“I know what you mean,” I said. “There are some cases that I’m not a hundred percent sure I can solve, but I have to act like I am. Otherwise my client won’t trust me.”
“Exactly,” Maggie agreed.
“Do you have a lucky charm or anything?”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “When I got into the academy, my mom gave me a pair of Moira Devereux’s shoes—the ones she wore when she debuted on the Covent Garden stage in London. She’s one of the best ballet dancers in the world. I keep them with me at all times to remind me what I want to achieve.”
“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.
I pulled out my phone. NOW, I texted George.
A second later a fire alarm blared through the entire theater. Lights flashed over the theater exits. The dancers stopped in their tracks and covered their ears.
“You have GOT to be kidding me,” Jamison screamed over the ringing. “We DO NOT have time for this.” He threw down the papers he was holding. His face was bright red and a vein in his forehead pulsed in anger. I thought I had seen him mad before, but that seemed downright calm compared to the level of fury now emanating off him.
The dancers began exiting the building. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jamison yelled.
“It’s a fire alarm . . . ,” Nicole began.
“Do you smell smoke? Do you see flames? Does it feel hot in here to you?” Jamison asked.
“No,” Nicole said hesitantly.
“Then there’s no fire! This is a false alarm. You will stay and you will prepare. We open in four hours.”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe Jamison wouldn’t allow his dancers to evacuate during a fire alarm. That had to be illegal. Not to mention my trap wasn’t going to work if the theater stayed full. We needed to do something.
I scurried over to Bess. “Tell him he has to evacuate.”
“What?” she said. I couldn’t tell whether she couldn’t hear me over the blaring alarm or she couldn’t believe what I was asking.
“You have to tell him to evacuate!” I repeated, louder this time.
“Why me?”
“Because you look like you’re part of the theater staff,” I said. “He won’t listen to me dressed like this.” I indicated my leotard and tutu.
“He’ll bite my head off,” she said.
“Just stay firm.”
Bess took a deep breath and marched toward Jamison. “Sir,” she said confidently. The alarm masked the nervous quiver I was sure was in her voice.
“Yes?” Jamison asked, feigning innocence.
“The law mandates that you evacuate during a fire alarm.”
“There’s no fire. This is just an annoyance. Please go back to sweeping or whatever chore you fill your day with.”
Bess set her jaw defiantly. “If the fire department arrives and the building is not evacuated, they
will issue a fine.”
“Serves you right for having a faulty fire alarm. Imagine if it had gone off during a performance!” Jamison hissed.
Bess narrowed her eyes. “I will make sure they issue the fine directly to you personally. And I should add that it’s quite hefty.”
Jamison paused for a beat. Then, finally, “All right, everyone get your coats.” He turned to Bess. “These are dancers. Their muscles need to stay warm.”
If I hadn’t been trying to maintain a low profile, I would have jumped for joy. A sense of pride swelled through me. The first time Bess had gone undercover, she’d blushed and stuttered, and her cover had been blown in less than thirty seconds. She had come a long way since then.
As the dancers filed out of the room, I discreetly slid down between the seats and hid. The floor was cold and dirty. There are times when being a detective isn’t really glamorous.
Finally the theater was empty. Now the real waiting began. If the culprit wanted to rattle Maggie, he or she would use this opportunity to steal her lucky ballet shoes. All I needed to do was catch him or her in the act.
My back ached from being curled up under the seat. It felt like I’d been in this position for hours, but I knew it was closer to ten minutes. My dad, a famous attorney in River Heights, had taught me that willpower is never enough; you have to help yourself succeed. If I dwelled on how much I wanted to move, I’d be doomed. I started reciting the capitals of all the states in my head for distraction.
I was trying to remember the capital of South Dakota when I heard the door to the theater open. I held my breath. I couldn’t see who it was, but I didn’t dare risk being seen by popping my head up. It wouldn’t be definitive proof unless I caught the culprit holding the ballet shoes. I heard the intruder slowly tiptoe down the center aisle toward the piano bench.
Then there was a long pause. I was desperate to know what was happening, but I forced myself to wait. Finally I heard the piano bench creak loudly.
That was my cue. I sprang to my feet, my knees protesting in pain after being curled up on the floor for so long.
I spun around. Leaning over the piano bench, ballet shoes in hand, was Fiona!
CHAPTER NINE
A Surprising Discovery
“STOP RIGHT THERE,” I SAID. I knew that as soon as everyone realized there wasn’t actually a fire, they’d come streaming back into the theater.
“W-what are you doing in here?” Fiona stammered.
“Maggie asked me to investigate who was harassing her, and I just caught you in the act.”
Fiona snorted. “That’s so Maggie. You play a few pranks and she calls in a private detective. God, she is such a drama queen.”
“I’d say someone trying to ruin her opportunity to dance in front of Oscar and steal her big break warrants some extreme measures,” I said pointedly.
“You think I’m trying to dance in front of Oscar?” Fiona asked, horrified.
“Why else would you be harassing her” I asked.
“I wanted to dance some performances on this tour, so sure, I took her wig that one time and set up some fake wake-up calls, but I would die if I had to dance tonight. Oscar would eat me alive. I don’t need to read about how not talented I am!”
“Then why did you install that app on her phone that made her late? You knew Jamison was going to bench her!” I countered.
“I didn’t do that,” Fiona said. “I admit that I always enjoy seeing Jamison yell at her, but I can barely figure out how to put a filter on a photo. I wouldn’t even know what app to download to do what you’re talking about.”
Just then the door opened and dancers came pouring in, Jamison leading the way. He reminded me of the Pied Piper leading the children out of Hamelin.
“Everyone, back to your places!” he yelled. “We have wasted enough time.”
Maggie, Bess, and George rushed over to Fiona and me.
“All right!” George cheered. “Your trap worked!”
I looked at Fiona, suddenly doubtful I had caught the right somebody.
Before I could say anything, though, Maggie snatched her shoes out of Fiona’s hands. She looked so angry, I was worried she might slap Fiona.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Maggie hissed.
“I’m sorry I played some jokes on you, even though, really, you should be thanking me. You’ll be hazed way worse when you join a professional company. I toughened you up, but whatever. I swear I’m not trying to ruin your performance for Oscar tonight.”
“Then why did you sneak in here during the fire alarm to take Maggie’s lucky shoes?” I asked.
Fiona looked around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned in closer.
“I wasn’t trying to take the shoes. They were just in the way. I was trying to take this.”
She reached into the piano bench and pulled out a strip of photos, the kind taken in the photo booths that you see at amusement parks or weddings.
These photos were of Fiona and Colin. In the first one, they smiled. In the second one, they stuck their tongues out. The third, they held bunny ears over each other’s heads, and in the fourth they kissed.
Maggie’s eyebrows shot to the top of her head, and her jaw literally dropped open. “You and Colin are together?” she asked, sounding completely scandalized.
“Shh!” Fiona hissed. “No one can know! I hid the photo strip in the piano bench. I was worried that you would find it when you went to get your shoes back, so I used the fire alarm as an opportunity to take them, but then your hired goon confronted me.”
Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Were you at Hugo’s last night with Colin’s dad?” I asked.
Fiona nodded. “But Colin wasn’t.” She looked at Maggie. “Please don’t be mad at Colin,” she said.
“Why would I be mad at Colin?” Maggie asked. “I like Colin.”
“I know,” Fiona said. “And he likes you. I don’t even think it was really personal. He was just lashing out. You know how he gets when he’s angry, and yesterday after his dad showed up and threatened to never let him dance again, he was so upset.” Fiona looked down at the ground, fighting back tears. “He was saying how it wasn’t fair. All your dreams were coming true with Oscar coming to the performance and everything, and all his dreams were being ruined.”
It took a second to click into place, but I realized what she was saying. “Colin destroyed Maggie’s dressing room, didn’t he?” I asked.
Fiona nodded miserably. “It was so scary.”
“I don’t get it,” Maggie asked. “I thought Colin and I were friends.”
“You are. He was out of control. Your dressing room was just in the wrong place. I knew I had to do something to try to help him. I convinced his dad to meet for dinner. I wanted to persuade him to come to the show tonight. I thought if he saw Colin dance, he would realize how good Colin is, and maybe he’d change his mind.”
She looked at the ground. “But I don’t think I got through to him. He just kept saying how embarrassing it was to see his son in tights.”
She took a deep breath. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She clearly cared a lot about Colin. I looked over at Maggie, whose face had softened.
“I know Colin’s really sorry about your dressing room. He’s planning on writing you a letter of apology, promising to pay for the damage.”
Maggie nodded, obviously still trying to make sense of everything that Fiona had just said.
Fiona looked up at the stage. “Your scene is next. You’d better get to the wings before Jamison flips his lid.”
“You’re right,” Maggie said. She hurried backstage, and Fiona followed her.
George, Bess, and I sat in some nearby seats.
“So,” George said, “case closed? Whatever Fiona didn’t do was Colin acting out because of his dad?”
I thought about it. It certainly explained some of what had happened to Maggie, but not all of it. And, more importantly, it didn’t feel ri
ght. I had learned to trust my instincts when it came to solving mysteries. Usually everything fit together, and there were no more niggling doubts in the back of my mind. I didn’t have that feeling now. Colin destroying Maggie’s room had been impulsive and irrational. Everything else that happened to Maggie—that is, other than the pranks Fiona had confessed to—had been planned out; there seemed to be a purpose behind it.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maggie’s phone being tampered with and the poster being vandalized all happened before Colin was confronted by his dad.”
“Yeah,” George said, “but it’s not like Mike was ever supportive. I bet Colin’s been jealous of Maggie and the support she gets for a long time.”
I shook my head. “It just seems like a stretch. Besides, Colin wasn’t even at the restaurant last night, so he couldn’t have left the note.”
“But Mike could have,” George insisted.
“George,” I said, “you’re letting your personal dislike of Mike cloud your judgment. Mike seems really focused on Colin, and Fiona just confirmed that he hasn’t even seen the show. I doubt he knows how important Maggie’s role is.”
“I guess,” George said begrudgingly.
“He’s still guilty of being a bad father,” I said.
“Yeah,” George said.
We sat in silence for a moment. “I just . . . ,” I started, trying to figure out how to articulate my thoughts. “I feel like we’re not thinking about this in the right way.”
“What do you mean?” Bess asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “In most cases, we don’t have enough information, and it’s a matter of collecting more clues in order for it to all make sense.”
“But you don’t feel that way about this one?” Bess asked.
I shook my head. “No. It feels like we have all the information we need, but we’re not looking at it from the right angle. Like we have it upside down or sideways or something,” I said.
“Okay,” Bess said. “Why don’t we go over everything we know and then see if we can make sense of it?”