The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(25)

I opened my mouth to protest, but Jamison kept talking.

“And I know Oscar. If he writes this show off, then he writes off Maggie as well. Do you want that? You know what a bad review will do to her career, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Destroy it.”

“Doors open in thirty minutes.”

I was at a loss. I was tired. I was hungry. My foot hurt. I was out of leads and I was out of time.



Thirty minutes later Ned was waiting for us in the lobby with our tickets. He looked handsome wearing a tie under his sweater. My friends and I had gone back to Bess’s house and changed into more appropriate clothing. I wore a simple black dress, while Bess had chosen a gorgeous purple gown with a beaded top. She was always the most fashionable of us. George, who hated dresses, was wearing a dark-green jumpsuit Bess had convinced her to wear. Under any other circumstances, we’d be taking pictures, but none of us felt like celebrating. While we had been changing I had hoped that I would have a flash of inspiration and suddenly know who the suspect was, but I was still flummoxed. I was convinced something horrible would happen during the show and all I would be able to do was watch. Instead of looking forward to the performance, I was dreading it.

“Nancy! Are you okay?” Ned said, rushing over to me.

I quickly told him about the tree falling, and George reenacted my dive out of the way.

“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just bruised. I’ll be walking on two feet again in a few days.”

“Well, please tell me you at least caught the person responsible.”

I shook my head.

Ned kissed the top of my head gently. “Well, there’s still time,” he said. “I believe you can do this.”

All the determination that had wilted out of me earlier came roaring back. I wished Jamison had been there to see this. There were other ways to inspire people to do their best aside from yelling and screaming.

I looked up at Ned. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“Of course,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t know anything about this case, except what you told me last night on the phone, but I’m ready to do whatever you need. What’s our next step?”

I bit my thumb as I thought. “When we were investigating, we focused entirely on Maggie,” I said. “We need to rethink everything, concentrating on Jamison. Are there any assumptions we’re making?”

George tapped her foot as she thought, while Bess looked at the ceiling. My eyes wandered as I let my mind drift over everything that had happened. A short, balding man dressed in a three-piece suit strode into the theater. I knew instantly that this was Oscar LeVigne. Miss Taylor quickly came up to him and introduced herself.

Oscar gave her a once-over and then turned away. Miss Taylor hurried after him.

“Maggie Rogers, the star of the performance, got her start right here in River Heights. At my school,” she said. “You know how important the early training is. All the habits are established in the first four years.”

“Excuse me,” Oscar said. “I need to find the men’s room.” He walked away, leaving Miss Taylor blushing in embarrassment.

“We assumed the culprit was Maggie’s peer,” I said. “That it was another dancer.”

“Yeah . . . ,” George said.

“But if this is about Jamison, wouldn’t it make more sense that it would be one of his peers?”

“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you, Nancy?” Bess asked. “You know Miss Taylor couldn’t do something like this.”

“I know it seems like a long shot, but think about it, Bess,” I said. “She’s around the theater all the time. She can go anywhere she likes. She had access to the poster files.”

“But Maggie’s her star student. Maggie doing well tonight will only help her. Why would she jeopardize that?” Bess asked.

“Jealousy makes people do crazy things,” I said. “I doubt her dreams included teaching in a small town. She probably had bigger ambitions in her life too. Maybe she really wanted to be a choreographer. Sebastian said that all the teachers in the area applied to lead this tour. Maybe Miss Taylor applied, and she’s mad that Jamison was selected instead of her.”

“You don’t have proof,” Bess insisted. “You have no idea if Miss Taylor applied to choreograph this show.”

“We need to find out,” George said. “We have only a few minutes to pursue this lead.”

George was right. I made my way over to Miss Taylor. Ordinarily, I would carefully craft the tactic I was going to take, but I didn’t have time to come up with an elaborate ruse this time. I was just going to have to wing it.

“After seeing Jamison with his dancers, I’m so glad you were my ballet teacher, instead of him,” I said as I approached her.

“That man is a monster,” Miss Taylor hissed. She quickly covered her mouth. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t say that. It just drives me crazy that he’s being rewarded, even though he tortures his students. Some of us nurture our students. We should be the ones showing off what we can do to Oscar LeVigne, not the man who caused one of his students to suffer a nervous breakdown within two months of joining the New York City Ballet.”

My head shot up. Jamison and the New York City Ballet . . . I knew I had heard something about that earlier, but I couldn’t place it. Between the length of the day and the pain in my foot, my brain felt sluggish. I needed my friends to help me puzzle it out.