The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(13)

“Look, I’m sorry someone left you a mean note and hurt your feelings,” he said, irritated, “but I need to put in this order for that big group over there.” He pointed to a large party in the middle of the room. “They order a lot more food and give me a much bigger tip than you dancers with your kale salads and waters.”

“No one at our table ordered a kale salad,” I said.

“Sorry, I must have mixed up the tables of ballet dancers,” Chuck said sarcastically.

“There was another table with a dancer?” I asked.

“Well, she was wearing the same sweatshirt as your friend that said ‘Sleeping Beauty Ballet Regional Tour’ on it, so I assume so. She was at a table with her father,” Chuck said.

Adrenaline surged through my body as I quickly scanned the restaurant for another dancer. It was a cavernous space, with high-backed booths, which made it impossible to see who was sitting at half the tables.

“Where are they?” I asked Chuck urgently.

“At this point, I’m pretty sure I’ve gone above and beyond good customer service,” Chuck said, his eyebrows arching pointedly.

“We’ll tip twenty-five percent,” I said. “That’s well above the standard.”

“Thirty percent,” Chuck countered.

I took a deep breath. A large part of me wanted to tell this guy to kiss off into the sunset, but I couldn’t afford to lose a case because I was too proud to negotiate with an annoying waiter.

“Fine,” I said.

“They’re right over there,” he said, pointing to an empty table.

“Where?” I asked, louder than I meant to. A few of the tables closest to us turned to look at me, but I didn’t care.

“Oh,” Chuck said with a shrug. “I guess they left.”

I pushed past him to the back door.

“Don’t forget,” Chuck called after me. “Thirty percent!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered under my breath as I stepped into the parking lot. I wasn’t wearing my coat, and the icy air hit me like a brick wall, cutting straight through my sweater. I wrapped my arms around myself in a vain attempt to stay warm as I surveyed the parking lot.

A family—mom, dad, a girl, and a boy—was walking into the restaurant and an elderly couple was walking to their car, but I didn’t see anyone from the ballet company.

“Where’s your coat, dear?” the mom asked me. “You’re going to get sick.”

“It’s inside,” I said, thinking quickly. “The girl at the table next to me forgot her cell phone”—I held up my own phone—“so I ran out here to see if I could catch her, but I don’t see her.”

“Was the girl about your age?” the mom asked.

“Yes,” I said. “And she was with her dad.”

“Oh!” the mom said. “I think we parked right next to them. Last row, on the right. It’s a black SUV.”

“It’s a Honda CR-V,” the boy said. “That’s barely an SUV. An SUV is more like a Land Rover or a Lexus LX.”

The mom smiled at me apologetically. “Brad’s obsessed with cars.”

“Thanks for the info, Brad,” I said with a smile. “I’m going to see if I can catch her. I know what it’s like to lose a cell phone: it’s no fun!”

I hurried deeper into the parking lot, weaving my way through rows of cars. My teeth chattered and my breath fogged up the air every time I exhaled. Just as I rounded the last row, a car headed toward the exit. It was a black Honda CR-V, just as Brad had described, but it was going away from me, so I couldn’t see who was driving it, let alone the passenger.

The parking lot exit was far away from where I stood, but if I cut through the landscaping I could get there quickly. Maybe even quick enough to see who was in the car before it turned onto the street. The only obstacle was the pile of snow that had been plowed and pushed to the side, creating an eighteen-inch layer of the white stuff.

I took a deep breath and plunged my feet into the snow with a satisfying crunch. That satisfaction was short-lived as I felt the freezing water work its way into my shoes and drench my pants all the way to my knees. It took effort to lift each foot out and step again; it reminded me of running through tires in gym class, but much, much colder.

I continued on as fast as I could. Ahead of me, I saw the Honda at the exit, its left turn signal on. I could see the silhouette of what looked like a girl in the passenger seat, but because of the tinted window, I couldn’t make out her face. I checked the street. The traffic was heavy at the moment, but a few hundred feet away the light was about to change to red, which would allow the driver to turn. I didn’t have much time.

I pushed myself to move faster. In my head I could hear Ms. Brown, our PE teacher, yelling, “High knees, high knees” as I made my way through the snow. My toes were numb, and muscles I didn’t even know existed burned in my legs.

Just a few more feet and I’d be close enough to see inside. My lungs screamed in pain. Tears ran down my face from the wind. I got there right as the car turned, and managed to make out the driver’s face. It was Mike Carter! I still couldn’t see who the passenger was, though.

When I walked back into the restaurant, I must have looked like a mess. I was shivering, my cheeks were bright red and tear-streaked, and I was drenched from the knees down.