148 On The Trail Of Trouble Read online

  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