Photo Finish (8 page)

“Promise me that if and when we do figure out this thing, you’ll stop using words like ‘culprit.’ ”

Stevie grinned. Usually Lisa, the A student, was the one who used fifty-cent words like “culprit.” “It’s a deal,” she promised.

Suddenly Carole gasped. “Don’t look now,” she warned. “But here comes one of our suspects.”

Her friends turned and saw the wiry little man they’d encountered earlier. He was walking quickly toward them, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. His face wore a deep frown beneath the rim of his baseball cap.

The girls shrank back against the stable wall behind them. “Quick, Lisa,” Stevie whispered urgently. “Get his picture.”

Lisa fumbled with her camera, trying to focus on the fast-moving man. Less than a dozen yards from the girls, his face was perfectly framed by the camera’s viewfinder. “Got him!” Lisa whispered triumphantly. She pressed the button to take the picture. There was a soft click—and
then a loud whirring sound. “Oh, rats,” Lisa whispered. “It’s the automatic rewind!” She stared helplessly at the camera as the noise continued.

The wiry man had heard the noise too, and looked up. “Hey,” he said angrily. “Did you just take my picture?”

“Uh, no?” Lisa lied, her voice little more than a squeak. “I’m just rewinding my film, see?” She held up the camera.

The man glared at her balefully, then at Stevie and Carole. With an angry snort he turned and hurried away, muttering under his breath.

Lisa let out her own breath in a whoosh. “What a horrible man!” she exclaimed.

“Come on,” Stevie said, grabbing her by the arm. “We’ve got to find out who he is!”

They hurried back to Mr. McLeod’s stable shed. As they rushed inside, they almost collided with a short, slim man who was coming out. “Whoa! Where’s the fire?” he asked with a laugh. He looked at Carole. “Hey, I know you—you’re the girl who was out to steal my job a while back! Prancer’s friend, right?”

Carole smiled back at him. “Right. Hi, Stephen,” she said. “These are my friends Stevie and Lisa. This is Stephen, Mr. McLeod’s jockey.”

“Well, one of ’em, anyway,” Stephen said cheerfully, reaching out to shake the girls’ hands. “So how is that fine filly Prancer anyway?”

“You should ask Lisa about that,” Carole told him. “She’s the one who rides her most of the time.”

“That’s right,” Lisa said, looking up from her camera. She had just removed the used roll of film and was popping in a new one. “And she’s absolutely wonderful. I’m so glad Max and Judy were able to buy her for Pine Hollow.”

“Well, I’m glad too,” Stephen said. “She’s a sweetheart of a horse, and she’s probably a lot happier at a riding stable than she was at the track.”

“Not like Monkeyshines though, right?” Carole said.

“No way,” Stephen agreed. “That colt loves to race, and he loves to win. He came mighty close in the Derby, and I think today just might be his day.”

“We do too,” Stevie said. “We think he’s sure to win.”

“You’re not the only ones,” Stephen told her. “I just checked the morning line, and right now both Monk and Garamond are listed at almost even odds.”

Carole giggled. “Even odds?” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

Stephen laughed. “I guess it does sound a little weird, doesn’t it?” he admitted. “It just means that so many people are guessing the horse will win that his predicted odds are really close. For instance, Monk is listed at two to one. That means that if he wins, anyone who bets on him to win will make back two dollars for every one bet. Garamond is the favorite, so his odds are even lower—six to five.”

“So people would get back six dollars for every five they bet?” Lisa guessed. “That’s not much of a profit, is it?”

“Not really,” Stephen said. “Especially when you consider that some of the other horses in the race are listed at ten to one, twenty to one, or higher. But the important thing is, Monk’s and Garamond’s odds just show how well both horses are regarded. Those odds will probably go even lower as the day goes on and more people place their bets.”

Stevie was growing impatient with the conversation. “Listen, Stephen, we have a question about something. Maybe you can answer it,” she began.

He shrugged. “I’ll do my best. Fire away.”

“We keep seeing this man around the track, and we were wondering who he is,” Stevie explained. “He’s about your height and weight, with dark hair and a mean look on his face. He was wearing an ugly green baseball cap and jeans.”

Stephen laughed. “Green baseball cap? That’d be Duncan Gibbs. He’s a jockey too. In fact, he used to ride for Mr. McLeod.”

“Really?” Stevie said, shooting her friends a look. This sounded like a clue.

“Yep,” Stephen said. “He was Monk’s first jockey. They won two races together last year.”

“What happened?” Carole asked.

Stephen’s smile faded and he shook his head, looking
grim. “That was a bad situation. What happened was Monk’s third race. It was a longer one than he’d run in before, and the trainer was a little worried that it might be too much for him. He told Duncan to hold Monk back for most of the race, and let him go only at the end.”

“So Monk could conserve his strength?” Carole asked.

“Right,” Stephen said. “That was before we knew what an all-around great racer Monk really is. But anyway, Duncan decided he knew better than the trainer how the race should be run—he took Monk straight to the lead and kept him there wire to wire.”

“So he won?” Lisa said. “Then what was the problem?”

“The problem was Duncan deliberately went against the trainer’s orders,” Stephen explained. “There was no reason for that kind of performance. Monk could easily have won by running the race the way the trainer wanted. And worse, if he had had just a little less stamina, he might have been so badly tired that he could have injured himself, or dropped back and finished out of the money.”

“So why did Duncan do it?” Carole asked.

“Nobody knows,” Stephen said. “Personally, I think he might have been showing off for someone. He’s not an easy guy to get along with—he’s always trying to start feuds or rivalries with the other jockeys. In any case, the trick with Monk cost him his job with Mr. McLeod—and one of the best mounts of his career.” He shook his head. “I think Mr. McLeod might have forgiven Duncan even
after what he did if he had just apologized for it. But he wouldn’t. And when Mr. McLeod did fire him, Duncan blew up and went a little crazy. He even threatened Mr. McLeod.”

The Saddle Club exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“He threatened him?” Carole said. “What did he say exactly?”

Stephen shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. It doesn’t really matter anyway—Duncan is just a blowhard. Deep down he’s not a bad guy, really. He just needs to learn to control his temper.”

At that moment one of the grooms poked his head around the corner and told Stephen that the trainer needed to see him.

“Well, I’ll see you girls later,” Stephen said, turning to follow the groom. “Don’t forget to cheer for me and Monk in the big race.”

“We won’t,” The Saddle Club promised in one voice.

As soon as Stephen was out of sight, Stevie turned to her friends. “See? My revenge theory wasn’t so crazy after all,” she said excitedly. “Duncan must be the one. I’m practically sure of it.”

“But, Stevie,” Carole protested, “you’re also practically sure that Kelly Kennemere did it,
and
that Eddie did it. They can’t all have done it.”

“It had to be Duncan,” Stevie said. “It makes perfect sense. After all, Stephen just said that Duncan threatened Mr. McLeod.”

“He also just said that Duncan would never do anything about his threats,” Lisa reminded her.

Stevie waved that argument aside. “I still think Duncan Gibbs belongs at the top of our suspect list,” she declared.

“Y
OU KNOW
,” C
AROLE
commented a few minutes later, “we’ve been spending so much time trying to solve this mystery—”

“Or
possible
mystery,” Lisa added.

“Okay,
possible
mystery,” Carole said, “that we’ve hardly had time to check out the other horses who’ll be running in the Preakness.”

“True,” Lisa said. “Let’s go see a few of them. I’d love to get pictures of them.”

Stevie shrugged. “Well, all right,” she said a little grudgingly. Then her face brightened. “Actually, who says we can’t do both?” she said. “While we’re looking at the other horses, we can also be keeping a lookout for Duncan Gibbs. And maybe we can talk to people at other stables and try to find out more about him.”

“Okay,” Carole said. “First we have to find out where the other racers are stabled. Let’s go find Judy and ask her.”

The vet stepped into the stable shed at that very moment. “Hi, girls,” she said when she saw them. “What are you up to?”

“We were just coming to look for you,” Carole told her. “Do you know where the other Preakness horses are? We want to go see them.”

“Sure,” Judy said. She quickly gave them the names and stables of several of the other competitors. Lisa jotted them down in her notebook. “By the way, Max wanted me to give you a message if I saw you. He wants you to meet him back here at noon or a little before to go to lunch.”

“Okay,” Lisa said, glancing at her watch. “Tell him we’ll be here.”

The Saddle Club headed for the first stable shed on their list. Inside, they found a restless gray colt named Seattle Skyline. They also found Deborah, who was interviewing the colt’s trainer. The Saddle Club waited for her to finish while they watched the horse, who kept tossing his head from side to side, kicking his stall, and doing everything else he could to express his nervous energy. Several grooms did their best to keep him quiet, but to no avail.

“He’s always like that before a race,” Deborah told the girls as they left the stable together a few minutes later.
“Somehow he can always tell when it’s race day, and it gets him all worked up. A lot of people think that’s why he doesn’t win more often. He uses up all his energy before he even gets near the starting gate.” She shrugged. “It’s a shame. He has great breeding. His dam is Miss Seattle, the daughter of Seattle Slew, one of the greatest racers in recent history. And his sire is a terrific stakes horse named Sky Over Miami.”

“So that’s how he got his name?” Lisa asked. “Miss Seattle plus Sky Over Miami equals Seattle Skyline? That’s neat.”

Deborah laughed. “It is kind of neat. A lot of Thoroughbreds get their names that way.”

“What are Monk’s parents’ names?” Stevie asked curiously.

“His mother was Bright Penny, and his father was Organ Grinder,” Deborah said. “Get it?”

Stevie and Carole looked a little puzzled, but Lisa smiled. “I do. Organ grinders are those old-fashioned street musicians who used to have performing monkeys. And bright means the same as shiny.”

“Right. And there you have it: Monkeyshines,” Deborah said. “Racehorses’ names don’t always combine both parents’ names—sometimes they don’t even use one. But it’s fun when they do.”

By this time the group had reached the stable of the next racer on the girls’ list. It turned out that Deborah
wanted to ask the horse’s owner a few questions, so she accompanied the girls inside.

“Well, well,” an unpleasant voice greeted them. “If it isn’t the hotshot Washington reporter and her troop of Girl Scouts.” It was Kent Calhoun. He was standing just inside the entrance, talking to a small man who looked like a jockey.

“Hello, Kent,” Deborah replied coldly. She turned to the little man. “Is your boss around? I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

The jockey directed her to the small office at the end of the aisle and Deborah turned to go. “I’ll see you later, girls,” she told The Saddle Club. “Enjoy yourselves.”

As soon as she’d disappeared into the office, Carole turned to her friends. “I think we’d enjoy ourselves a lot more somewhere else, if you know what I mean,” she said, glancing at Kent.

Stevie and Lisa nodded, and the three friends turned to leave.

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Kent called after them sarcastically. But the girls didn’t wait to answer.

Once outside, Lisa looked at her list. “I think the next stable is back that way,” she said, pointing. “Way at the end of the row closest to the paddock.” The girls knew from their previous experience at the racetrack that the paddock was where the horses were saddled before each race. It was located between the stable area and the public
area, so spectators from the grandstand and the clubhouse could come to watch.

The crowds of people were thinner at this end of the stable area. “I guess there aren’t as many horses stabled here right now,” Carole guessed.

“I guess—hey!” Stevie interrupted herself. “Look! Isn’t that Eddie?”

Sure enough, the girls saw the groom hurrying along about twenty yards in front of them. He was glancing around in the same furtive, nervous way they’d noticed earlier.

“What should we do?” Carole whispered.

“Follow him, of course!” Stevie replied. She quickly moved from the middle of the path to one side, under the shadows of the buildings, motioning for Carole and Lisa to do the same. Then the girls crept forward after Eddie, being careful to keep a safe distance behind him so they wouldn’t be spotted.