Photo Finish (2 page)

“That’s right,” Judy said. “I’m sure you girls remember Mr. McLeod, right?”

“Of course,” The Saddle Club answered in one voice. David McLeod was the owner of Maskee Farms, a Thoroughbred racing stable located near the girls’ hometown of Willow Creek, Virginia. Judy was the vet who took care of his horses. Mr. McLeod had been Prancer’s owner before the accident that had ended her racing career.

“Well, did you know that one of his horses ran second in the Kentucky Derby?” Judy asked.

Stevie, Carole, and Lisa gasped. “No way!” Stevie exclaimed.

“Way,” Max replied tartly. “In fact, Mr. McLeod’s colt came awfully close to winning. People are saying he might take the Preakness.”

“That’s the second race of the Triple Crown, right?” Carole said. Carole liked to know as much as possible about everything having to do with horses. She didn’t know as much about Thoroughbred racing as she did about some other things, like show jumping or dressage, but she’d done some reading on it the last time she’d gone to the track. She knew the names of the three races that made up the Triple Crown—the Kentucky Derby, run at Churchill Downs in Kentucky; the Preakness,
which took place at Pimlico racetrack in Baltimore, Maryland; and the Belmont Stakes, held at Belmont Park in New York. All three races were open only to three-year-olds, and all three were very prestigious and competitive. In the entire history of the races, only a few horses had managed to win all three.

“Right,” Judy replied in answer to Carole’s question. “It’s being run next Saturday.”

“And I’m going to be there to cover it,” Deborah said. The Saddle Club thought she sounded a little nervous.

“Don’t worry, Deborah,” Judy reassured her. “You’ll do well.”

“I hope so,” Deborah replied with a sigh. “It’s nice to know I have you and Max rooting for me.”

“And us,” Stevie added, speaking for her friends. “We’re your biggest fans.”

Deborah smiled at them. “Thanks. I appreciate that,” she said. “But there are one or two people who don’t think so highly of me.”

“Who?” Lisa asked.

“Well, since I’m fairly new at this racing game, a couple of the more experienced track reporters have been giving me a hard time,” Deborah said. “There’s one in particular who won’t get off my case for a second. His name is Kent Calhoun, and he writes for the
Racing Times.
He’s been around the track for his whole career, so he thinks I can’t possibly know what I’m doing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carole replied. “You’ve learned
more about horses since you met Max than any other six people possibly could.”

“Well, that may be true,” Deborah said. “But just because I’ve learned a lot about horses doesn’t mean I know a lot about racing. There’s a whole encyclopedia of information beyond just the horses—training, handicapping, statistics, history, you name it.”

“No wonder you’re looking for help,” Stevie commented. She could sympathize. What Deborah was talking about sounded an awful lot like schoolwork to her—especially the history part.

Deborah smiled. “Right. If there are two things I’ve learned as a journalist, it’s to do my research and to go on instinct. My instinct tells me I can do this story—so here I am, researching away.” She glanced at Judy. “And it doesn’t hurt that my own personal walking library happens to be the vet of one of my story subjects.”

“What’s Mr. McLeod’s horse’s name?” Lisa asked.

“Monkeyshines,” Deborah replied. “He’s a big, dark bay colt, very spirited. You girls would love him. He’s got almost as much personality as Belle here.” She laughed and pushed away the mare’s head. Belle had been trying to nibble on Deborah’s pencil.

“What’s the other horse like?” Carole asked. “The one who won the Kentucky Derby.”

“He’s a great horse,” Max said. “His name is Garamond. He’s owned by Kennemere Farm in Kentucky.”

“So he had the home court advantage,” Stevie put in.

“Well, sort of,” Max said. “But several of the other Derby entrants were Kentucky-bred as well. No, Garamond has more than geography going for him. He’s descended from Secretariat on his sire’s side, and his dam is distantly related to Bold Ruler.”

Stevie and Lisa looked mystified, but Carole nodded. In her reading she had encountered the names of both horses and knew that they were among the all-time stars of Thoroughbred racing history. She also knew that racehorses’ bloodlines were important, since they were bred for just one thing—speed.

“Wow,” Carole said. “Mr. McLeod’s horse must be pretty spectacular if he can compete with a horse like that.”

“He certainly is,” Judy answered. “It’s too bad you haven’t been out to Maskee Farms with me lately, Carole. It’s a rare thing to encounter a horse like that. David McLeod has been quite successful in racing for a while, but Monkeyshines is definitely his biggest star so far.”

“Wow,” Carole said again. “I guess the Preakness is going to be a great race.”

“That’s right,” Max put in with a smile. “You girls will have to be sure to watch it on TV.” He paused. “Well, on second thought, you may not have time. I was planning to ask you to help my mother look after things here next weekend while I’m away. I’m going to the race with Deborah, of course—did I mention that? Anyway, I was hoping
you could help out—you know, muck out stalls, measure feed, things like that.”

Stevie rolled her eyes.

Lisa was a little more polite. “Uh, sure, Max,” she said. “We’ll do anything we can to help.”

Max nodded. “That’s the spirit! I’ll be sure to think of you while I’m at the track, watching all those big-name horses and jockeys, rubbing elbows with exciting and interesting trainers and owners, cheering the horses on—”

“Yeah, great,” Stevie interrupted him. She couldn’t believe the way Max was bragging. It wasn’t like him, and it was getting on her nerves. She didn’t really want to hear about the great time he would be having at the Preakness while The Saddle Club was toiling away at Pine Hollow.

Max seemed to get the hint. He smiled at the girls again and then turned to Deborah. “Come on, if you want to make it over to Maskee Farms today, we’d better get moving,” he said.

Deborah nodded. “You’re right.” She glanced at Judy. “Do you want a ride over there?”

“How about if I give you two a ride?” Judy suggested. “I promised David McLeod I’d check on Hold Fast’s hoof to make sure that infection is completely cleared up. I can drop you back here afterward on my way home.”

“Sounds good,” Max agreed.

“Hold Fast?” Carole put in. “Isn’t that the stallion Mr. McLeod was planning to sell the last time I was there?”

“That’s the one,” Judy said. “He changed his mind about selling. Hold Fast was doing so well at the track that Mr. McLeod decided he’d make more money keeping him. In fact, he’s running in a race on Preakness day.”

Carole nodded. She had liked Mr. McLeod very much when she met him, but she also remembered how concerned he was with making money. It had made her realize that racing was a business, and she wasn’t sure she liked that. She liked to think of riding as something to be done for fun, not for profit.

“Ready to go?” Judy asked Max and Deborah.

“Just about,” Max said. “You two go ahead, and I’ll meet you at the truck in a minute. I just have to tell my mother something first.” Max’s mother, known to all the riders as Mrs. Reg, helped run Pine Hollow.

As the three adults left, Stevie leaned on Belle’s saddle and frowned. “It doesn’t seem fair that Max gets to have a great time going to the Preakness while we get stuck here doing all his chores,” she commented grumpily.

But Carole and Lisa weren’t really listening. They were too excited at the thought that someone they knew had a horse competing in the Triple Crown.

“I hope Monkeyshines wins,” Lisa said, slinging her camera over her neck and opening the gate.

“Me too,” Carole agreed, heading through the gate with Starlight. “Although it would also be exciting if Garamond won all three races.”

“Let’s all get together at one of our houses and watch the race on TV next week,” Lisa suggested. “I’m sure we’ll be finished here in plenty of time, no matter what Max says.”

“We can do it at my house if you want,” Carole said. “My dad has to be at the base all day Saturday, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. We can make popcorn and stuff and have a little party.”

“Sounds great,” Lisa said. She shook her head. “Just think how exciting it would be to see such a big race in person. Max is lucky.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Stevie put in. “And if you ask me, next Saturday should be our lucky day too.”

“What do you mean?” Carole asked.

Stevie gave her friends a mysterious smile. “The Preakness is held in Baltimore, right?”

“Right,” Carole confirmed.

“So why shouldn’t we get to go too?” Stevie said. “I mean, Baltimore is practically right in our backyard.”

“Well, not quite,” Lisa said. “But it is pretty close.”

“But you’re forgetting one thing here, Stevie,” Carole reminded her. “None of us can drive, remember? How are you planning to get there—on horseback?”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I was thinking that one of our parents could drive us, of course.”

Carole was already shaking her head. “I just told you. My dad has to work all day next Saturday.” Carole’s father
was a colonel in the United States Marine Corps. Her mother had died when Carole was eleven.

Stevie turned to Lisa. “How about your parents?”

“No good,” Lisa said. “My aunt Maude is coming to town, and they promised to take her down to Colonial Williamsburg. They’re leaving on Friday night—that’s why I’m spending the night at your house, remember?” The girls had already planned a sleepover at the Lakes’ house on the following Friday.

“How about your parents, Stevie?” Carole said. “Your dad was the one who took you and Lisa to the track last time.”

Stevie looked glum. “No luck there,” she admitted. “Both my parents are going to a wedding on Saturday afternoon.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “There’s got to be a way to get there,” she cried. “Otherwise we’re going to be stuck here mucking out stalls while Max and the others are off having the time of their lives at the Preakness. It’s not fair. We’ve got to think of a plan.”

The girls were still thinking furiously a few minutes later as they carried their saddles into the tack room. As they started soaping them, Mrs. Reg stuck her head out of her office. “Ah, there you are, girls,” she said. “When you’re finished with that, I wonder if you could help me out for a few minutes. There are some stalls that need mucking out, and Red just hasn’t been able to get to them.”

The Saddle Club exchanged glances. “Sure, Mrs. Reg,” they answered in one voice.

When Mrs. Reg disappeared back into her office, Stevie added in a whisper, “We might as well get used to it.”

A
S LISA TRUDGED
home an hour later, her back aching as a result of her hard work with a pitchfork, she was thinking about what Stevie had said. But she wasn’t feeling very optimistic about the chances of The Saddle Club’s seeing the Preakness in person. They had no one to drive them and no money to pay for train tickets. Besides, Lisa wasn’t sure her parents would let her go without adult supervision even if she had a way to get there.

When she arrived at her house, she went straight into the dining room, where her mother was setting the table. “Oh, there you are, dear,” Mrs. Atwood said. “Hurry up and get changed. Dinner’s almost ready, and your father and I have something important to discuss with you.”

“What is it?” Lisa asked, setting her camera carefully on the sideboard.

“Just go ahead and change first,” Mrs. Atwood said. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk at dinner.”

Feeling puzzled, Lisa did as she was told. It wasn’t like her mother to be so mysterious. Mrs. Atwood hadn’t seemed angry or upset, so that meant the news had to be something good. But what? When Lisa came back downstairs a few minutes later, both her parents were seated at the table waiting for her. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Lisa asked as she took her seat.

Her mother and father glanced at each other. Then Mr. Atwood spoke. “We just had an interesting phone call.…”

M
EANWHILE
,
AT THE
Hansons’ house, Carole had just come downstairs after a quick shower and found her father in the kitchen chopping carrots for a salad. She joined him at the counter and began shredding a head of lettuce into a large bowl.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Colonel Hanson said. “You’re always such a help in the kitchen. I probably don’t tell you that often enough, do I? But it’s true.”

“That’s all right, Dad,” Carole replied with a shrug. “I like to help.” She grinned. “Besides, the sooner this is done, the sooner we can eat. And I’m starved.”

“Still, though, I can’t help thinking that, as a good marine, I should remember the reward-and-punishment system we have in the Corps. It’s always seemed to work pretty well in my experience—especially the reward part.
And I can’t help thinking that sometimes a person deserves a reward just for being herself—oh, and for helping around the kitchen and that sort of thing, of course.”