The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(18)

“Do the other dancers here know about them?” I asked.

“Yeah, I take them out of their case and rub them for good luck before every performance. Everyone’s seen me do it.”

I took a deep breath. “I need to use them as bait,” I said.

Maggie looked at me like I was crazy. “No,” she said firmly. “I can’t risk it. Too much has gone wrong already.”

“I’ll make sure they’re safe. I won’t let them out of my sight, but a trap is the only way to catch this culprit before the performance.”

“I don’t know . . . ,” Maggie said.

“I wouldn’t ask if there was another option,” I said. “We’re running out of time. If we don’t force the culprit’s hand, I might not be able to find out who it is before the show.”

“She’ll be careful,” Bess assured her.

“Nancy’s set traps before. She knows what she’s doing,” George added.

Maggie looked at all three of us. “You have to promise to treat them like they are made of pure gold. That’s how valuable they are to me.”

“I promise,” I said.

Maggie went off to fetch the shoes.

“No pressure,” I joked to Bess and George.

“It’s worth the risk,” Bess said.

“I know,” I said. “I just wish it hadn’t gotten to this point. I really thought this case would be easier.”

“They’re never easy,” George pointed out.

“I think that’s how you know what your ‘thing’ is,” Bess said. “You keep doing it even when it’s hard and frustrating.”

“I can see that,” I said. “No one likes every aspect of anything, so you have to find what you truly love despite the difficult parts.”

“Yeah,” George said. “Staring at a computer screen isn’t the fun part about writing code, but I still like it ten times more than I’d like the best part of, say, dancing.” She waved her arm around.

“Right,” Bess said. “We’ve seen how difficult it is to dance at Maggie’s level, but she didn’t even consider not performing tonight.”

George and I nodded.

A few seconds later, Maggie returned with the shoes.

“Here they are,” she said, holding out a pair of old red ballet shoes. “I know they don’t look like much,” she added, “but these shoes have danced some of the hardest roles on the world’s best stages. I like to think of each crease as a badge of honor.” She handed them to me. “Please, just be careful.”

“Actually,” I said, “I’m not going to set the trap. You are.”

Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do I have to do?”

I leaned over and whispered the plan into her ear.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in the back row of the theater, slouched down so that I remained out of view. I spied Fiona sitting in the front row, looking at her phone. Colin was in the aisle, stretching, and Jamison was, predictably, yelling at a group of dancers on the stage.

Maggie was in the corner, holding her shoes and tapping her foot anxiously. She looked over at me, and I nodded.

Slowly she made her way across the theater toward Sebastian, who was sitting at the piano.

Sebastian looked up at her. “Hey,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

Maggie cleared her throat. “I’m okay,” she said. Then she looked around the room before taking a deep breath. “I have a favor to ask you,” she said loudly. “You know the shoes my mother gave me? The ones that used to belong to Moira Devereux that I use for good luck?”

She was practically shouting, and her delivery seemed stiff and awkward. I grimaced. Acting natural when undercover was always harder than people thought.

“Uh, yeah?” Sebastian said, confused.

Jamison shot Maggie an irritated glance, so at least I knew he was paying attention.

“With everything that’s happened,” she continued loudly, “I don’t feel safe leaving them unattended.” She paused and looked around the room, then raised her voice even more. “You know that I can’t dance if I don’t touch them before the performance. If anything happened to them, I would be absolutely devastated.” She was speaking so loudly by this point that the whole room was staring at her.

“Have you lost your mind?” Jamison snapped. “No one cares about your silly shoes. There’s no such thing as a good-luck charm. You’d be better off without them.”

“We’ll see about that,” I murmured under my breath.

Maggie ignored Jamieson. “Can I put my shoes in your piano bench?” she asked Sebastian, still loudly. “I’d just feel safer if I knew someone was keeping an eye on them.”

“Sure,” Sebastian said, still looking confused. He stood up and Maggie opened the bench, carefully placing the shoes inside.

“Thanks,” Maggie said. “I really appreciate it. I know they’ll be safe here,” she added, pointedly looking around the room.

She headed back toward the stage and I checked out my suspects. Colin was staring at Maggie. Fiona was fixated on the bench. At first I thought Jamison didn’t care at all, but I caught him giving the piano a furtive glance. They were all still contenders.