The Nutcracker Ballet Mystery (12 page)

around.”

“That’s for sure,” George agreed. As she walked over

to get her own skis, George asked Nancy, “Who do you

think it was? And why was he or she after us?”

Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think we’d

better get back and alert the park rangers. If it’s some

psycho, they’ll want to know about it.”

“And if he really was after us?” Bess asked.

“Then we should definitely be somewhere much

safer,” Nancy said in a grim voice.

“I bet that’s the snowmobile the rental shop

reported stolen,” the park ranger said when the girls

made their report. “Someone swiped it from a young

couple who’d left it running while they got something

out of their car. Sometimes it happens. Usually it’s just

kids out for a joyride.”

“This wasn’t someone joyriding,” Nancy said. “The

person was trying to run us down.”

The ranger shook his head as he swung his legs from

behind his desk. His office was in a big log building. In

one corner of the building, a concession stand rented

ski equipment. In another corner was a small cafe.

Several couches were scattered around a roaring fire.

Bess was sitting on the stone hearth, trying to get

warm.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the ranger said.

“Usually, the only trouble snowmobiles cause is

messed-up trails. We’ve never had someone report a

snowmobiler going after them.”

“Did the couple get a look at the person?” George

asked.

The ranger shrugged. “Not a close one. They did say

that he or she was not very tall and was wearing a ski

mask and a green jacket.”

Nancy and George exchanged glances. Lawrence

was quite tall, so that ruled him out.

“We found it!” a deep voice said behind Nancy. A

younger park ranger wearing a heavy parka strode into

the office. “That snowmobile you described was

abandoned at the edge of the park.”

“Near a road?” Nancy asked.

The ranger nodded. “Either the thief had a car

parked there or someone picked the person up.”

“Oh, great,” George grumbled. “Now we’ll never

know who did it.”

Nancy stood up. “Well, thanks for all your help.”

“And we’re sorry you were inconvenienced,” the

older ranger said. After shaking hands with him, the

girls joined Bess near the fire.

“Well?” Bess looked expectantly at her two friends.

Nancy let out a deep sigh. “The person got clean

away. And we still don’t even know if it was a man or a

woman.”

“Let’s call the Edwardses’ house and find out where

Darci was this morning,” George suggested. Digging

through her coat pocket, she pulled out a quarter.

“Good idea.” Nancy went over to a pay phone near

the concession stand and dialed the Edwardses’

number. Michelle answered on the second ring.

“Darci?” the young girl said, sounding surprised

when Nancy asked for her sister. “Um, I think she’s still

asleep. My dad said we shouldn’t bother her, since she

felt so rotten last night.”

“Could you call her, please?” Nancy asked. “Tell her

Nancy Drew’s on the phone.”

Five minutes later, Michelle came back on the line.

“She wouldn’t open her door. She said to tell you to go

jump in a lake.”

“Mmmm.” Nancy wasn’t surprised. “Well, thanks

anyway, Michelle.”

When Nancy hung up, George and Bess looked at

her expectantly. “Well?” they chorused.

“Darci said I should go jump in a lake,” Nancy

repeated.

“At least that proves she’s home,” George pointed

out.

“Except Michelle said she wouldn’t open the door.

Maybe Darci had just sneaked back into the house.”

“That’s possible,” Bess said. “The Edwards live in a

ranch house, and Darci’s bedroom is in the back. I

remember from when I went to visit Shana years ago.

Lawrence could’ve picked Darci up on the road and

brought her home.”

Nancy nodded. “That’s one possibility. The other is

that we’re still on the track of the wrong person.”

Scooping up her gloves and hat, Nancy started out to

the parking lot. “I think we need to change clothes and

do some more snooping around at the dance academy.

Maybe I’ve overlooked something important.”

The dance school parking lot was deserted except

for Madame’s small foreign car and the school van.

“Oh, good,” Bess said from the passenger seat.

“Maybe Mrs. Wolaski went home. I’m just not in the

mood for pinning and hemming.”

“So what’s our reason for being here?” George asked

Nancy as they got out of the car. “What are we going to

tell Madame?”

Nancy held up two small cans. “We’ll tell her the

truth. We’re going to paint candy cane stripes on the

pillars.”

Bess groaned. “Suddenly, hemming sounds fun.”

George and Nancy laughed as they went up the

steps, through the front entrance, and into the hall.

Madame’s office door was shut. When they stopped in

front of it, the girls could hear someone moving around

the room.

“She must be working,” Bess said, knocking lightly

on the door. “There aren’t any classes till two today,

but she’s probably here already. Madame?” she called.

“It’s Bess. Nancy, George, and I are going to be

working in the prop room.”

Bess knocked again, but there was no answer. The

sounds had stopped. She gave Nancy a worried look.

“Do you think everything’s okay?”

Nancy turned the door knob. It was locked.

“Madame?” she called loudly. “Are you all right?”

“Listen.” George hushed them.

Nancy held her breath. Inside the office, she could

hear a faint scraping sound. “Someone’s opening the

office window,” Nancy whispered.

Spinning around, she dashed down the hall and

pushed open one of the double doors in the back of the

building. It swung open an inch, then clunked to a

stop.

“What’s the matter?” George asked.

Nancy peered through the inch-wide opening. “The

doors won’t budge. Someone stuck a pole in the

handles. Whoever was in Madame’s office is getting

away!”

“What’s going on here?” a voice called from down

the hallway. Madame Dugrand and Mrs. Wolaski were

standing on the top of the basement steps.

“We heard someone in your office,” Bess explained.

“But the door was locked.”

“And whoever it was jumped out the window, then

barricaded the back door,” Nancy added.

“What are you talking about?” Madame strode down

the hallway, a key in her hand. “My door shouldn’t be

locked.” Unable to keep up, Mrs. Wolaski hobbled a

few steps behind the directress.

Inserting the key into the lock, Madame swung the

door open and gasped. Drawers had been pulled out

and dumped. Files and papers were scattered across

the floor.

Stepping into the office, Nancy glanced at the front

window. It was wide open. She dashed to the window

and peered out. She could see footprints leading

through the snow and around to the back of the

building. “I’m going after our culprit,” Nancy said.

“Give me a boost, George.”

Placing a hand under Nancy’s knee, George lifted

her friend onto the window sill. Nancy slid through,

swung her legs around, and plopped into the snow.

Then she raced to the back of the building.

But she was too late. The footprints led to car tracks,

which turned off onto the dry road. Nancy had lost the

culprit again.

Nancy clenched her fists in frustration. Then she

bent down to inspect the footprints. They had the same

pointy toes as the ones from last night.

Turning, Nancy retraced her steps, keeping her eyes

trained on the ground in case the person had left

another clue. Something glinted in the snow, catching

her eye. Nancy immediately picked it up. It was a shard

of glass.

She stuck it carefully in her coat pocket, then went

up to the double doors in the back of the building. As

she had guessed, a broom handle was stuck in the two

door handles. The intruder had obviously been

prepared, Nancy thought, so the break-in had

definitely been planned. But by whom? And why?

When Nancy returned to Madame Dugrand’s office,

the directress, Bess, George, and Mrs. Wolaski were

cleaning up.

“Is anything missing?” Nancy asked quickly.

Madame shook her head. “That’s what’s so strange,”

she said. “So far, nothing seems to have been taken. It

appears that this is just another attempt to mess up the

production.”

“Wait a minute,” Bess said. She was standing next to

the desk, hanging up the framed photos that had been

knocked to the floor. Stepping back, she surveyed the

wall. “Didn’t you have five pictures, Madame? Four on

the outside and one in the middle? I’ve looked

everywhere, but I can only find four.”

“Hmmm.” Madame moved around the desk to stand

next to Bess. “You’re right. But why would someone

take a picture?”

Nancy pulled out the shard of glass from her pocket.

“That’s what this must be from,” she said. “The glass

covering the picture. Look, there are a few more pieces

of glass on the floor below that wall,” she added,

pointing. “Whoever took the picture must have

dropped it, and the glass broke.”

“By why would someone take one of those old

photos?” Mrs. Wolaski asked. The elderly wardrobe

mistress had slumped into the office chair to rest her

feet.

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied in

a puzzled voice. “But the picture must have been

stolen because it contained some kind of clue.”

“What do you mean?” George asked.

Nancy looked up at the group in the office. Four

pairs of eyes were staring expectantly at her.

“I’m not sure,” Nancy said slowly. She swung her

gaze to Madame. “But if you have another copy of that

old photo, we may be able to solve our mystery!”

Everyone turned to Madame Dugrand. “We’re in

luck,” the directress replied. “I’ve saved all of my old

photos, and I do have a duplicate of the picture that

was stolen. It was from a Nutcracker production thirty-

five years ago.”

Stooping with the grace of an ex-dancer, Madame

began sorting through a number of pictures scattered

on the floor. Nancy knelt down beside her. “It looks as

though our thief was hunting for the duplicate, too,”

Nancy said. “Who would know there was another

copy?”

Madame shrugged. “Anyone, I suppose. I love to

show off my photos.”

“Here it is!” Bess announced from the other side of

the desk. “It’s the one of you in your Sugar Plum Fairy

costume.”

Madame stood up and took the picture from Bess.

George and Nancy peered over her shoulder. The

photo was of a group of dancers. A young Alicia

Dugrand—in her late teens—was in the center, poised

on her toes. The other dancers, all about the same age

as Alicia, were dressed in their snowflake costumes and

had their arms gracefully arched toward her.

“Who’s that?” Nancy pointed to a ballerina on the

far right. Instead of facing the photographer, she was

glaring at Madame with a hateful expression.

“Oh, my.” Madame sighed. “That’s poor Grace

Turner. A lovely dancer, but so competitive. She was

furious that I got to dance the part of the Sugar Plum

Fairy. She claimed I stole it from her, but I didn’t. I

had to work hard for that part.”

Hmm, Nancy thought. Madame’s tale sounded a lot

like what was happening between Darci and Shana.

Mrs. Wolaski eased herself out of her chair. “I’m so

glad you found that picture, Alicia,” she said. “But if

you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my costumes.”

“Of course, Gertrude,” Madame replied. She

seemed to be lost in thought.

“Could I see that picture again?” Nancy asked.

The directress nodded and handed the photograph

to Nancy, who studied it closely. Since it was black and

white, she couldn’t even tell what hair color Grace

Turner had.

“Whatever happened to Grace?” George asked.

Madame shrugged. “She eventually left the

company, claiming the directors were against her. I

don’t know if she dropped out of ballet altogether, but

I never heard her name mentioned again.”

“Grace Turner,” Nancy mused aloud. Something