“And she can afford it. You should see her place. My
dad pointed it out to me once when we were driving in
the mountains.”
“More important, what happened to all the rabbits
and birds she set free?” Bess wondered.
“Some were recaptured and returned to the pet
shop,” Kincaid said. “But others were never found.
Someone saw a couple of parakeets flying around the
park a couple of weeks ago, as a matter of fact, but they
couldn't catch them.”
“Does she think all animals should be set free?”
George asked.
“I guess so,” Kincaid said with a shrug.
“Hey,” Bess said, jumping up from her chair. “What
about buffalo on a ranch?”
“You mean that she might have . . . Oh, Bess!”
Kincaid exclaimed, her eyes wide. “What if Antoinette
Francoeur stole Lulu and Justice?”
“But she wouldn't steal them,” Nancy pointed out.
“Isn't it her idea to let them run free?”
“Who knows exactly?” Kincaid said. “A lot of people
think she's not really an activist—she's just a nut. There
have been a lot of rumors about her past. Somebody
said she got in trouble the last place she lived because
she released horses from riding academies. Then I
heard she was letting guard dogs loose and breaking
monkeys out of their cages at a zoo somewhere.”
“That doesn't sound like someone who really cares
about animals,” Nancy said. “Some animals couldn't
survive in the wild after they'd been taken care of all
their lives.”
“Sounds like she doesn't care much for humans,
either,” Bess said, making a face. “I wouldn't be too
thrilled to be living somewhere with a lot of guard dogs
running around loose.”
“Those are just rumors,” Kincaid reminded them. “I
know the pet shop stuff happened, but I'm not sure
about the rest. But I do know Lulu. If that woman let
her go, Lulu would lead Justice back to the herd. That's
one of the reasons I separated them. I wanted to be
able to raise Justice myself and train and groom him for
the fairs.”
“Maybe Antoinette learned a lesson from the pet
shop incident,” George offered. “Suppose she decided
it would be better to kidnap animals and release them
in a totally different area. That way, there would be less
chance they'd be recaptured and returned. If all those
stories are true, she sounds a little weird. Who knows
what she might do.”
“But would she hack the shelter to pieces?” Nancy
wondered. “And make threatening calls?”
“You know, she might,” Kincaid said. “I saw her on
TV last year when she was being arrested. She was like
a wild animal herself—kicking and yelling. It's amazing
she didn't get jail time.”
“Maybe we should see what she has to say at this
press conference tomorrow,” Nancy said. “I also want
to check out Badger Brady.”
“Sounds like it's going to be a busy day,” George
said. “Good! I'm ready for some action.”
“Then let's do something fun tonight,” Bess said.
“Maybe go to the Stomp. Do they still have that great
band there?”
“Yep,” Kincaid said. “That's a good idea. I could use
a little noisy music.”
The Stomp was a young-adults club in a small strip
mall perched on the edge of a mountain overlooking
Rapid City, about ten miles from the Turners' ranch. A
seven-piece band filled the wood-and-glass building
with music, from country-western to reggae.
When they walked in, Kincaid spotted some friends
in a booth and led the others over to them.
Kincaid led them to the table. “Hi, guys, you
remember Bess from last summer. This is her cousin
George and her friend Nancy. Girls, this is Angie,
Clayton, and Gregg.”
“Great to see you back, Bess,” Angie said. “Hi,
Nancy and George. Welcome.” Angie had dark wavy
hair and a friendly smile. Nancy smiled back.
A cute, brown-haired young man stood to let the
girls slide into the booth. “Hi, I'm Clayton,” he said.
“Bess, I knew you'd be back.”
Within a half hour more of Kincaid's friends joined
them. They pushed several tables together and spent
the next couple of hours hanging out, ordering sodas
and fries, and dancing.
Finally Nancy suggested breaking it up. “We have a
lot to do tomorrow,” she reminded them.
“Yeah,” Kincaid agreed. “That's fine with me.”
Suddenly she gasped. She stared over Nancy's
shoulder. Her next words shot out like little darts
between her clenched teeth: “It's him, Nancy. Badger
Brady. Walking past the window.”
“George, you and Bess pay the bill,” Nancy said.
“We'll meet you at the car.”
Nancy and Kincaid raced out the door. Brady was
halfway down the block. He was not very tall, but his
body was stocky, so he seemed big. He walked with a
long stride, and Nancy and Kincaid had to hurry to
keep up with him.
When Brady reached the end of the strip of shops,
he paused for a moment. Nancy and Kincaid stepped
behind some shrubs that bordered a fountain. After a
few moments, Nancy peeked around the green
branches. There was no one in sight.
“Come on,” Nancy whispered. “He must have
turned the corner.” She and Kincaid stepped back onto
the walkway.
“Just a minute,” a brusque voice thundered. “Don't
take another step.”
5. A Reflection of Danger
In the glaring wash of the shop lights, Badger Brady's
face was dark red and twisted with anger as he stepped
from around the corner to face Nancy and Kincaid.
“What are you two doing, chasing after me?” he
demanded. “Kincaid, you're just like your father.
Always after me. Well, I'm going to put an end to it, do
you hear me?”
“We're not afraid of you,” Kincaid said in a low
voice. Nancy put a hand on her friend's arm.
Brady's eyes narrowed as he looked at Nancy. She
listened closely to his voice. Was he the one who made
the threatening phone call? she wondered.
“We'll just see about that,” Brady said. “You tell your
father you saw me. You tell him what I said. The
trouble between us is not over.”
Brady glared at them for a few moments. People
wandered onto the walkway from the shops. Brady
glanced at them, then back at Nancy and Kincaid. With
one final menacing glance, he bolted away.
Nancy and Kincaid retraced their steps to the Stomp
parking lot, where Bess and George were waiting.
During the drive back to the ranch, Nancy related
the encounter she and Kincaid had experienced.
“Sounds like Badger is a good name for that guy,”
George said.
Tuesday morning, over breakfast in
the Turner
kitchen, the girls made plans to attend Antoinette
Francoeur's press conference that morning.
“Here, Nancy,” Kincaid said. “You and I can wear
these.” She took out two official-looking press badges.
“These are from my high school. I was the editor of the
school newspaper.”
Nancy changed a few letters so they read RHI. “We
are now members of the press corps for the River
Heights Independent,” she said, and handed one of the
badges to Kincaid before pinning a duplicate on her
own blue blazer.
“Is that your hometown newspaper?” Kincaid asked,
pinning her badge on her jeans jacket.
“Made it up,” Nancy said, grinning. “Bess, you have
a camera. Kincaid, do you have one George can
borrow? They can be press photographers.”
“Let me at your computer, Kincaid,” Bess said.
Within minutes Bess's computer design talent paid off,
and she had created two impressive press pho-
tographer passes.
“All right,” Nancy said. “Off to the press confer-
ence.”
Kincaid drove them into the Black Hills in her
heavy-duty, all-terrain vehicle. “You're not going to
believe it up here,” Bess told Nancy and George. “Wait
until you see the houses. We're not talking mountain
cabins, folks.”
“I didn't know what to expect when we were talking
about coming here,” George said. “First of all, I
thought the Black Hills were hills. I didn't realize they
were mountains.”
“It's one of the oldest mountain ranges in the
world,” Bess said. “Older than the Alps or the
Himalayas.”
“And it's the highest range in the U.S. east of the
Rockies,” Kincaid said proudly. “The Black Hills cover
an area the same size as Delaware.”
“There—look at that,” Bess said, pointing out the
window. “Would you believe you'd see a house like that
in the middle of a mountain forest?”
Nancy and George followed Bess's gaze over to a
huge mansion. It was built in the southern style—
redbrick, with two-story white columns and long
verandas on both floors filled with wicker furniture.
“Whoa—how about that one,” George said as they
drove up the road. An enormous glass-and-steel flat-
roofed house jutted out over the side of the mountain
cliff. It was supported from below by diagonal steel
beams.
As they climbed farther, they saw more incredible
homes. Some were in the open, showy and extravagant.
Others they had to squint to see because they were set
back from the road. Shielded behind a curtain of dense
dark green pine and spruce trees, they seemed to be
purposely hidden.
“I expected log cabins and maybe a few chalets,”
Nancy said. “Nothing like this.”
Kincaid drove around two more winding curves,
then slowed the car. “Here we are,” she said. Two
guards stopped the vehicle as she pulled up to a gate.
The girls showed their badges and passes, and the
guards motioned them through.
After another short winding climb, they came to a
small parking area, where they were waved into a
parking place. Then the four joined the group of about
fifty media people climbing the steps from the parking
lot to Beauforêt, Antoinette Francoeur's mansion.
“Beauforêt,” Nancy murmured. “That means
beautiful woods.' Well, she sure has that right.” Nancy
looked ahead to a huge house. It had eight sides and
was constructed of wood and glass.
The front of the house hung out over the valley,
supported by huge log braces that angled back into the
cliff.
Ushers guided the crowd around the house to the
rear terrace from which they had a marvelous view of
the surrounding mountains and canyons. Nancy
noticed several other buildings on the estate— barns,
stable, smaller houses. Could one of them hold a
buffalo cow and her calf? she wondered.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flutter of
commotion as the huge double doors opened onto the
terrace. Through the doors swooped a strikingly tall
woman, at least six feet tall, with a long neck and long
arms. “How old is she?” Nancy whispered to Kincaid.
“I read once that she was in her fifties,” Kincaid
whispered back.
“Welcome to Beauforêt,” Antoinette Francoeur said
with a slight accent. “I am pleased you have joined us
this morning,” she added, shaking her thick mane of
long silvery blond hair, which fell down her back. She
wore a gauzy purple dress, with a long full skirt. The
only jewelry she wore were lacy gold earrings that hung
to her shoulders.
Nancy felt a gentle poke in her ribs from Bess. “Did
you catch her feet?” Bess said. Nancy moved so she
could peer through the crowd to see the woman's feet.
They were bare. An elastic bandage was wrapped
around her right ankle.
“This is a grand moment for me,” the unusually
dressed Frenchwoman continued. “I am happy to
announce the creation of Justice for Animals.” Nancy
heard Kincaid gasp behind her.
“I doubt that it means anything,” Nancy whispered.
“Justice for Animals is a logical name for an animal
protection group. It probably doesn't have anything to
do with your calf.”
about the organization and how she wanted to form a
coalition with other groups so she could set up an
international network.
“This will be my finest deed, to establish and
provide financial backing for this organization,” the
woman said. “We will search out and find animals that
need our help—and then do what we need to do. I
hope you all will stay to view a short video that has
been prepared for your enlightenment. After that you
are invited to a light buffet where we may talk more
informally about Justice for Animals.”
“Ms. Francoeur, is it true you believe all animals
should live free and none should be contained for any
reason?” asked one reporter.
“That is basically my desire, yes,” the Frenchwoman
replied.
“And is it true that you released gibbons from a zoo
in Colorado?” another woman asked.
“I have never done anything so foolish,” Ms.
Francoeur said. “Such an animal could probably not
survive on its own. I would like to see them out of zoos,
of course. But first I would find a better place for them
to be.”
“What about buffalo?” Kincaid called out.
“Interesting that you should mention them,”
Antoinette Francoeur said. “We use two beautiful
South Dakota bison in our logo.” She held up a poster
for Justice for Animals. The logo included an artist's
watercolor of a female
bison and a calf grazing, with
the Black Hills in the background.
Nancy heard Kincaid gasp again. “How do you feel
about ranching bison?” Nancy asked, stepping forward.
“About breeding them in captivity?”
“Enough questions for now,” Ms. Francoeur said
with a flip of her long fingers. “Let us go to my theater
and watch the video. Then we will have a lovely buffet
and talk some more.”
She turned and sailed back through the large
doorway. Slowly, the crowd filed in behind her.
As the others moved forward, Nancy began backing
up. “Come on,” she said, “this way.” She moved
quickly, followed by Bess, George, and Kincaid. Nancy
never took her eyes off the guards standing by the
doorway. No one saw her or the others as they
separated from the crowd.
“We're not going to watch the movie, I take it,”
George said as the four eased behind two large blue
spruce trees.
“I think I'd rather look around the grounds,” Nancy
said.
“Won't they miss us?” Bess asked. “After all, you and
Kincaid asked questions.”
“Probably not,” Nancy explained. “I saw people pick
up press kits from the table, then walk to the parking
lot. Apparently, they weren't staying for the video and
buffet. As far as anyone knows, we could have done the
same.”
They stayed behind the trees until they saw the two
guards go inside the house.
“Now be quiet and be careful,” Nancy warned the
others. “There might be other guards or employees
wandering around the grounds.”
“Nancy . . . that poster,” Kincaid said. “It looks just
like Lulu and Justice. And the name for the group—
Justice.”
“I know it seems odd,” Nancy said. “But it's probably
just a coincidence.”
“I agree,” George said softly. “Justice for Animals is
a pretty logical name, Kincaid.”
“But the poster,” Kincaid protested. “I could only
see it from a distance, but it looks so much like Lulu
and Justice. What if Antoinette took them?”
“You mean to let them run free?” Bess asked.
“Maybe,” Kincaid said. “Or maybe she's going to use
them as mascots. As symbols of majestic animals that
shouldn't be in a pen.”
“But she couldn't show them anywhere,” George
said. “If she did, your family or friends would recognize