Sebastian leaned forward so he was speaking directly to me. “Look, Nancy,” he said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure you have the knowledge to solve this case.”
“Nancy’s solved cases that are loads harder than this,” George said angrily.
“That’s not what I meant,” Sebastian said. “I’m sure you’re a great detective, but ballet is a unique and insular world. I don’t think anyone who isn’t a part of it can solve a mystery about it.”
“I disagree,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “My job as a detective is to ask questions and follow leads. As an outsider, sometimes you can spot inconsistencies that those immersed in a certain world could miss.”
Sebastian shrugged. “All I’m saying, Maggie, is that maybe it’s not worth the risk. Maybe you should let Fiona dance tomorrow.”
Maggie looked at him as if he had just sprouted a unicorn horn in the middle of his forehead. “You think I should sit out dancing for Oscar LeVigne? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“There will be other opportunities to dance for Oscar. You’re incredibly talented. What if you’re so nervous that you dance badly? Or even injure yourself? That would be worse than not dancing for him at all. Oscar gives you one shot; you don’t want to blow it.”
“I hate to admit it,” Bess said, “but I understand what he’s saying. I know you can solve this case, Nancy, but we don’t have a lot of time, and the stakes for Maggie are really high.”
“No,” Maggie said firmly. “I’m performing for Oscar tomorrow. As a dancer, my potential career is already short. I’ll be considered old by the time I’m thirty, so I can’t afford to waste any time. Besides, I earned this opportunity. I’m going to take it.”
We pulled up to the hotel and Bess parked.
“So what’s the plan?” Maggie asked as we rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. “How are you going to solve this?”
I didn’t answer right away. I could tell my hesitation was making Maggie nervous, but the truth was that I was stuck. I needed to think about my next move. I mentally ran through my day—how we’d gone from the copy shop to Mike’s hotel—and realized Sebastian was right. Ballet was its own world, and I had been outside that world. I had been chasing down clues on the periphery, but if I was going to solve this case, I needed to be in the thick of it.
“You know how Jamison scheduled a rehearsal tomorrow before the performance?” I asked.
Maggie nodded.
“Well, George, Bess, and I will be there.”
“We will?” George asked, her face turning pale.
“It’s a closed rehearsal,” Sebastian said. “That means only company members can attend.”
“Well, company members and Miss Taylor’s ballet class,” I said with a smile.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Too Many Suspects
“ALL RIGHT, NANCY,” MAGGIE SAID. “Let’s see what you remember. Show me first position.”
I slid my heels together and turned out my toes, making my feet as close to horizontal as I could. Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Not bad. Your turnout is pretty good!”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad I still have some of my old skills.”
“Okay, let’s keep going. We have a lot to cover in the next hour. Second position,” she said.
I slid my heels about a foot apart, keeping my toes turned out.
“Good. Now third.”
We kept going like that, working through standard barre warm-ups and some basic jumps and turns, including jetés, piqués, and fouettés. I wouldn’t say it was like riding a bike, where it comes back easily if you haven’t done it in a while, but I was surprised at how familiar the old movements felt. Instinctually, I could feel my arms knowing how to hold themselves and my neck moving into alignment with my spine to create an elegant line.
I had just finished a set of jumps across the floor when Bess and George walked in. I’d only been at it an hour, but I could already tell I’d be sore tomorrow.
“I hate to say it, because you know I have faith in you, Nancy, but any chance you have a plan B?” George asked with a grin. “You’re not exactly looking like a prima ballerina.”
She was wearing all black, like the stage crew members. Bess wore the same outfit that the theater ushers wore. Even she couldn’t help chuckling when she saw me in my tights and tutu, panting, sweat running down my face, my hair falling out of its bun.
“I just need Jamison and the other members to think I’m one of Miss Taylor’s students, and Miss Taylor’s students to think I’m part of the company,” I explained. “No one needs to think I’m a future star. In fact, the more I blend in, the more chances I’ll get to observe the other dancers, overhear their conversations, and keep an eye on Maggie.”
Maggie nodded. “Stay in the back, do your best to find the gaps in the light, so you’re in the dark, and just watch whoever goes before you very carefully.”
“Got it,” I said. I checked my watch. Rehearsal would officially begin in about ten minutes. “I’m going to do my hair and makeup.”
Maggie nodded. “I’m going to freshen up too.”
“Remember,” I said, “when you see me out there, you don’t know me.”
Maggie waved good-bye and headed backstage to the dressing rooms. She looked small and nervous as she walked away. I wished I could have done more to reassure her.
Bess, George, and I headed to the ladies’ room. Once inside, I locked the door.
“Bess,” I asked, “can you help me with my makeup? You’re so much better at it than I am.”
“Sure,” Bess said. “What do you want?”
“Heavy eye makeup. I’m hoping that with that and my hair in a bun, no one will recognize me.”
“Got it,” Bess said, getting to work.
“What are our marching orders?” George asked.
“Just keep your eyes open for anything that looks weird or out of place.”
“You bet,” George said. “If we see something, we’ll say something.”
“Between all of our eyes, I doubt whoever is doing this will be able to get away with it,” I said.
I could hear a bunch of girls walking through the lobby, chattering with one another. Butterflies flooded my stomach. I had gone undercover several times before, but I still became nervous every time. I guess it wasn’t that different from Maggie’s stage fright. Going undercover is a type of performance.
Bess noticed the wide-eyed, panicked look on my face.
“You can do this, Nancy,” she said.
“You definitely can,” George said.
“If I look like I’m really flailing out there, turn out the lights,” I told George.
“I’m on it,” she said with a grin.
I smiled, happy to have my friends’ support. Knowing that they had my back made me breathe a little easier.
“All done,” Bess said. I looked in the mirror. Bess had done an amazing job. I looked like a real ballet dancer, my hair pulled tightly into a bun, my eyes wide and dark. Some of my usual confidence returned.
“All right,” I said. “Eight hours until show time. Let’s find whoever’s doing this to Maggie.”
I made it through the warm-up exercises with little trouble. The nice thing was that barre warm-up is always the same whether you’re in an intermediate class or a professional. It still felt familiar, and I was able to follow along, which allowed me to observe the people around me. You really could tell a lot about a person from how they danced. For instance, Colin’s movements seemed full of rage, while Fiona moved selfishly, as if she were the only person in the room with no regard for the people around her.
As we lined up for floor work, I managed to slide in behind Evelyn and Nicole, Fiona’s friends, whom Maggie had pointed out earlier. I could hear them whispering, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I inched closer as Maggie leaped across the stage and noticed Evelyn roll her eyes.
“Someone tell her Oscar’
s not here yet,” she whispered. “Seriously, she doesn’t have to try so hard.”
“I can’t wait for someone to take her down a notch,” Nicole agreed.
“Yeah, like yesterday,” Evelyn said. Nicole smiled, and they exchanged a conspiratorial look.
Nicole was about to say something when she noticed me staring. “Ever hear of personal space?” she asked, glowering.
“Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. What happened yesterday?”
Evelyn gave me a dismissive once-over. “Nothing an amateur like you needs to worry about.”
“Is that chitchat I hear?” Jamison bellowed from below us. “If I hear another peep, we start from the top, and you can blame Chatty Kathys over there.” Nicole glared at me, as if I had been the only one talking. No one said anything for the rest of warm-ups.
Before I knew it, though, an hour had gone by. We had a ten-minute break before rehearsal officially began. Backstage I spotted Fiona by herself, anxiously digging through her purse.
“Hi,” I said as I approached her. “I’m in Miss Taylor’s class. It’s such an honor to dance with you today.”
“Thanks,” Fiona said, barely looking up from her purse.
“I was watching you during warm-ups. You have an incredible line. What part are you dancing?”
“I’m the understudy for the Lilac Fairy,” she replied.
“Understudy!?” I squawked. “I can’t believe someone as good as you is an understudy.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life isn’t fair,” she said.
“Who’s dancing instead of you?” I asked.
“Maggie Richards,” she said.
“The girl in the first row on the right?” I asked.
Fiona nodded.
“She’s good,” I said, “but not nearly as good as you.” I hoped flattery would encourage her to confide in me.
Fiona stopped looking in her purse and looked up at me. I felt a tingle of excitement.
“You’re an idiot,” she said with a withering look. “Maggie Richards is phenomenally talented. She deserves the Lilac Fairy role. What I don’t understand is why I didn’t get another role. Instead I’m stuck understudying a difficult one.”
It was all I could do to keep my mouth from hanging open in shock. I hadn’t expected Fiona to say anything complimentary about Maggie at all.
“Argh,” Fiona said, swinging her purse over her arm. “I must have left my phone in the dressing room. I have to go get it.” She spun around with such force that her bag swung and slammed into her back. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
I reached down to pick it up. I was about to call out to Fiona when something caught my eye. It was a receipt for Hugo’s. I checked the date and time stamp: last night at 7:37. Exactly when we had been there.
I hadn’t noticed Fiona when I’d searched the restaurant, so she could have been the girl Chuck, the waiter, had seen with Mike Carter, but why would Fiona be spending time with Mike?
I felt like I was taking one step forward and two steps back with every clue. Nothing was adding up.
I couldn’t think about it too long before it was time for rehearsal. Luckily, Jamison only wanted to work on select scenes, so I was able to float into the wings and avoid suspicion.
I paid close attention when Maggie danced her climactic solo. Just as I had back in Miss Taylor’s class as a kid, I became lost watching her. There was something about her dancing that wouldn’t let you look away. My reverie was disrupted when Jamison screamed, “No, no, no! You’re doing it all wrong.”
Maggie stopped abruptly. “Sorry—” she started to say, but Jamison interrupted her.
“The Lilac Fairy is supposed be light and dreamy. You’re dancing it cold and tepid. What is wrong with you today?”
“Sorry,” Maggie started again. “I’m just a little on edge.”
“What did you say?” Jamison asked. His voice was quiet, but I could tell he was on the brink of exploding. All the other dancers had their heads down, not wanting to see what was going to happen, except Nicole and Evelyn, who watched with barely contained smirks.
Maggie gulped. She seemed to know she had made a mistake. I felt somebody come up behind me and turned around to find George.
“This isn’t going to be good,” she whispered under her breath.
I nodded in agreement.
“What. Did. You. Say?” Jamison repeated, this time with even more menace in his voice.
“I’m a little on edge,” Maggie managed to squeak out. I saw her shoulders tense, as if she was literally bracing herself for what Jamison was going to do next.
“Do you want to be a professional dancer?” Jamison asked. “You do, don’t you?”
Maggie nodded nervously.
“When you’re a professional, do you know what your job is?”
Maggie nodded.
“Your job is to dance . . . PERFECTLY!” he bellowed. “It doesn’t matter what’s going on in your personal life. Your job is to dance the way every audience member in the theater—who have paid money to see you—wants to see you.”
“Yes, sir,” Maggie said, but Jamison had just gotten started.
“It doesn’t matter if your boyfriend broke up with you thirty minutes before curtain time. It doesn’t matter if your grandmother is lying in a hospital bed. It doesn’t matter if someone is threatening you or harassing you.”
George and I exchanged a look. That was a weird thing to mention. Did Jamison know something about what was happening to Maggie?
“You want to be like Veronica, right? If I recall correctly, she’s your idol.”
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.”