The Nutcracker Ballet Mystery (14 page)

was stupid of me, and when Shana almost fell, well, I

guess I realized how foolish I’d been.”

He glanced up at Shana, his gaze apologetic. “I

know now that you were only trying to help make The

Nutcracker a success. You weren’t trying to hurt me.”

“What about Darci?” Nancy prompted.

“Well, Darci was really bent out of shape—big

time,” Lawrence continued. “She’d convinced herself

that the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy would be hers.

And”—his cheeks flushed—“she convinced herself that

we had some kind of relationship. When I saw how

overboard Darci was going, and how she was ruining

the production for everyone, well, I tried to talk some

sense into her.”

Nancy nodded. “But she wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh, she listened,” Lawrence said, running a hand

through his blond hair. “She even admitted that she

filled the snow machine with soap flakes and turned it

on. She thought it would just mess things up. When

she heard that Madame fell, she got pretty scared.”

“And, uh, what about you and Darci?” Shana asked,

stammering. Nancy saw a deep blush creep up the

dancer’s cheeks.

“Last night, before the gala, I told her we were just

good friends,” Lawrence explained, his eyes on Shana.

“I guess Darci thought otherwise. She didn’t take it

real well.”

Madame sighed and sat down on her office chair. “I

feel this is all my fault. If only I’d noticed that everyone

was so upset, I could have talked to Darci.”

Nancy frowned and began pacing the short distance

across the office. “No, it’s not your fault, Madame. You

had a lot on your mind. Someone made sure you had a

lot on your mind. The fire, the ruined costumes, the

stolen ornaments, Shana’s near-accidents, the canceled

programs.” Halting in front of Lawrence, she gave him

a stern look. “So what you’re saying is, except for the

snow machine, nothing else was Darci’s fault.”

Lawrence nodded. “That’s the truth.”

“Then we’ll have to start working together to find

out who’s responsible for all of this.” Nancy then told

Shana,

Madame,

and

Lawrence

about

the

snowmobiler.

Lawrence whistled. “Wow. Someone means

business.”

“Actually, I think there are two people involved,”

Nancy said to Lawrence. “Which was another reason I

suspected you and Darci.”

Madame threw up her hands. “Maybe we should

just cancel the whole production. Then no one will get

hurt.”

Nancy shook her head. “That’s exactly what the

culprits want.”

“What’s going on here?” a shrill voice cut in from

the office door. All heads swung in that direction.

Darci was standing in the doorway, looking from face

to face with a stunned expression.

Then her gaze rested on Lawrence. “You told them,

didn’t you?” she accused. Tears started to spill down

her cheeks. “Well, I hate you. I hate all of you!” She

spun around, but Shana rushed over and grabbed her

sister’s arm.

“Darci, stop. There’s been enough anger and

jealousy. Lawrence had to tell us everything. We had to

know that the two of you weren’t involved in all the

terrible things that have been happening here.”

“But I was involved,” Darci sobbed. “I didn’t mean

to hurt anyone. It’s just that . . . I was so mad at

everyone. And I thought no one cared about me.”

“There, there.” Madame pulled a tissue out of her

pocket and advanced on the two sisters. “I don’t blame

you, Darci. If it had happened to me, I would have

been upset, too.”

Nancy remembered Madame’s story about Grace

Turner. If only they could get that age progression

back this afternoon! She had a feeling the old photo

held a very important clue.

Darci blew her nose loudly, and Shana put her arm

around her sister’s shoulders. “Feeling better?” Shana

asked. Darci nodded.

“I know this is a little late,” Madame said to Darci, a

twinkle in her eye. “But since you know the dances

already, how would you like to be the Sugar Plum Fairy

in one of the matinees? That is, if it’s all right with you,

Shana,” she added quickly.

Both girls nodded. Then Darci hugged Madame.

“I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

“No trouble, dear.” Madame smoothed the younger

sister’s auburn hair.

Lawrence let out a deep breath. “Well, now that

that’s been resolved, what’s the next step?” He looked

at Nancy.

“Get back to work on The Nutcracker,” Nancy

answered. “Make sure it’s the best production the

dance school has ever put on. But,” she warned, “don’t

forget—we’re all in danger.”

The next day, Monday, Nancy spent a lazy morning

at home. She’d already called the dance school to make

sure that nothing strange was going on. She passed the

time by reading the newspaper and eating a leisurely

breakfast.

But as the morning wore on, Nancy began to grow

anxious. She was eager to get a look at the results of the

age progression. Chief McGinnis laughed after she’d

called him a second time.

“It’ll be ready in an hour,” he assured her. “The

technician will leave it at the front desk.”

Nancy phoned Bess and George, then ate a quick

lunch. By the time she’d picked up her two friends and

parked in front of the police station, exactly one hour

had gone by. Once inside the station, the girls went

straight to the desk.

“We’re here to pick up a photograph,” Nancy told

the sergeant on duty.

“You must be Nancy Drew.” He picked up an eight-

by-ten-inch manila envelope and handed it to Nancy.

“Hurry and open it, Nancy,” Bess urged.

Nancy pulled out two photographs and laid them

side-by-side on the sergeant’s desk. One was a blowup

of Grace Turner from thirty-five years ago. The other

was the computer’s age progression.

Silently, the three girls studied the now older-

looking woman. The computer had given her permed

gray hair, thinner cheeks, and wrinkles under her eyes.

“What do you think?” George asked.

Nancy frowned. “The older Grace Turner looks

quite a bit like the younger one. It doesn’t remind me

of anybody, but then, our culprit could be using a

disguise now.”

Then Nancy had an idea. Excitedly, she turned to

the desk sergeant and asked him for a pencil.

“Let’s try something,” she said. Quickly, she began

drawing on the photograph. She added glasses, wispy

strands of hair, and bags under the eyes.

Bess leaned forward and peered down at the now

enhanced photo. “Oh, no!” she gasped a second later.

“It looks like Mrs. Wolaski.”

“I’m afraid so, Bess,” Nancy said. “There’s a very

good chance that Mrs. Wolaski is also Grace Turner—

the only enemy Madame Dugrand has ever had!”

“Wait a minute.” Bess frowned in confusion. “Mrs.

Wolaski is really Grace Turner? That’s crazy. Mrs.

Wolaski is about seventy years old. And Grace Turner

should be the same age as Madame Dugrand.”

Nancy nodded. “Pretty clever disguise, huh?”

“So it’s all an act,” George said, nodding. “The limp,

the cane, the hunched shoulders, how upset she was

when Shana’s costume was slashed.”

Bess shook her head in bewilderment. “No way!

Mrs. Wolaski slaved over that costume. She wouldn’t

have deliberately ruined it.”

“Unless she thought it would take suspicion off her,”

Nancy explained. “Remember, she knew we’d found

that photo. And I bet she was listening in the hall when

I made the connection between Grace Turner and the

initials on the handkerchief. She must have figured that

someone would recognize her sooner or later.”

“We’d better get back to the school and warn

Madame Dugrand,” George said.

Nancy nodded. “The faster the better.”

When the girls reached the dance academy, they

hurried straight to Madame’s office.

The directress looked up when they knocked on the

door. “Everything is falling into place now, thanks to

you girls,” she said with a smile. “The programs are

here. Darci and Lawrence are rehearsing for the

matinee, and Mrs. Wolaski managed to fix Shana’s

costume.” Then she noticed the girls’ crestfallen faces.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Nancy told

her. “Take a look at this.” Bess pulled the two photos

out of the manila envelope and laid them on the desk.

“I had your old photo age-progressed,” Nancy

explained. “There’s Grace Turner thirty years ago . . .

and here she is now.”

“But this looks like . . . It couldn’t be . . .” Madame

Dugrand tilted her head to look up at Nancy.

“Gertrude Wolaski?”

George, Bess, and Nancy all nodded. Her brow

furrowed, Madame again studied the pictures. “So

Grace really did come back to haunt me. After all this

time. She really must have hated me that much.” The

directress sighed. “And I thought Gertrude

volunteered to sew costumes because she loved ballet.

How sad to think she was just waiting for a chance to

get revenge.”

“Where is she now?” Nancy asked.

“She’s downstairs fitting Shana with her new

costume,” Madame Dugrand replied.

“Shana’s alone with her?” Nancy asked, her voice

rising.

“Why, yes. She went down about a half hour ago.

Oh, I hope nothing’s happened.”

“Me, too,” Nancy said in a grim voice. Quickly, she

led the way out of Madame’s office and down the hall

to the basement door. But when the four of them

reached the wardrobe room, they found it deserted.

“Oh, no!” Madame looked around the empty room.

“What could have happened? I know they were down

here half an hour ago.”

Nancy squeezed the directress’s hand. “Let’s not

panic yet,” she said reassuringly. “Maybe they’re in one

of the studios.”

Back upstairs, the girls and Madame spread out.

First Nancy checked studio A. Lawrence and Darci

were working on the pas de deux.

“Now what’s wrong?” Lawrence muttered when

Nancy waved him over. “It’s bad enough that Roger,

our so-called piano player, didn’t show up.”

But when Lawrence and Darci heard Shana was

missing, they immediately volunteered to help. Pulling

on their sweats and sneakers, they followed Nancy into

the hall. As they rushed down to the next studio, Nancy

explained about the photo and why they were looking

for Mrs. Wolaski.

Ten minutes later, everyone had gathered in

Madame’s office. The entire building had been

searched, but there was no sign of Shana or Mrs.

Wolaski.

“Did Shana drive today?” Nancy asked.

Madame nodded. “But I picked up Gertrude at her

house.”

“Then that’s where we’ll look next.” After Madame

gave her Mrs. Wolaski’s address, Nancy quickly put on

her coat and headed outside. Lawrence, George, and

Bess followed. Darci and Madame stayed behind to

call the Edwardses’ house, just to make sure Shana

hadn’t been picked up by someone.

But when Nancy checked the parking lot, Shana’s

beat-up Ford was in its usual place beside Madame

Dugrand’s small foreign car.

“Nancy, take a look at this!” George called from the

corner of the building. Nancy, Bess, and Lawrence ran

toward her through the snow. George held up a gold

bracelet that glistened in the sun.

“It’s Shana’s!” Lawrence exclaimed. “She never takes

it off. Not even for rehearsal. She must have dropped it

on purpose.”

“Stay here a minute,” Nancy told the others as she

hurried around the side of the building. She didn’t

want anyone accidentally messing up the footprints.

Nancy slowly walked forward following the same

path the thief had taken the day the photo had been

stolen. Studying the tracks, she found her own

footprints from Sunday, then the pointy-toed prints.

Mixed in with the two was a third pair of prints, which

moved straight ahead. Besides them, a smaller set of

prints seemed to zigzag back and forth.

Nancy bent down to take a closer look. At one point,

the third set of footprints turned into slide marks in the

snow, as if someone had been dragged.