Midnight Mystery: 4 (Winnie the Horse Gentler) (10 page)

Her pale face looked sunburned with rage. “Yes! Get away from there!” She started for me, but Ramon stepped between us.

“Gabrielle?” He sounded hurt, not angry. “Why did you buy it?”

“For Chaparral—not that it’s any of your business!” She glared at us.

Catman whispered to me, “Old horse.”

“Chaparral’s the only horse around here who needs special feed!” Gabrielle snapped. “So just keep your paws off!”

“Later, man,” Catman said. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?”
I repeated.

Catman nearly dragged me out of the tent.

Ramon followed. “I feel lousy for accusing her. Poor Gabrielle!”

“Poor Gabrielle?” I couldn’t believe these guys! Just because she was pretty—okay, gorgeous. “Are you crazy? Okay, maybe the feed
is
for the old Lipizzan. That still doesn’t explain how it got into Midnight’s bin! Gabrielle probably put it there! She’s jealous of you, Ramon!”

“Any cat could make that feed scene,” Catman said.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Ramon suggested.

Note to self: Don’t waste your breath trying to reason with boys!

Gabrielle may have fooled them, but she didn’t fool me. For all I knew, she was in cahoots with Dinglehopper. So it was up to me to protect Midnight Mystery. “Ramon, make sure Midnight gets plain oats for now on. Mix it with a tablespoon of oil for a couple of days to calm him.”

I turned to Catman. “As for me, I’ll be keeping my eye on Dinglehopper
and
Gabrielle LeBlond!”

That night, after the circus was over, I settled Nickers back in her own barn, and Mr. Coolidge drove us back to Coolidge Castle. Mrs. Coolidge, still in her dinner gown, was asleep in front of the TV. Mr. Coolidge picked her up like a baby and carried her upstairs.

Alone downstairs, I listened to the house, the way it creaked and moaned in the wind. Branches scratched the windows like they wanted in.

I missed my dad. It felt like he was as far away as Mom, like I’d never see him again either. And things would never, ever be the same.

Tuesday morning I climbed into jeans and two sweatshirts and walked to my barn for chores. Nickers greeted me with a whinny that shot frost clouds into the still-dark morning.

I mucked stalls and groomed Towaco and Nickers, cleaning out their hooves and brushing the fuzz off their early winter coats. It was a great way to start the day, even though I could have curled up in the haystack with Nelson, my barn cat, and slept all morning.

Before heading back, I tried to get Nickers to bow. But she just didn’t want to.

Back at the Coolidges’ I found Mr. Coolidge at the kitchen counter cutting out something from the newspaper. “Morning, Winnie!” He straightened his hairpiece with one hand and brushed crumbs off his Tweety Bird tie with the other. “Sa-a-ay! What did the Volvo say to the Volkswagen when the little girl changed the VW’s flat tire in 30 seconds flat?”

I couldn’t help laughing before he reached the punch line. “I give up, Mr. Coolidge.”

“‘I declare, you do
tire
easily!’ Get it?” He laughed in short huffs like a horse’s neighs. “I must finish this contest entry. Help yourself to cereal.”

“Morning!” Lizzy sang, bouncing into the kitchen. Her hair looked perfect and so did her shirt and vest, even though she’d had them since Iowa.

Mrs. Coolidge stumbled in, her hair piled high as a beehive. She wore a purple-and-white flowered dress with a wide, gold belt. She kissed her husband, then plopped on the stool next to him and read over his shoulder. “Smidgen . . . maple . . . establishment.”

“That’s it!” Mr. Coolidge scribbled onto the entry form. “You’re a genius with word scrambles, Mrs. Coolidge!”

“And
you
with jingles, Mr. Coolidge!” She straightened his hairpiece. “Morning, girls!” She made a sweeping gesture at the cupboards. “Have some cereal!”

I opened the cupboard above the sink. Five shelves were packed with cereal boxes, all the same brand of sugared oat flakes. A cardboard rectangle was missing from the back of each box.

Lizzy opened the next cupboard. More identical boxes. Two more cupboards revealed the same thing.

“Contest entries.” Catman had slipped in catlike. He took down a box. “They’re into contests.”

“Mr. Coolidge won that blender!” Mrs. Coolidge said, pointing to the unopened box on the counter. “And 17 others like it. Plus all-expense-paid vacations to Paris, Texas; Versailles, Missouri; Florence, Utah; and Rome, Mississippi!”

“True,” her husband admitted, “but
you
won the year’s supply of cat food—lasted three days in this household.” He frowned at Wilhemina, the fat, orange tabby, and Cat Burglar, the longhaired white cat with black-mask markings.

“You guys rock!” Lizzy exclaimed, pouring us bowls of cereal.

When the flakes didn’t crunch, I wondered how long ago their contest had run.

The phone rang. Mr. Coolidge grabbed it on the first ring. “Jack! How’s Chicago?”

Lizzy and I glanced at each other. Then she ran to the phone and took it. “Dad! How are you? Did you find Zack? It’s so noisy there! I can hardly hear you!”

I walked over and pressed my ear to the receiver. When Dad spoke, I held my breath.

“I’m on the floor of the Invention Convention!” Dad shouted. “I’ve seen 176 different mousetraps! And a motorized porch swing, an automatic clothes brush, and a combination cheese-grater/onion-slicer/cockroach-catcher!”

“Ask him when he’s coming home!” I whispered.

“What’s that?” Dad shouted. “Did—?” Laughter exploded, drowning out his voice.

“When are you coming home?” Lizzy shouted.

“Sunday! Saturday night if—” But his voice was swallowed by other voices.

I couldn’t stand it. I walked back to my cereal and tried to get it to go past the lump in my throat.

Lizzy shouted for a while, then gave up. “Love you, Dad!” She sat back down. “Dad said two companies asked about his back bike! And he met a woman who invented hot-air socks.”

“Don’t you girls worry about your father!” Mrs. Coolidge put in. “He’s having the time of his life!”

Which was exactly what I was worried about.

Mrs. Coolidge sidled behind me and fiddled with my hair. “Hair like this is a gift!” She disappeared and returned with a long-handled comb. “All you need is height!” She held up strands of my hair and combed from the ends to the roots. “In the business, we call this teasing!”

Teasing hurt.

Lizzy’s lips twitched, like she was fighting to hold in a laugh. “I have to go. Thanks for breakfast. See you, Winnie!” She dashed out like the kitchen was on fire.

Catman finished his third bowl of flakes, said
“Ciao,”
and left me stranded.

As soon as I could get out of Mrs. Coolidge’s clutches, I headed out on my back bike. As I pedaled backward onto the street, two kids pointed at me. I would have thought the town was used to my weird bike by now. Dad had sold six back bikes in Ashland. Nobody ever laughed at Catman’s.

More heads turned the closer I got to school.

Maybe they saw me in the circus!
I wondered if this was what Ramon went through all the time.

I parked my bike as M, dressed in black, strolled by. He shook his head and kept going.

“What are you supposed to be?” Brian yelled. “Did Halloween come late to the Willises?” Next to Brian, Hawk stared at me as she pointed to her head.

I felt for my head and was shocked to touch hair—big hair where no hair should have been. I tried to push it down, but like a bubble, it bulged at the sides. When I let go, it bounced up again.

Folding my arms over my head, I darted up the stairs, ignoring the laughter of Summer and her groupies. In the bathroom I stuck my head under cold water until it soaked through the tangles.

Sal came in and stood next to me. “Totally not you.”

“Totally not
anybody!”
I muttered as the bathroom emptied and the bell rang.

I kept soaking my hair until I could squish it down. With brute force I separated my hair into three strands and braided it. For the rest of the day, I looked like a drowned rat. But it was better than being a walking beehive.

After school I did my homework at Pat’s Pets while I waited for my turn on the help line. I answered three horse e-mails and was on my way out when Hawk walked in. All day I’d wanted to talk to her about the circus. But she’s a hundred times harder to talk to in school.

“Howdy, Hawk!” Pat hollered, coming toward us. “Winnie, Bart called and asked if I’d drive you and Nickers to the circus. We can leave in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, if you’re game. No offense!” she added to imaginary lambs.

I turned to Hawk. “Come with us, Hawk!”

Victoria Hawkins has mastered the art of not showing her emotions. She claims it’s part of her American Indian heritage and calls it “inscrutable,” which means “impossible to figure out.” Pat and I waited for her answer.

“Yes,” Hawk agreed. “Thank you.”

Nickers loaded easily this time. On the drive over, I filled Pat and Hawk in on my two prime suspects in the circus mystery: Jimmy Green Dinglehopper and Gabrielle LeBlond. “I’m afraid if I can’t figure out who’s trying to wreck the circus, something awful’s going to happen.” Inside I had an ocean of worry, with waves splashing back and forth from Dad to Ramon to Midnight and even to Nickers.