Read Online The Mystery at Saratoga by Julie Campbell - Free Book Online Page B

“I’m sorry, Honey. I know you weren’t thinking about Regan. But to me, as I listened to you—I don’t know. It sounded almost as if you were explaining why Regan drugged Gadfly and then ran away. But it isn’t true. It can’t be,” she concluded firmly.
    The two girls walked on again in silence, sharing the same unhappy, unspoken thoughts: Both girls realized that, however much they might try to deny it, what Honey had been saying about people who worked at the track, people who were afflicted with the gambling disease, could explain Regan’s running away from Saratoga seven years before. As loyal as they were to the young groom, they both had to face the fact that they didn’t know very much about his past. He’d never been exactly secretive, but he hadn’t spoken much about it, either. Everyone who knew him in Sleepyside had assumed that the silence was due to unhappy memories of those earlier days. But couldn’t it also be due to Regan’s having something to hide?
    “It isn’t true,” Trixie repeated aloud. Even though she was starting in the middle of a thought, Honey had no trouble following it, because her thoughts had been running along such similar lines. “But even if it were,” Trixie continued, “Regan’s taking the job with your father would show that he was trying to get away from the gambling disease, trying to keep himself away from the track. That would mean that he really is a good person who just couldn’t help the fact that he had a gambling problem.”
    “That’s true,” Honey said. “I mean, no, it isn’t. I mean, that theory makes sense, but I can’t believe that it’s right. I just can’t believe that Regan would fix a horse race, and I can’t believe that he was ever a compulsive gambler, and I can’t believe that—” She broke off as Trixie clutched her arm. Turning to look at her friend, she saw that Trixie’s face was pale beneath its freckles and that her blue eyes were wide with horror.
    “Honey, look!” Trixie breathed. “Those riding boots in the window of that pawnshop—they’re Regan’s!”

The Pawnshop • 8

    HONEY CLOSED HER EYES for a moment, as if she were afraid of what she might see. Then her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath, and she turned slowly to face the window of the pawnshop.
    Even knowing what she was going to see had not prepared her for the shock, however. She was speechless for a moment, and when she did speak, her voice came out as a gasp: “Oh, Trixie, you’re right!”
    The girls both walked up to the window as if they were pulled by invisible strings. They stared through the window at the boots for a long, silent moment. There could be no mistake about it, they knew, although neither one of them wanted to be the first to admit it out loud.
    The boots had been Regan’s pride and joy. They had been handmade, especially for him, out of a soft, red brown leather. A fancy, scrollwork R was embossed on the top of each boot.
    Honey and Trixie were both remembering, as they stood looking at the boots through the grimy window of this pawnshop in this seedy section of Saratoga, the times in the stable when they’d seen him carefully working saddle soap into the boots, removing every trace of dust and dirt, then buffing them with a soft, clean cloth until the dark leather gave off a smooth glow. They remembered, too, how often he’d told them that a pair of really good boots was as important to a rider as his saddle.
    Trixie, in particular, remembered the first time Regan had told her about his feeling for good boots. She’d ridden in tennis shoes the first few times, and Regan hadn’t said anything. Then, when he’d realized that Trixie was serious about becoming a good rider, he’d laid down the law: “No more riding for you, young lady, until you get some decent footgear.”
    “Is it really important?” Trixie had asked innocently. She’d noticed that Honey always wore special riding boots, but she’d