The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(24)

“If that note was a warning . . . ,” Bess said.

“Then Maggie’s not the target,” George completed for her.

“Exactly!” I said. “Someone is trying to ruin the entire show, not just Maggie’s performance. Maggie’s just a pawn.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN





Recalculating


“IF THE CULPRIT ISN’T GOING after Maggie, then who is the target?” Bess asked.

“Who else suffers if the show is a disaster in front of Oscar LeVigne?” I asked.

“Jamison?” George asked.

“Exactly,” I said. “Sebastian said it last night. Maggie will have other shots—so will the rest of the dancers—but Jamison’s getting older. If he doesn’t break through soon, he’ll never make it as a choreographer.”

“It makes sense,” George agreed. “Sebastian said that if Maggie doesn’t dance tonight, the show will be a catastrophe.”

“So, who would want to sabotage Jamison?” I asked.

“Everyone in the company,” George said, half-jokingly.

“It’s true,” Bess said. “We’ve seen him insult practically everyone and we’ve only been around for two days. Imagine listening to that every day on this tour.”

“Or longer,” George said. “He teaches at the academy, where a lot of these dancers are students. Some of them have heard him yelling for years.”

“That leaves a lot of suspects, and the theater opens in two hours. What are we going to do?” asked Bess.

I looked at her. I knew what we had to do, but my friends weren’t going to like it.



A few minutes later, I knocked on Jamison’s office door.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” George asked me for the third time in five minutes.

“It’s all we can do,” I said. “He’s the only one who might have an idea who’s behind this.”

The door flew open. As soon as Jamison saw us, he rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to get out.”

“This is personal,” I said. “Whoever is sabotaging Maggie wants you to fail. You’re the real target for all of it.”

Jamison shook his head. “Let’s say I go along with your theory that what’s been happening to Maggie is more than hazing. Why would anyone want me to fail?”

“Seriously?” George asked.

“You abuse people all day, telling them they’re terrible at the thing they love the most, and it’s never occurred to you that someone might want revenge?” Bess asked indignantly.

“You think what I do is abuse?” Jamison said, laughing.

“Yes,” George said.

Jamison turned to me. “How did you feel when I questioned your abilities as a detective, when I talked down to you and needled you?”

“Angry,” I admitted.

“And what else?”

I thought back to the fire I’d felt rise inside of me when he had called me a kid playing at detective. “I wanted to prove you wrong.”

Jamison nodded. “I inspire greatness. Do you know what it takes to be great?” he asked.

“Practice,” I said.

“Determination,” George said.

“Discipline,” Bess added.

“Yes, all of those,” Jamison said. “And how do you keep pushing, keep going when you’re tired? It’s not by someone telling you you’re doing well; it’s by someone telling you that you can do better.”

I understood what he was saying, and I knew that there was some truth to it. I had seen Maggie dance better after he had laid into her. I had even felt my own passion rise in the face of his dismissiveness, but I still wasn’t convinced.

Bess wasn’t either. “There have to be other ways to help besides telling them how awful they are.”

Jamison shrugged. “I’ve turned out a lot of great dancers. When you’ve coached dozens of people to the apex of their abilities, we’ll talk again about methodology.”

“But what if someone with the potential to be the best can’t take that kind of pressure and quits?” I asked.

A cloud passed over Jamison’s face, but he quickly regained his composure. “Then that person could never truly be great, no matter what you thought, no matter how much you believed in them.”

“Well, someone doesn’t agree with your methods,” I said, “and they’re sabotaging your show. They started by harassing Maggie because they knew that without her the performance would flop. And when that didn’t work, they tried to shut down the entire production by causing the scenery to fall. We don’t know what else they’re planning, but odds are it’s something!”

“What do you want me to do?” Jamison asked. “Go around apologizing to everyone for making them feel bad?”

“It’s probably too late for that,” I said, “but it’s not a bad idea. I think you should delay the show. Even if it’s only by an hour, I would have a better shot of figuring out who did this.”

“I can’t do that. Oscar won’t wait an hour for a show to start. If for some reason he did decide to wait, he’d be so prejudiced against the show it wouldn’t matter how good it is; he’d still write it off as unprofessional.”