The Nutcracker Ballet Mystery (7 page)

the fire started.”

Madame’s brows raised in concern. “Do you think

the person who started the fire may have dropped the

handkerchief?”

“It’s possible.” Nancy gave the list back to the

directress. There was no one on it with the initials G.

T.

Madame frowned. “I’m sure it was just a careless

student—or parent. It must have been someone who

knows how strict I am about smoking, so the person

hid backstage.”

“You’re probably right,” Nancy said, nodding. “I’ll

hang on to this, if you don’t mind.” She slipped the

handkerchief back into her pocket. “Maybe someone

will come looking for it.” With that, Nancy excused

herself and returned to the prop room.

For the next two hours, Nancy worked on dressing

up the shiny glass balls she’d brought from home with

glitter, lace, and sequins. She had just decided to take a

break when she heard music coming from the recital

hall. Walking to the door that led to the backstage area,

Nancy quietly opened it and peeked up the stairs.

Madame Dugrand, Darci, Lawrence, and several of

the older students were on stage. It was obviously a

rehearsal, and Nancy thought it would be fun to watch

for a few minutes. Slipping into the room, she headed

toward the front row of seats in the recital hall and sat

down.

“I want you to dance the pas de deux full out,”

Madame Dugrand told Lawrence. “Where’s Shana?”

“Over here,” Shana said, entering from offstage.

Madame Dugrand went to the side of the stage to

rewind the tape. While the directress’s back was

turned, Nancy saw Shana shoot Lawrence an

apprehensive look. Nancy could hardly blame her after

the near-accident the day before.

Lawrence raised his brows as if to say, “So what’s

your problem?” Immediately, Shana’s apprehensive

look turned into an icy glare.

Nancy looked around for Darci. Shana’s younger

sister had melted into the shadows of the backstage

curtain. The other students were talking quietly, but

Darci stood with folded arms, her green eyes riveted

on Lawrence and Shana.

If Madame Dugrand noticed the tension in the air,

she gave no indication. As soon as she had the tape

player going, she walked to the front of the stage and

clapped her hands. Shana and Lawrence found their

marks, the places on the stage where they were to

stand when the dance started.

At first, the couple moved hesitantly, as if they were

afraid to touch each other. But as the music continued,

it seemed to cast its spell on the two of them, and they

began to move in synchronized harmony.

When it was time for the difficult lift that Lawrence

had flubbed the day before, Nancy held her breath.

This time, however, he raised his graceful partner with

ease. As he turned slowly with Shana high above his

head, Madame Dugrand and the other dancers

applauded . . . all but Darci Edwards.

With an angry frown, Shana’s sister threw her towel

around her shoulders and stomped offstage. Then, she

leaped down the stage steps and stormed up the aisle

of the recital hall, banging the doors behind her.

“Bravo! Very nice!” Madame declared, smiling

approvingly as Lawrence set Shana down. Still

clapping, the other students came forward and

surrounded the couple. Suddenly, Nancy realized that

it was starting to snow onstage—not just a few flakes,

but a regular blizzard.

“What on earth?” Madame looked up as a blur of

snowflakes fluttered from offstage.

“It’s the snow machine!” one of the students yelled.

“Well, someone turn it off!” Throwing her hands

into the air, Madame started forward.

“I’ll do it,” Lawrence said quickly.

By then, a thin layer of “snow” had begun to

accumulate onstage.

“I can’t believe this,” said Madame, shaking her

head. “What else is going to go wrong?”

Lawrence hurried across the stage. Suddenly, his

feet slipped out from under him. Lurching sideways,

he fell into Madame Dugrand, knocking her backward.

With a gasp, Nancy jumped up. “Madame!” she

cried. But it was too late. The directress flew off the

stage, dropping several feet to the floor of the recital

hall!

Nancy rushed to Madame’s side. The directress was

sprawled on the wooden floor, her arms and legs

jutting out at odd angles. Her eyes were closed.

Lawrence jumped from the stage and kneeled next to

Nancy.

When Nancy looked up, she saw Shana and the

other dancers staring from the edge of the stage,

concerned expressions on their faces. Behind them,

snow continued to fall onto the stage floor.

“Don’t move her,” Nancy cautioned. “Shana, call

nine-one-one.”

“Wait,” Lawrence said as Madame’s lids began to

flutter open. “Madame, are you all right?”

Madame stared up at him. “Yes,” she replied,

sounding dazed. “What happened? What am I doing

here?” she asked, struggling up on her elbows.

Nancy put her hands gently on the directress’s

shoulders. “Madame,” she said. “Please don’t move.

You might have broken something.”

“Nonsense.” Madame sat up and gave her arms a

shake.

Lawrence gently checked Madame’s knees and

calves. Holding her ankle up, he rotated first one foot,

and then the other. “Any pain?” he asked.

Madame shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “Now

help me up,” she added, holding out her hand to

Lawrence. “After twenty-five years of training as a

ballerina I think I’d know if I was hurt.”

Taking the directress’s hand, Lawrence lifted her to

her feet. Supporting Madame’s other arm, Nancy stood

up next to her.

“What happened, anyway?” Madame asked as she

brushed oil* her long skirt.

“Ask Lawrence,” a low voice said, in an accusing

tone. Nancy looked up at the stage. Shana was staring

down at them, her hands on her hips. Her green eyes

snapped angrily and her lips were pressed in a thin

line. “Lawrence bumped into you on purpose and

knocked you off the stage,” Shana said.

Madame’s eyes widened in shock. “Shana! What a

terrible thing to say.”

“It was an accident!” Lawrence protested, glaring up

at Shana. “I slipped on the snow.”

“That’s a likely story,” Shana retorted. “You’ve

danced plenty of times in the snow.”

“This stuff is pretty slimy,” one of the dancers

declared. She’d scooped up some of the white flakes

and was rubbing it between her fingers.

Moving to the edge of the stage, Nancy ran her hand

through the snow, then held her finger to her nose and

smelled it.

“It’s soap,” she announced.

Madame Dugrand scooped up some of the flakes

herself. “It is soap,” she agreed. “How did that happen?

The snow machine is suppose to blow out tiny bits of

paper. They shouldn’t be slippery at all.”

“Who fills the snow machine?” Nancy asked.

“That’s one of Lawrence’s jobs,” Madame replied.

All eyes turned back to Lawrence.

“Wait a minute!” He held up his hands in protest.

“Quit acting so innocent, Lawrence Steele!” Shana

waved an angry finger at him. “Why don’t you just

admit you put soap flakes in the snow machine before

rehearsal? You probably wanted me to fall!”

“Hey, I almost fell,” Lawrence pointed out. “Why

would I want to hurt myself?”

Madame clapped her hands to her ears. “Stop! Stop

all of this bickering.”

Lawrence and Shana shut their mouths immediately

and stared at Madame. Taking her hands off her ears,

the directress said calmly, “Now, let’s get the stage

cleaned up. We have a show to rehearse.”

As Nancy followed Lawrence up the stage steps, she

wondered if Darci had turned on the snow machine.

Nancy remembered how Shana’s younger sister had

stormed out of the recital hall seconds before the flakes

had started spewing through the air.

But anyone could have filled the machine with soap

earlier, Nancy realized—including Lawrence.

Several students came back onstage carrying

brooms, dustpans, and buckets. As Nancy bent down to

scrape snow onto a dustpan, she heard Shana speaking

to Madame in a low voice.

Nancy looked over her shoulder. Shana and the

directress were standing offstage, directly behind her.

“I won’t dance with him again,” Nancy heard Shana

say.

Madame only closed her eyes tiredly. “Go home,

Shana,” she said. “Get ready for the gala. We’ll all relax

and enjoy ourselves tonight, and forget this little

incident ever happened.”

“I won’t forget,” Shana muttered, and snatching up

her dance bag, she stomped toward the exit.

Lawrence and the other students watched her go.

Lawrence’s face was flushed, and he looked genuinely

upset. Nancy shook her head. Shana’s behavior wasn’t

helping things. Whoever was trying to sabotage

Madame Dugrand’s production of The Nutcracker was

doing a good job of it.

Nancy wished she was closer to cracking the case.

What she definitely needed to do was question Darci

Edwards, though she had a feeling the young dancer

would tell her to mind her own business.

With a sigh, Nancy finished cleaning the stage and

went back into the prop room. She found her coat,

then left to find Bess. Maybe talking to her friend

would help her sort things out.

“I sent Bess upstairs to get some tape,” Mrs. Wolaski

said when Nancy arrived downstairs.

In front of the wardrobe mistress, Michelle Edwards

was standing on a stool. Mrs. Wolaski was bent over,

pinning the hem of Michelle’s Clara costume, an old-

fashioned dress with short, puffy sleeves and a wide

green sash. When Michelle smiled down at Nancy, she

looked just like her older sister, Shana.

Nancy found another stool and sat down. “I’ll wait

here for her.”

“How is my nutcracker doll, Nancy?” asked Michelle

from her high perch.

“I don’t know. Lawrence has it,” Nancy said.

“If Lawrence has it, it’s all right,” Michelle said

confidently.

“All set.” Mrs. Wolaski straightened slowly. “You can

take the dress off now, dear. When you come back on

Monday, we’ll fit it again.”

Michelle jumped from the stool and pulled the

ruffled gown over her head. She was wearing her

leotard underneath.

“Michelle,” Bess said as she came into the room,

“your mother is upstairs, waiting for you. It’s time to go

home and get ready for the gala.”

“Yippee!” Michelle cried excitedly, and scampered

off.

“Did you get the tape, Bess?” Mrs. Wolaski asked.

“Madame said she’d get it for you tomorrow,” Bess

explained. “She seemed kind of distracted.”

Mrs. Wolaski gave her small round glasses a poke.

“Poor Alicia. She’s always so overwhelmed. Oh, well.

Would you mind taking the Clara gown home with you

to hem, Bess?”

“I’d be glad to,” Bess said. Then, turning to Nancy,

she asked, “What on earth just happened, Nancy? Do

you know? Everyone seems upset.”

“The snow machine suddenly went on during a

rehearsal,” Nancy told her. “It was loaded with soap

flakes, and Lawrence slipped. He knocked Madame off

the stage.”

“My goodness!” Mrs. Wolaski exclaimed. “Is Alicia

all right?”

Nancy nodded. “She got right up.”

Mrs. Wolaski shook her head and sighed. “It’s always

something, isn’t it?”

“Let’s hope the gala will make everyone feel better,”

Bess said. “I know I’m looking forward to it.”

“Are you going to the gala, Mrs. Wolaski?” Nancy

asked.

“Oh, no. Once I get home at night, I’m always too

tired to think of going out again.”

Bess grabbed her coat. “Oh, Mrs. Wolaski, you really

should go. Remember the saying, “All work and no play

. . .”

“. . . makes you very tired at the end of the day.”

Mrs. Wolaski chuckled. Then she rubbed her back.

“No, I think soaking in a hot bath sounds like fun to

me.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be glad to pick

you up,” Nancy said.

“You’re both very sweet,” Mrs. Wolaski replied.

“Now go and have a good time for me.”

The girls said goodbye, then Nancy took Bess home.