The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(6)

“Are you involved in this show?” Bess asked.

A cloud briefly passed over Miss Taylor’s face before she regained her composure. “No, I’m just helping out. Tomorrow my advanced students get to observe the preperformance rehearsal and even warm up with the company.”

“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” Bess said.

Miss Taylor gave us a tight grin. “It’s a great honor . . . for them.” There was an awkward pause as we tried to think of something to say. “Do you girls mind doing me a favor?” Miss Taylor asked. “Can you put these posters for the performance around town?”

I looked at Bess and George. We didn’t have any other plans. “Sure,” we said in unison.

I took the roll of posters from Miss Taylor, and we headed back out into the cold. Before I had even finished opening the door, I heard a man’s voice shouting.

“It’s bad enough that you and your mother convinced me to let you go to dance school! But going behind my back to tour with a company? Having the family name on a ballet poster all over town? It’s the last straw!”

Tentatively I pushed open the door and saw a man yelling at what I guessed was his son. The boy was shivering in his ballet clothes, looking furious. We held back, not wanting to make the situation worse.

“Get in the car, Colin,” the man yelled. “We’re going home.”

“No!” Colin yelled back. “I have a rehearsal.” He stormed back to the theater, shouting, “I’m becoming a professional dancer. Get used to seeing my name everywhere!” He pushed past us, letting out a primal scream of rage as he went.

“We’ll see about that!” his dad screamed back. He ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked.

“I hate you!” Colin yelled from inside.

His dad kicked the ground in anger before turning and heading to his car.

“What’s up?” I asked George, noting that she looked particularly glum.

“It’s nothing. That fight just reminded me of the fight I had with my mom when I told her I didn’t want to join ballet with you and Bess. I wanted to join the robotics club. She was upset that I didn’t want to do the same things that most girls want to do.”

Bess rubbed George’s back. “I know it’s upsetting, and I’m not saying your mom or Colin’s dad handled the situation well, but their intentions were good. They just wanted to prevent their kids from being teased.”

George shrugged. “I think a parent’s job is to let their kids be who they are and to support them no matter what.”

I stopped at a light pole in front of my car, thinking this would be a good place to hang a poster. But when I unrolled one, I froze.

“Guys,” I said. “We have a bigger problem.”

“What’s going on?” Bess asked.

I held up the poster. Although it listed all the dancers’ names, including a special citation for Colin Carter as the Prince, the picture was of Maggie in an arabesque—a ballet position where you stand on one leg, your other leg in the air behind you, and your arms extended, one in front and one in back.

Only the picture had been vandalized—and Maggie’s face was violently scratched out.





CHAPTER THREE





On the Case


“OH MY GOSH!” BESS EXCLAIMED. “Are they all like that?”

I flipped through the rest. Every single one had been defaced, but the posters themselves didn’t seem to have been tampered with. Clearly someone had altered the file that had gone to the printer.

“Who would do something like this?” Bess asked.

“I can think of one person, at least,” George said drolly.

I nodded. “It does seem pretty clear that Fiona has it in for Maggie. Did you see how she smiled as Jamison was yelling at Maggie?”

“Yeah, and I noticed the daggers she gave me when I proved that Maggie made it just in the nick of time,” George added.

For a moment we were all silent. I was pretty sure we were all thinking the same thing.

George spoke up first. “I know Maggie said she didn’t want you to investigate Fiona, but whoever did this,” she said, gesturing to the poster, “seems really scary.”

George was right. The black lines completely obliterating Maggie’s face showed that the culprit must have been really angry. I know ballet is cutthroat, but this seemed personal, like it was about hurting Maggie.

“I agree,” I said. “We have to convince her to let us investigate.”

I turned toward the theater, but before I had taken two steps, Bess’s voice stopped me. “Wait. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

I turned back, my forehead wrinkled in confusion. I may be the official detective in the group, but my friends are always right by my side. They’ve never shied away from a case, especially when we think someone might be in danger. I couldn’t imagine why Bess might not want me to investigate further.

“Fiona needs to be stopped,” I said. “You heard what Maggie said in the car: without hard proof, nothing will happen to her.”

“Of course Fiona needs to be stopped,” Bess said. “I’m just wondering if we need to tell Maggie. Do you remember our ballet recitals growing up?”