McKenzie’s Branson Brainteaser (2 page)

“Seriously?” Shara asked, peering at McKenzie. “You've solved mysteries?
Real
mysteries?”

“Yep,” McKenzie said with a grin. “My friend Bailey and I solved a mystery back in Montana. Another friend, Alexis, and I solved one on a trip to Oregon. Of course, the other Camp Club Girls help investigate by finding clues. We call and e-mail each other to help solve the mysteries.”

“Wow. I'm impressed.” Shara looked at McKenzie as if she had a question. But then she shook her head and turned away.

Leading the way through the park's exit, Shara headed to the far end of the parking lot. She stopped beside a dented red compact car and unlocked the door. McKenzie slid into the front seat, flinching at the hot gray vinyl beneath her legs. She sniffed at the pine tree–shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror.

Minutes later, Shara pulled onto the winding mountain road and headed toward Branson. Cars jammed the streets, and tourists walked up and down the sidewalks. They passed miniature golf courses, go-cart tracks, and all sorts of souvenir shops. Dozens of hotels and theaters lined the streets. They drove past the Toy Museum, the Titantic Museum, Ripley's Believe It or Not, and too many hotels to easily count.

“Where are you staying while you're here?” McKenzie asked, gazing out the window.

“I'm staying with some friends of my parents. I just came up from Arkansas and started working at the Showcase. I'll be helping take care of the horses and their stalls. Then a couple of times a week, I get to wear a southern belle dress and parade around town to drum up business for the Showcase.”

“I absolutely love horses,” McKenzie said. “My family has several horses on our farm back in Montana.”

Shara turned up the air conditioning and stuck a country and western CD into the player. “I'm going to be working more hours than I planned. I was counting on having a lot of free time. I guess you could say I'm kind of on a mission.”

“What kind of a mission?” McKenzie asked, glancing at Shara.

For a minute, McKenzie thought she wasn't going to answer. But finally, the older girl spoke. “I'm looking for my uncle. My family hasn't heard from him in years. We've heard rumors that he moved to Branson, but we're not sure. Now, I probably won't even have time to look for him.”

“Can't you just look in the phone book and see if he's here?” McKenzie asked, adjusting the air conditioning vent.

“We've tried that, but if he's here, he apparently has an unlisted number.” Shara pulled off the street into the back parking lot of the Dixie Showcase. “He might even have changed his name.”

“Why doesn't anyone know where he is?” McKenzie stared at Shara.

Shara pulled into a parking stall and left the engine running. Turning to McKenzie, she answered, “Uncle Reggie went into business with my grandpa as a lawyer. Grandma and Grandpa Ford were thrilled when he decided to join the firm. My Uncle Todd is a doctor, Uncle Phil is a pilot, and my mom is a judge—all well-paying careers. One day, Uncle Reggie said he didn't want to be a lawyer anymore. He quit Grandpa's firm so he could go back to his one passion—art, especially woodcarving.”

McKenzie nodded with understanding. “So, your grandparents are upset because he gave up a high-paying job to go into business for himself?”

“Yes.” Shara nodded. “The whole family was upset with Uncle Reggie—Grandpa, Grandma, and his two brothers. Mom was the only one who understood. But Uncle Reggie got mad and left Arkansas almost thirteen years ago. No one's heard a thing from him since.”

McKenzie thought about her own aunts and uncles.
How would I feel if I didn't know where one of them was?
The thought made her sad. “Do you remember your uncle?”

“Just a little. I was four when he left.” Shara nodded, and her eyes grew serious. “He played with me all the time. He always drew pictures of me. He even carved me a necklace.” She pulled a gold chain off over her head and held it out.

McKenzie took the necklace in her hand and traced the wooden medallion hanging from it. A delicate carving of a curly-haired fairy graced the front. “This is gorgeous,” she said with awe.

“Do you recognize the face of the fairy?” Shara asked with a slight smile.

McKenzie squinted at the medallion. She gasped and looked up at Shara. “It's you, isn't it?”

Shara nodded. “It's all I have to remember him by. I don't even have a picture.”

McKenzie stared at the necklace. Turning it over, she noticed initials on the back. “What do the letters
SS
stand for?”

Shara shrugged her shoulders. “We don't know. Nobody noticed the initials until after Uncle Reg left, so we couldn't ask him.”

McKenzie handed the necklace back to Shara, who quickly put it back over her head. The girls stepped from the car and headed to the back entrance of the Dixie Showcase.

McKenzie thought the conversation over.
I can't imagine having a relative missing for thirteen years! How awful!
she thought.

“I wish I could help you find him,” McKenzie said. “I'll pray for him and your family.”

Shara smiled softly. “Thanks. I guess I should pray more often about it. Sometimes I just forget.”

“I've done that, too,” McKenzie admitted. “But I'll try really hard to remember now.”

The girls reached the building and stepped inside. After McKenzie thanked Shara for the ride, the girls went their separate ways. Shara headed down the hallway toward the stable area. McKenzie walked toward the dressing rooms, wishing she could do something to help.

Suddenly an idea came to McKenzie. She felt excitement mounting inside her. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she punched in Sydney's number.
I hope you didn't turn your phone off for the pioneer demonstration
, she thought anxiously.

After several rings, Sydney finally answered. “Hey, what's up?”

McKenzie glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Spotting a couple walking toward her, McKenzie cupped her hand around the phone. “I've got a great mystery for us to solve. How would you like to investigate our first missing persons case?”

“Do you think we can find Shara's uncle?” Sydney asked after McKenzie explained the situation.

“I don't know, but we need to try,” McKenzie said. “Shara really misses him. But she doesn't have as much free time to look for him as we do.”

“Let's go for it,” Sydney said enthusiastically.

McKenzie heard voices in the background on Sydney's phone. Then her friend continued, “Oh, I have to go now. Miss Val says pioneers don't talk on cell phones. And don't forget to tell the other Camp Club Girls.”

“Okay,” McKenzie said with a giggle and hung up. She tapped out a quick text message about their latest mystery. Then she sent it to Alexis Howell, Bailey Chang, Elizabeth Anderson, and Kate Oliver, the other Camp Club Girls.

A minute later McKenzie stepped inside the dressing room. She quickly changed into her frilly light green plantation dress and white stockings. Her black button-up shoes had felt weird when she first began wearing them, but she was getting used to them now.

“Hey, McKenzie,” a voice called behind her. “Are you ready to do your hair and makeup?”

McKenzie turned and saw Amanda, the college-aged stylist, approaching her. “I'll be right there,” she said, adjusting the neckline of her dress.

Soon, Amanda had swept McKenzie's hair up and back into a ponytail. After Amanda used the curling iron, McKenzie's hair hung in auburn ringlets.

“Perfect,” Amanda announced as she doused McKenzie in a cloud of hairspray.

With long-handled brushes, Amanda expertly applied eye shadow, blush, and lipstick to McKenzie's face.
Mom would never let me wear this much makeup back home
, McKenzie thought, grinning at her reflection in the mirror.

Minutes later, McKenzie arrived at the doors leading into the show arena. She heard the thundering hooves of the horses in the ring and the loud music playing. The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeaker. The audience yelled, stomped their feet, and applauded.

A young man, one of the horse trainers, arrived with a dark brown quarter horse named Azur. He held it for her while she stuck her boot in the stirrup and swung herself onto the saddle.

Her hands felt clammy as she clutched the reins.
I wonder where Miss Val and Sydney are sitting. I hope I don't mess up
, she thought nervously. She glanced at the other three girls on their horses. Their matching green dresses hung softly over the sides of the horses. Each girl had a partner on his own horse that rode beside her in the performance.

McKenzie glanced at her partner, a high school-aged boy named Nick. He stared straight ahead, an anxious look on his face. Any second now the doors would burst open, their cue to spur their horses into action.

Whoosh!
The doors flew open. McKenzie dug her heels into Azur's side. Neck and neck, she and Nick darted into the arena following the other costumed riders.

Fiddle and banjo music blared over the loudspeakers. Two couples danced in a gazebo in the center of the arena. The gentlemen wore trousers and topcoats while twirling their partners in colorful bouncy hoopskirts.

McKenzie concentrated on her routine, barely noticing the twirling dancers. She and Azur darted among the other performers. Confederate soldiers wore gray uniforms for the South. Yankee soldiers wore blue for the North. Some rode horses, and some were on foot. Men and women wearing red, white, and blue outfits raced about on quarter horses. Screams and applause from the audience rang out as they entered.

McKenzie's hair flew behind her as the horses thundered around the ring.
Are Sydney and Miss Val watching?
she thought.
Don't look for them. Stay focused
.

When they brought their horses to a halt, Nick glanced at her and smiled. They reached out and held each other's hand—all a part of the act. Then in unison, the southern belles and their gentlemen rode out of the arena.

McKenzie sighed with relief when the doors closed behind them. She stretched her fingers to release the tension. A trainer grabbed Azur's bridle, and McKenzie slid from the saddle.

“Great job,” a voice sounded beside McKenzie.

Turning, she looked into the blue eyes of a husky boy about her own age of thirteen. A sprinkling of light brown freckles on his nose matched his hair showing beneath his cap. He wore a gray Confederate uniform and carried a drum on a strap about his neck.

“Thanks,” McKenzie said with a smile, feeling her face grow warm. “Are you new at this, too?”

“Yep, first year.” The boy nodded. “I'm Nat McCoy. I live outside of Branson a couple of miles. How about you?”

“I'm McKenzie Phillips from White Sulfur Springs, Montana.” She headed down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. “I'm working at the Showcase for a month performing at the 5:30 performance each day.”

Nat grinned at her. “I get the 5:30 show, too. But I'm working here all summer.”

McKenzie stared straight ahead, feeling her hands getting sweaty. She wished she could think of something to say.
How about, “It sure is a nice day out, isn't it?”
she thought.
Yuck! That sounds way too mature
.

They walked silently down the hall until they reached the dressing room. McKenzie swallowed the knot forming in her throat. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Nat.”

Oh, now that was a boring remark
. McKenzie groaned.
Dear God, help me not to act like a doofus
.

“Maybe I'll see you around sometime.” Nat tossed a drumstick in the air and caught it on the way down. He flashed her another grin before walking away.

McKenzie's heart fluttered.
No boy has ever told me he'd see me around
, she thought. She smiled to herself as she stepped into the dressing room.
Boys don't usually even talk to me, except to ask for help with homework. Maybe this is my lucky day. There's no homework at the Dixie Showcase
.