The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(17)

Maggie nodded.

“Well, Veronica would be the first to tell you that being a professional dancer is no picnic. It’s hard work, and you can never make excuses. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?” he said.

Sebastian looked up from the piano and glared at Jamison. He didn’t say anything.

“Isn’t that right, Sebastian?” Jamison repeated. “Tell her how hard it is to be a professional dancer.”

“It’s really hard,” he said quietly, never taking his eyes off Jamison. He looked furious.

“Sebastian’s reacting really strongly,” I observed to George.

“Maybe Bess is right. Maybe he’s in love with Maggie,” George said.

“And do professionals tolerate people making excuses?” Jamison continued to interrogate Sebastian.

The pianist shook his head.

“I can’t hear you!” he yelled.

“No,” Sebastian hissed.

“Thank you,” Jamison said before turning back to Maggie. “I don’t care what’s going on with you. Suck it up and dance this part like I know you are capable of.”

Maggie nodded. But instead of looking completely humiliated and downtrodden, she looked determined . . . and even inspired.

Something occurred to me, and I turned to George. “Do you think Jamison is the one harassing Maggie, as some sort of tough-love, inspirational thing?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” George answered. “Would he risk that when this performance means as much to him as it does to Maggie?”

I shrugged. It did seem like an odd choice, but Jamison was nothing if not eccentric. I gazed at the stage. “Look, though,” I said. “Maggie is dancing better.”

Bess came up behind us. “Guys,” she whispered urgently, “I found something.”

“What?” I asked.

She held out her phone and showed a picture of Colin drinking water in the lobby.

“How is this a clue?” I asked.

Bess took back the phone and zoomed in. “Look at his arms,” she insisted.

I took the phone back and saw that Colin’s arms were covered in cuts. There were bandages over some of them.

“I didn’t notice any cuts on his arms when we saw him fighting with his dad yesterday, did you?” Bess asked.

I shook my head.

“Those definitely look like they could have come from a broken mirror,” George said. “Like the one in Maggie’s dressing room.”

“They do,” I agreed. “But what would Colin have against Maggie? Why wouldn’t he want her to dance?”

“Maybe if he can’t, she can’t?” George suggested.

“But he’s here,” I pointed out. “He’s dancing.”

“That doesn’t matter. He definitely stays on the suspect list,” Bess said.

“So does Fiona,” I said. I showed them the receipt. “And I heard Nicole and Evelyn talking about wanting to take Maggie down a notch.”

“Plus, now you have this Jamison theory,” George said. Bess looked at us, confused, and we quickly explained.

“Well, if it’s him, then we know it’s for Maggie’s own good and we don’t have to worry about her,” George said.

“But if it’s not him . . . ,” Bess began.

I looked at the time on Bess’s phone and sighed. “We have only six hours until curtain and I’m still adding suspects. I need to be eliminating them,” I lamented.

“How can we do that?” George asked.

I thought for a moment. Ordinarily, I would follow each clue and see where it led, methodically crossing out suspects, but I didn’t have time for that.

“We need to set a trap,” I announced.





CHAPTER EIGHT





Proof


DURING THE NEXT BREAK, GEORGE, Bess, and I cornered Maggie and filled her in on our plan.

“Are you sure about this?” Maggie asked nervously.

I nodded. “Everyone in the company knows that nerves are your greatest weakness. The culprit is probably preying on that,” I said.

Maggie swallowed hard and averted her eyes.

I realized I had said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay,” Maggie said. “You’re not saying anything I don’t know. Nerves have been my Achilles’ heel since the first time I strapped on a pair of shoes. Once the lights go down, the curtain goes up, and I set foot on that stage, I’m fine. All the butterflies in my stomach, the nausea, the racing heart, go away in an instant. But right before I go onstage, it’s a different story. It would be okay, except to get hired as a professional, they want to know that you’re going to be able to dance. If you seem nervous, they don’t want to hire you.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “There are some cases that I’m not a hundred percent sure I can solve, but I have to act like I am. Otherwise my client won’t trust me.”

“Exactly,” Maggie agreed.

“Do you have a lucky charm or anything?”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “When I got into the academy, my mom gave me a pair of Moira Devereux’s shoes—the ones she wore when she debuted on the Covent Garden stage in London. She’s one of the best ballet dancers in the world. I keep them with me at all times to remind me what I want to achieve.”