McKenzie’s Branson Brainteaser by Shari Barr Page B

on the lake. There are many crafters in these hills, and several roads will take you down around the lake. The roads wind around all over, so I don’t know the route you need to take.” Mr. Taylor pointed in the direction beyond his house. “Plan to be back here before sunset. I don’t want you riding after dark.”
    The girls assured the Taylors they would be back by sunset and set off down the gravel road. Sydney held on to McKenzie’s waist as Jasmine plodded along.
    McKenzie flicked the reins and patted Jasmine’s coffee-colored neck. The horse lifted her head, letting out a soft whinny.
    â€œWhich way?” McKenzie asked, coming to an intersection in the road.
    Sydney glanced in all three directions. “How about that one?” she asked, pointing to their right. “It seems to head downward. Maybe it will lead us to the lake.”
    McKenzie turned onto the narrow, copper-colored rock road. The thick growth of lush trees towered above them on both sides. She urged Jasmine onward, thankful for the shade the trees provided. The early evening sun was still hot, with only a little breeze to fan them.
    They passed large, beautiful homes set back on spacious lawns. An occasional run-down home sat empty and forgotten by its owners.
    â€œHey, look.” Sydney pointed at a sign beside the road. It read C LYDE’S W OODCRAFTING and a handpainted arrow pointed down a narrow lane.
    â€œLet’s try it,” McKenzie said, urging Jasmine forward.
    Clip-clop. Clip-clop
. Jasmine’s horseshoes pounded the rocky road. Soon McKenzie rounded a bend in the road and saw a neat woodshop next to a large, two-story brick home.
    â€œI don’t think this is the place we saw the other day,” Sydney said. “We can’t see the lake from here.”
    â€œI think you’re right, but maybe someone here knows the statue we’re talking about.” McKenzie slid off Jasmine’s back and looped the reins around a road sign.
    Before the girls reached the front porch, a woman stepped out of the house. “Do you girls want to visit the shop? I can unlock it for you.”
    McKenzie thanked the woman but told her they were looking for the house with the statue. “We’d like to talk to the person who carved it.”
    The woman raked her hand through her long bangs. “I think I know the place you’re talking about. “Go back up the lane and take a right. Then go across the bridge and take another right. I think you’ll find the house you’re looking for.”
    The girls thanked her again and headed back to Jasmine, who was munching grass beside the post. Minutes later they crossed the bridge the woman had mentioned. About a half mile farther down the road, they saw a lane leading down to a clearing near the lake.
    â€œThere’s the statue! I see it in the backyard,” Sydney exclaimed as they approached a ranch-style home.
    â€œLet’s hope somebody’s here,” McKenzie said with a flick of the reins.
    A man sitting on the front porch stood and approached the girls. His brown eyes flashed beneath a fringe of thinning white hair.
    â€œHello, I’m Bob Landers,” the man said with a smile. “How can I help you?”
    â€œI’m McKenzie, and this is my friend Sydney. We noticed your statue the other day while we were out on the lake. Do you know the name of the person who carved it?” McKenzie asked from her perch on the saddle.
    Mr. Landers’s eyes narrowed as he scratched his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I got it years ago. I think the place was called Twin Falls Crafters, but I’m thinking he either went out of business or changed the name of his place.”
    â€œWas his name Reggie Ford? Some people called him the Shara Smiles man?” McKenzie asked, stroking Jasmine’s head.
    The man shook his head. “Neither of those names sounds familiar.”
    â€œWould