Cutting Edge (4 page)

Releasing a deep breath, the handsome young skater bent his knee and began gliding. He started etching a figure eight into the ice with one strong, smooth, careful motion.

Nancy watched intently until harsh whispers to her left distracted her from the action on the ice. Nancy saw Yoko sitting in the stands next to the holding area with a red-haired man who was wagging a finger in her face.

“I haven't worked this hard with you for you to mess up now,” he told the skater sternly. “The way you skate is a reflection on me, remember.”

“But, Brian, I'm doing my absolute best,” Yoko protested.

Her coach glanced in Nancy's direction and saw that she was listening. “I'm leaving,” he muttered, turning back to Yoko. “I'm extremely upset with you right now, and I don't want to throw you off.”

“Honestly,” Yoko pleaded. She looked as if she might cry. “I was here at six this morning. I know you wanted me to start at five, but it's too early! I really needed the extra rest.”

Her coach shook his head, frustrated, and muttered, “See you later. Good luck.” Then he got up and walked out of the rink.

Yoko immediately got up and walked over to the holding area. Nancy could see that she was deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone.
She was obviously embarrassed by her coach's behavior.

A quick burst of applause brought Nancy's attention back to the action on the ice.

“Now, a double three, please,” Gilbert Fleischman was saying.

After that figure and one more, Boyce was asked to leave the ice while the judges assessed his performance. All nine judges walked out on the ice, inspecting the various figures. Moments later, after their scores had been calculated, Boyce Miller's score was announced. From the applause, Nancy guessed that it was extremely high for compulsories.

Nine more men followed, but none of them matched Miller's score.

“We'll begin the women's program now with the first five contestants,” Gilbert Fleischman announced when the men had finished. “Then we'll break and come back to finish the compulsory competition. Will Yoko Hamara come forward first, please?”

Yoko suddenly appeared on the ice. The worried expression was gone from her face, replaced by a wide smile. She skated to the far end of the rink, where a Zamboni machine had just resurfaced the ice.

Fully concentrating, Yoko went from one figure to the next, drawing delighted “aahs” from the small audience as she finished each one. Her total score was excellent.

Veronica Taylor was next. She smiled nervously
at Nancy as she slid onto the ice to begin her figures. Compared to the day before, when Nancy had watched her practice her freestyle program, Veronica's skating was stiff and awkward. When she was finished, she skated to the railing and waited for her score. Disappointment was expressed on her face.

After Fleischman announced Veronica's score, the girl slumped back against the railing. Nancy could see the tears in her eyes.

Suzanne Jurgens was next, followed by Ann Lasser. They were just behind Yoko, but well ahead of Veronica. Even the last skater, Terri Barton, scored above Veronica. Reading from her program, Nancy learned that Terri was only fourteen years old, one of the youngest people ever to compete at this level.

“The judges have asked for a short break,” came Kathy Soren's soft voice over the microphone when Terri was finished. “We will resume in five minutes.”

Nancy walked over to the spot outside the rink where Veronica was standing. “Last place!” Veronica muttered bitterly. “I could just scream!”

Nancy put a comforting hand on the skater's wrist. “Come on, Veronica,” she reminded her, “the compulsories are only one part of your overall score. You can still win the gold.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said smiling weakly.

Soon, Kathy Soren tapped on her microphone. “We'll resume the compulsories now with Trish O'Connell.”

Nancy watched as Trish slid across the ice, cutting perfect figures for the judges' inspection. When she was done, Judge Fleischman announced her score and Trish broke into a huge smile. She was in first. She skated over to the railing where her father and her coach, a kind-looking middle-aged woman, both wrapped their arms around her.

“Our next competitor is Elaine Devery,” Ms. Soren announced. She turned to the holding area from which the women skaters emerged. Elaine wasn't there.

“Elaine Devery?” the ASF official repeated.

People began twisting their necks for Elaine. Nancy, too.

“Ms. Devery?” The portly head judge tried this time, tapping the microphone that rested on the judges' table.

Suddenly the skater burst from the holding area, wearing a simple green skating outfit. Elaine was standing in her bare feet, with tears streaming down her face. A man wearing a blue jacket and a ribbon marked Referee hurried over to her.

“You'll have to tell the judges that I can't go on!” Elaine wailed to the referee. “Somebody stole my skates!”

S
EEING THE CRESTFALLEN
skater standing there, Nancy felt a surge of anger shoot through her. If Elaine's skates really had been stolen, that meant three rotten things had already happened to the skaters in this competition—the sabotage of Veronica, the note to frighten Veronica, and now this. “Somebody's not playing fair,” Nancy said under her breath. “And I'm going to find out who.”

“Stolen skates? Something juicy to write about,” came a raspy voice behind Nancy. “At last!”

Nancy turned and recognized a reporter she'd
first seen when the passes had been handed out. The woman was about forty, with brassy yellow dyed hair and bright red lipstick. A blue-and-red scarf was draped over the collar of her smart red suit.

When she noticed Nancy looking at her, the woman winked. “My paper loves a touch of human interest from these sports events,” she whispered before striding over to where Elaine was standing. Nancy followed, annoyed at the reporter's uncaring attitude.

Elaine still stood on the rubber mats in front of the holding area, unable to hold back her tears. Across the rink the referees and judges were conferring.

“Just think,” the blond reporter said as she whipped a pad and pencil from her shoulder bag, “all the other reporters stayed away from the compulsories because they're so boring. What luck for me!”

“Not for Elaine, though,” Nancy said vigorously. From the front row of the stands, a blond woman in her forties rushed forward to Elaine. Judging from the resemblance between the two, Nancy guessed she was Elaine's mother.

“Honey, where did you last see them?” Mrs. Devery was asking as Nancy and the reporter approached.

“They were in my locker,” Elaine said. “I saw them just a little while ago!”

“Who do you think took them, Ms. Devery?” the reporter piped up.

Elaine shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I have no idea,” she replied tearfully.

“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” the reporter probed.

Shaking her head, Elaine put her face down. “No, it never has.”

Nancy couldn't believe the reporter was hounding Elaine this way. Luckily, the referee returned a moment later.

“Okay, Elaine,” he explained, “here's what's going to happen. Mr. Fleischman has agreed to move you to the last slot on the program to give you time to get other skates.”

“Thank you,” Elaine said gratefully. When she turned to her mother, she was still panicky. “Did we bring any other skates, Mom?”

“There should be some in the trunk of the car. I'll go check,” her mother replied. She took off for the nearest exit.

“Hi, Nancy,” Elaine said quietly.

“Hi,” Nancy answered.

Before Nancy could express her concern about what was happening, the reporter moved in closer to the skater. “I've heard that a skater's skates are very special to her. Is it true, Elaine?”

“Yes,” Elaine answered.

“Can you tell me why?” the reporter probed. “My name is Fran Higgins, by the way. I write for the
Morning Sun.”

Elaine was obviously preoccupied, but she managed to answer politely. “It takes months to break in a pair of skates properly. You can't just
put oil someone else's skates or a new pair and expect to perform well in them.”

“Elaine,” Nancy broke in gently. “Could the skates possibly be misplaced? Maybe someone moved them by accident. I'd be happy to help you search for them.”

“It couldn't hurt,” the skater said dubiously, and the two girls turned toward the locker room. Elaine whispered to Nancy, “Thanks for getting me away from that reporter. I didn't know what to say. Part of me just wanted to punch her in the nose!”

When the girls passed in front of Yoko, she jumped up from the stands. “Are you going to look for your skates?” she asked. “I'll help.”

“Thanks. I sure hope my mom finds my old skates. Of course, they're practically falling apart,” Elaine lamented on the way down the ramp to the lower level. “I haven't had the blades sharpened in ages, either. But I suppose someone can do them here. They'll be better than nothing, and I can perform in them at least.”

The three girls turned into the women's locker room, and Elaine marched up to an open locker. “They were right in here,” she said, pointing at the empty space. “The door locks automatically. It's a digital combination lock.”

“So I see,” Nancy said, examining the lock. “Did you program in the combination yourself?”

“No,” Elaine answered, “The federation gave it to me.” She leaned over to the adjoining locker, punched in four digits, and opened the
door. “My costumes are all in this locker, and they're fine.”

“Elaine, do you know anyone who might have known the combination?” Nancy asked.

The skater shook her head helplessly. “No, I don't,” she answered. “Somebody could have watched me punching in the numbers, I guess.”

“That would probably be another skater,” Nancy pointed out. “No one else could get close enough to watch without your getting suspicious.”

Just then Elaine's mother appeared at the locker room entrance, holding a pair of scuffed skates. “Success! You'll do just fine in these, Elaine,” she announced cheerfully. “I'm sure of it.” Her worried expression belied her words.

Over the intercom the announcer read another skater's score. It was below average.

“I'd better hurry,” Elaine said nervously. “I could be disqualified for lateness. I wish Tess were here.”

“Tess?” Nancy questioned.

“Yes, Tess Elkart, my coach. She's getting over the flu.”

Turning to her daughter, Mrs. Devery said, “But I know what Tess would say right now. You can cut fine figures in your sleep. You've done them a thousand times before, and on those very skates. You can do them now!”

“Thanks, Mom,” Elaine said as she laced up her second skate. Soon she was on her feet, ready to go back upstairs. “Well, it's now or never.”

When they arrived at the holding area, Nancy quietly wished Elaine good luck. Then the skater made her way onto the ice. As she took up her starting position, she was concentrated and determined.

Despite her best effort, however, her performance was off. In the first two figures, she lost her balance twice. During her third figure, chipped ice flew up from the back of one skate—a sign that the figure she was cutting would be jagged and rough, not the smooth, fine line that she'd need to score high.

When her score was announced, the worst was confirmed. Elaine was in last place.

From her position near the railing, Nancy saw Elaine's pretty face turn bright red. She felt awful for the skater.

“That ends the compulsory figures competition,” the announcer said. “This rink is now available for practice. Thank you.”

The spectators began filing out of the rink as the skaters started for the locker room.

“I'd like to know how the judges would do if
their
skates had been stolen!” Nancy heard Elaine's mother complain bitterly.

Since there was nothing she could do to help, Nancy decided to see if George was in the Worldwide press box. Maybe she could catch some pairs skating after all.

After grabbing a hotdog at a stand, Nancy hurried to the main lobby. She showed her pass to the guard, then rode up to the press level. As
she emerged from the elevator, a muffled roar from the crowd in the arena filled her ears. By the time she stepped into the Worldwide offices, the cheering was just ending.

Kevin was in a booth, separated from the rest of the room by soundproof glass. He sat in front of a microphone, talking into it. On Nancy's side of the glass, the staff worked their controls, George was there, too, pressed against the window, peering down at the rinks.

When she saw Nancy, George's face lit up. “You can't believe what we just saw, Nan!” she bubbled.