The Red Slippers (2 page)

“What are you doing back in town?” Bess asked.

“I'm in a touring production of
Sleeping Beauty
, and there's a performance tomorrow in River Heights,” Maggie explained.

“That's great!” I exclaimed. “Does this mean you're a prima ballerina now?”

Maggie shook her head. “Not yet, but this tour is specifically for the most promising dancers in the region. They auditioned dancers from the top dance schools in three states. It's to give us a taste of what touring would feel like if we did turn professional.”

“Fantastic,” Bess said. “We're so happy for you!”

Maggie looked around the shop for a second, then leaned in close, as if she was going to tell us a secret. “Actually, this River Heights performance could be my big break,” she whispered.

“How so?” I asked.

“Supposedly, Oscar LeVigne will be in attendance.”

For the second time that day, Bess and I exchanged confused glances. We didn't have any idea who Oscar LeVigne was.

Maggie noticed and started laughing. “Wow, you guys must have quit ballet ages ago if you've forgotten Oscar LeVigne. Miss Taylor used to talk about him all the time.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I stopped in middle school. I just didn't have the time with my cases.”

“Cases?” Maggie asked. “Like a detective?”

I nodded as she tried to process this. People always seem surprised when they find out I'm an amateur sleuth.

“I do remember you always reading mysteries before class,” Maggie remembered. “What about you, Bess? You were a really talented dancer, if I recall.”

Bess blushed. “I just lost my passion for it. I felt like I wasn't getting any better and I'd never be as good as I wanted to be.” She paused for a moment. “I do miss it sometimes.”

“Well,” Maggie continued, “Oscar LeVigne is a famous ballet critic. He's known for spotting upcoming stars. A review from him can make or break careers. If I get a good one, there's a really good chance I'll be asked to audition for a professional company. If I get a bad one . . . I don't even want to
think
about it.”

“I'm sure you'll do great,” I said.

“Yeah, and we'll be there cheering you on,” Bess said. “Just like we were at the recital when the ballet academy scout showed up all those years ago.”

Maggie gave us a grateful smile. “It's so good to see you two. I've missed you.”

“You too,” Bess said.

“I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to get to rehearsal by three o'clock and I can't be late. Jamison, our choreographer and my teacher at the academy, is really strict. You have to do an extra
grand plié
for every minute you're late; if you're more than twenty minutes late, you sit out the next performance. Maybe we could meet for dinner later?”

“That sounds great,” I said.

“Wait,” George interrupted. “Did you say three o'clock?”

Maggie nodded.

“But it's ten after three right now!” George exclaimed, holding out her watch.

“What!?” Maggie practically shrieked. “My phone says it's ten after two!”

GEORGE HELD OUT HER WRIST.
“This is a satellite watch. It's accurate to the nanosecond,” she said apologetically.

“No, no, no. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening,” Maggie repeated as if in a daze.

“Come on,” I said, jumping up. “My car's right out front. Where's the rehearsal?”

“At the River Heights Performing Arts Theater,” Maggie replied breathlessly.

“Okay, if we hurry, I can get you there in ten minutes. You'll be punished, but you won't have to sit out the next performance.”

“Thank you so much!” Maggie said, springing up and shrugging on her coat. Bess, George, and I followed suit.

“It's going to be tight,” Bess whispered into my ear as we raced toward the car. She was right. We would need to get really lucky to make it there in less than ten minutes, but it was worth a shot.

We piled into my car, George riding shotgun with Bess and Maggie in the back.

I started the engine and pulled into traffic.

“Take a left on Maple,” George said.

“Are you sure?” I asked George. “The most direct route is down Elm.”

George nodded, staring at the GPS on her phone. “There's construction about a mile down Elm. It goes down to one lane. Maple's faster.”

I nodded and checked my blind spot before slipping into the left lane.

Maggie was still in a daze. “I just don't understand how this happened,” she murmured.

I didn't either. I had never heard of a cell phone being off by an hour. I thought they were all connected to one tower. Maybe they weren't as accurate as George's satellite watch, but they shouldn't be that wrong.

“Bess,” I said, as I hung a left onto Maple, pushing down a little harder on the gas. “Take over navigating for George. Maggie, give George your phone so she can figure out how this happened.”

They exchanged phones, and out of the corner of my eye I could see George's fingers tapping and swiping the screen, moving so fast they were almost a blur. A bomb could have gone off and she wouldn't have noticed.

“Right on Oak,” Bess shouted from the back. Oak was in just a few feet. I hit the brakes and took the corner faster than I should have.

I checked the rearview mirror and could see Maggie chewing on her lip, doing her best to hold back tears. She let out a muffled wail. “We only have four minutes! We're never going to make it.”

I pushed down a little harder on the gas. “We're cutting it close, but it's not hopeless,” I told her. I was now going four miles over the speed limit. I knew Maggie wanted me to go faster, but if I got pulled over—or worse, got in an accident—that would just make us even later.

“There!” George suddenly exclaimed, thrusting the phone behind her to show Maggie and Bess.

“What are you showing us?” Bess asked.

“See that app there? TikTok?”

In the rearview mirror, I could see Bess and Maggie peering forward. “I see it!” Bess said. “Nancy, left on Spruce.”

“Got it,” I said, maneuvering into the left lane. “How does the app work?” I asked George.

“It allows people to manually set the time. It's designed for people who are chronically late. They can set their phone to be five, ten, fifteen minutes ahead, whatever they want, to trick themselves into being on time.”

“Did you install that app?” Bess asked.

Maggie shook her head. “No, definitely not!”

“Maybe someone deliberately put it on your phone to make you late!” Bess suggested.

“Did you let anyone use your phone today?” I asked, as I checked my blind spot and swerved into the next lane to get around the slowpoke driver in front of me. I knew from my time in Miss Taylor's class that ballet was extremely competitive and people would do anything to get ahead, but something like this seemed completely out of line. I didn't understand who would want to get ahead by hurting people.

“Nancy's in detective mode already!” George said. “She'll figure out who sabotaged you in no time.”

“Thanks, Nancy,” Maggie said, “but this is no mystery. I know exactly who did it.”

“Who?” Bess asked.

“Fiona Scott,” Maggie replied, practically spitting the name. “She's my understudy. If Jamison doesn't let me perform tomorrow for Oscar LeVigne, Fiona will go on instead.”

“That reminds of me this old movie I watched with my grandmother,
All About Eve
. It's about an understudy who schemes to take over for the star without anyone knowing,” George said.

“Unfortunately, this isn't a movie,” Maggie lamented.

“How do you know it's Fiona?” I asked. I had learned over the years that the first person someone suspects is usually the wrong one.

“This isn't the first incident that's happened on this tour. In Fairview, my wig went missing thirty minutes before the start of the performance. Fiona had to step in, since her wig is two sizes smaller than mine and there wasn't an extra. Then in Bristol someone told our hotel's front desk to give me a wake-up call every two hours the night before our show. The next day I was so tired, I fainted backstage during intermission and Fiona had to take over in the second act.”

“How has this girl not been kicked out of the company?” Bess fumed. Her face was red with indignation. Bess hates anything that isn't fair, and cheating drives her especially crazy.

“There was never any proof,” Maggie said. “Plus Fiona's parents are major academy donors. Their money helps pay for Jamison's salary. He is never going to punish her without evidence and risk losing her parents as benefactors.”

“I'm sure Nancy could end this once and for all,” Bess said.

“I'd be happy to look into it,” I offered.

“It's okay,” Maggie said. “This is our second-to-last stop on the tour. I'd rather just focus on dancing and stay out of Fiona's way. I don't want to make her any angrier.”

I caught Bess's eye in the rearview mirror. Next to me, George was looking at me the same way. None of us thought Maggie's plan was a good one. From what she had said so far, Fiona seemed ruthless. Maggie couldn't be careful enough!

But before I could say anything further, we were at the theater. I screeched to a stop.

“It's too late!” Maggie said. “Three twenty.”

“You have twenty-eight seconds till it turns three twenty-one,” George said, holding up her watch. “I'll run in right behind you to prove you made it in time.”

“We all will,” I said.

We jumped out of the car and Maggie sprinted up the steps, with George, Bess, and me right behind her.

Maggie flung open the door and raced through the lobby.

“Fifteen seconds!” George shouted breathlessly.

Maggie made it to the theater entrance and threw open the door, stopping so abruptly that I almost plowed into her. I looked up and saw why she had stopped so suddenly.

The entire cast—roughly thirty-five girls and a handful of boys—stood staring at Maggie, in complete silence. There was a mix of horrified looks on their faces as well as the occasional gleeful one. The back of Maggie's neck was bright red, and I imagined that her face was as well. This wasn't a room you wanted to walk into late.

Only one person wasn't looking at Maggie. Standing with his back to us was a man with blond hair. The cast members kept shifting their eyes from Maggie to him and back. I had a feeling it wasn't going to be pleasant when he finally did turn around.

After what seemed like several minutes of awkward silence, George cleared her throat. “I have the most accurate watch money can buy. . . . Maggie made it here with five seconds to spare. She should get to dance tomorrow.”

Slowly the man turned. In front of me, Maggie caught her breath. Bess squeezed my hand.

“I'm sorry,” Maggie squeaked.

“You're sorry?” the man asked in an eerily calm voice. His entire body was held so rigidly, I didn't understand how he'd managed to turn around so smoothly. It looked like he was rotating on a lazy Susan. His hair was slicked back and he had piercing blue eyes with extremely well-defined cheekbones. He was handsome, but severe. He also didn't seem like someone you wanted to be on the bad side of, which, unfortunately, was exactly where Maggie was standing.

“You're sorry?” he repeated, a smidgen louder than before.

Maggie nodded.

“YOU'RE SORRY!?” he bellowed this time with amazing force. If we were in a cartoon, we'd be leaning back from the power of his voice.

Maggie nodded again. The man marched toward us. “I thought you were serious, Maggie. I thought you had the ability to go far. Was I wrong about you?”

“No . . . ,” Maggie said meekly.

“I don't care if you were technically under twenty-one minutes late, as this”—he paused and gave George a dismissive once-over—“disheveled little girl claims. If you were serious, you would have been here twenty minutes early, warming up, making sure you were in tip-top shape. Fiona was. Maybe I should let her go on instead of you, anyway.” I looked up on the stage and saw a tall blond girl struggling to hide an ear-to-ear grin.

“That must be Fiona,” I whispered to Bess and George.

“Please,” Maggie said to Jamison. “The time on my phone—”

Jamison cut her off. “Stop!” he roared. “How do I feel about excuses?”

“You hate them.”

Jamison grabbed Maggie by the back of the neck and marched her toward the stage. He didn't seem to be hurting her, but it certainly seemed humiliating. “I just don't understand how you could do this to me. I thought we were a team; I thought we were going to impress Oscar together. You've let me down. You'll have to dance the best you've ever danced today to prove to me that you can do this. If not, Fiona's up.”