The Mystery at Saratoga

were discovered, I just assumed—I’m sorry. I should have had more faith in you, Regan.”
    “My running away wasn’t a move that would inspire faith, Carl. Anyway, that’s all in the past. Now it’s time to think about the future.”
    Trixie thought she saw Regan glance at Joan Stinson as he said “the future.”
    “That’s right,” J. T. Worthington said heartily. “We can’t relive the past, but we can do what we can to make up for past mistakes. I’ve made quite a few mistakes, but I’m ready to try to make up for them. Carl told me this afternoon that the scarfaced man had approached him seven years ago. I was impressed at the loyalty he showed to me—and to Gadfly—in turning down that offer. After he left, I started thinking, and I realized that I haven’t shown the same kind of loyalty to him. I put my own interests first on two separate occasions, when financial setbacks caused me to enter in claiming races the best horses Carl ever had.”
    “Gleeps!” Trixie shouted, then clapped her hand over her mouth as she realized that shouting was not in keeping with the elegance of the restaurant. “I forgot, in my excitement over Gadbox’s winning the race and not being disqualified, that it was a claiming race. Did someone claim him?”
    Mr. Worthington nodded solemnly. “Someone did, indeed. But I found the new owner and bought Gadbox back.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Worthington brought out two pieces of paper. He handed them to Carl Stinson. “Here are the papers for Gadbox and Gadfly. You’ve been a fine trainer, Carl. Now it’s your chance for you to prove yourself as an owner.”
    Carl Stinson stared at the pieces of paper in his hand, then looked at Worthington. Finally, the reality of what had just happened dawned on him, and he let out a whoop of joy that caused the other diners in the restaurant to turn and stare. Unmindful of the attention he was getting, Stinson turned to Regan and slapped him on the back. “Did you hear that?” he demanded. “We’re in business!” Regan smiled. “I’m happy for you, Carl. But I can’t come to work for you. I have a home now in Sleepyside, and I want to go back. That is,” he added, looking at Mr. Wheeler, “if I still have a job to go back to.”
    “You know you do, Regan,” Mr. Wheeler said. Regan acknowledged Mr. Wheeler’s quiet reassurance with a smile. Then, turning back to Carl Stinson, he said, “You know, if you need a good hand with.horses, I’d be happy to introduce you to one of the best. He’s sitting right at this table.” Johnny looked around the table to see whom Regan was referring to, then flushed as he saw everyone staring back at him.
    “I think, too,” Regan continued, “that Johnny could recommend a good piece of property where you could set up Stinson Farms. Right, Johnny?”
    “Right!” Johnny exclaimed boldly. “I’m sure the bank would sell us my dad’s place real cheap, Mr. Stinson. They aren’t using it.”
    “We’ll drive out to look at it tomorrow,” Carl promised, “right after we sit down and discuss your wages. But I wish you’d reconsider, Regan,” he added, turning back to the redheaded groom. “I hate to lose you again.”
    “You won’t lose me entirely,” Regan said. “I plan to be around a lot.” This time there was no mistaking the look he directed at Joan Stinson, a look she returned with a smile.

    “Isn’t it all perfectly perfect?” Honey asked as she and Trixie both lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and reviewing the day’s sometimes exciting, sometimes frightening events.
    “No, it isn’t,” Trixie said. “It won’t be perfectly perfect until the Bob-Whites run two small errands tomorrow morning, just before we all go home to Sleepyside.”
    “Two small errands? What are they?” Honey asked.
    Trixie told her, and when Honey fell asleep, moments later, she was still smiling.

    The next morning, Matthew Wheeler was once again pacing the lobby impatiently. Mrs. Wheeler sat on a couch nearby, twisting her handkerchief. A short distance away, Regan and Joan Stinson stood talking quietly, saying their good-byes and making plans to see each other again.
    “Where are those children?” Mr. Wheeler exploded. “First Honey and Trixie disappear, then the boys find them and bring them back, then they all disappear again! I thought Jim had some small measure of common sense. How could he let this happen?”
    “Calm down, dear,” Mrs.