederate pants against McKenzie. “Way too long,” she muttered and grabbed another pair. “Ah, these look like they'll fit. Why don't you look for a jacket that fits, while I press these pants?”

“Do I really have to wear pants?” McKenzie asked.

Miss Ambruster flashed a grin. “Of course. No southern lady would ride an ostrich.”

The wardrobe woman left McKenzie to look through the rack of gray jackets. She tried on several and found one that fit. She glanced up as the door to the wardrobe room opened, and her Showcase partner, Nick, stepped in.

“Hi, McKenzie. I hear I have a new partner today. Too bad,” he said with a grin. “But you'll have fun with the ostrich.”

“If I don't get thrown off on my head,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You'll do fine,” he said. “Hey, have you seen Miss Ambruster?”

McKenzie pointed to the back of the room. “She's pressing some pants for me.”

Nick headed over to the dark-haired woman. “Miss Ambruster,” he said, “I just noticed I'm missing one of the buttons on my jacket. Can you help me out?”

McKenzie bolted to attention at his words. She noticed the two rows of brass buttons down the front of his jacket. They were identical to the one she had found in the parking lot the night she saw the mystery rider!

Could Nick be the person who rides at night and changes the flags?
McKenzie wondered.

Miss Ambruster's gaze went from Nick's head to his toes. “What in the world happened to your pants, Nick? I cleaned and pressed those for you this morning.”

Nick shrugged. “I don't know. They looked like this when I took them off the hanger.”

Miss Ambruster took the jacket and examined it. “This isn't even your jacket. Someone switched outfits on you.”

McKenzie listened as Miss Ambruster presented Nick with a different costume. “There's no way you're wearing that costume in the performance,” the woman said with frustration.

Miss Ambruster then asked McKenzie to slip into the dressing room to change into the Confederate pants. Her thoughts kept going back to Nick.
Was he the mystery rider, or was the person who borrowed his uniform the guilty person? I can't just go and ask him if he's the mystery rider
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