Mystery of the Midnight Rider (Nancy Drew Diaries #3)(9)

"You said that’s a rumor, right?” I said, leaning closer to the girls. "That he wanted Payton to train with him? Do you think there’s any truth to it?”

The two girls exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison. "You know how it is on the circuit,” one of them said. “Everybody talks, and usually there’s at least some little bit of truth or whatever...”

A snippet of a popular song came from her friend’s lap. "Oops, Maria just texted me,” the friend said. “We’d better go.”

“Okay.” The other girl stood up. "Tell Payton good luck in the Grand Prix,” she told us. “We’re all pulling for her.” Shooting a glance toward the spot where Lenny and his groupies had been sitting, she added, “Well, most of us, anyway.”

She followed her friend, who was already making her way down the bleachers. Soon they’d both disappeared into the crowd.

"That was interesting,” I said, wishing I’d had more time to talk to the girls. "Think it could mean something?”

“Something like a new mystery?” Bess patted my hand. “Give it up, Nancy. You know you’re just looking for something to take your poor disappointed mind off the fact that your boyfriend is totally ignoring your anniversary.”

I sighed and traded a look with Ned. He merely smiled. I might be slightly obsessed with mysteries. But Bess was just as dogged when it came to romance.





******





"Should I start with hot dogs or burgers?” Mr. Nickerson asked as he hauled a cooler out through the sliding glass doors leading onto his family’s back deck. “Or maybe we can dig those chicken tenders out of the freezer if anybody wants ’em.”

Ned grinned. “I’d say you should start by firing up the grill, Dad,” he said. "That thing’s so old it’ll be a miracle if we don’t end up calling out for pizza.”

"Very funny.” His father pretended to pout. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Bertha. He just doesn’t understand you like I do.” He patted the ancient grill on the hood. "Now, where’d I put the charcoal?”

"Your dad is living it up old-school, huh?” George said to Ned as Mr. Nickerson headed toward the shed at the back of the lawn. “When’s he going to join the modem era and get a gas grill like everyone else?”

"Probably never,” Ned replied. “Mom already knows that Bertha comes first in Dad’s heart.”

"That’s right.” Mrs. Nickerson looked up from setting out a stack of paper plates on the picnic table. "If that man could marry a grill, I’d still be single.”

I laughed along with the others. There were about a dozen people in the Nickersons’ spacious, shady backyard. George had been lounging on a wicker chair since we’d arrived twenty minutes earlier, drinking a soda and trading jokes with Mr. Nickerson. Ned was helping his mother carry stuff out from the kitchen, and Bess was stirring sugar into a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. Various friends and neighbors of the Nickersons were there too, helping or chatting or just enjoying the beautiful evening.

"Ah, here’s the guest of honor now!” Mrs. Nickerson said.

Payton stepped out of the house, her hair still damp from the shower and a bashful smile on her face. “Hi, everyone,” she said with a little wave. "Nice to meet you all.”

There was a flurry of introductions. I wandered over to Bess and George, who were watching from nearby. "I hope Ned’s dad finds the charcoal soon,” I said. "I bet Payton’s starving after her busy day.”

“She did really great today, didn’t she?” Bess said. "I can see why everyone thinks she’s a shoo-in for the Olympics.”

George glanced out into the yard. "Here comes Mr. N. with the charcoal.”

“Payton!” Mr. Nickerson said when he spotted her. "You’re here.”

"Yeah, she’s here, Dad.” Ned grinned. “And I seem to recall you promising her you’d have a burger ready for her by the time she got out of the shower.”

"Oops.” Mr. Nickerson set the bag of charcoal beside the grill. "Well, what can I say—creating food with fire is an art, and that can’t be rushed.” The grill’s lid let out a loud creaking sound as he opened it.

“Ol’ Bertha’s really singing,” one of the adults joked.

Ned’s father didn’t respond. “What’s this?” he said, reaching into the grill and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

“Probably ol’ Bertha’s ‘I quit’ note,” George called out.

Most of the group shouted with laughter. But I just smiled and stepped closer, curious. If this was one of the pranks Ned and his father were always playing on each other, I wanted a front-row seat.

Mr. Nickerson unfolded the paper. There were just a few lines on there, typed in a large, bold font:



PAYTON: IS RIDING FOR THE GOLD WORTH YOUR LIFE? QUIT WHILE YOU AND YOUR HORSES ARE AHEAD.

AND ALIVE.





CHAPTER FOUR




Taking Note



“WHAT IS THIS?” MR. NICKERSON FROWNED and glanced around at the group. "Is this someone’s idea of a joke? Because it’s not very funny.”