The Red Slippers (4 page)

I knew that what I was going to ask was technically against the store's policies, but I was hoping the clerk would be annoyed enough by the job that he or she wouldn't mind helping me.

George and I walked in and saw a young man behind the counter with his back to the door. He had earbuds in, which explained why he didn't hear the bell that had announced our presence.

I plastered a big smile onto my face, prepared to be charming. As he turned, however, my stomach sank. This wasn't going to be nearly as easy as I had hoped.

“Derek Chase . . . ,” I said, unable to keep the dismay out of my voice.

“Nancy Drew,” he answered, sounding as unhappy to see me as I was to see him. “What are you doing here? Ruining someone else's life?”

“I didn't ruin your life, Derek,” I answered.

“I beg to differ,” he sneered. “I should be raking in millions as an investment banker right now. Instead I'm wearing pink and making minimum wage.”

“I didn't force you to cheat,” I pointed out to him. “I just caught you.”

A friend of my dad's was a business professor at River Heights University. He had a hunch that a student had broken into his office and printed a copy of the final exam. He hadn't wanted to get the officials involved, but he had mentioned it to my dad, who mentioned it to me. I took on the case and ended up busting Derek, who was then kicked out of school. I guess his dreams of working on Wall Street had gone up in smoke too.

A lot of times when I catch a culprit I feel almost as bad for them as I do for the victim. In my experience, people do bad things for good reasons, and many times they break the rules because they feel like they have no other option.

Derek, however, was an exception. He didn't steal the test because he was working three jobs to pay tuition and had no time to study. He stole it because he wanted an easy A. When I'd confronted him, he'd sneered that he couldn't believe a girl had caught him.

“We're helping out a ballet company that's in town. But as we began hanging the posters, we realized there was something wrong with them.” I figured it was better not to tell Derek that I was working a case.

“We print what you give us. If there's a problem with the file, that's on you. It's right in the job order's terms and conditions,” he said, raising his eyebrow cockily.

“Can I just see the file?” I asked. “So I know what was sent?”

“We can only show the file to the person who sent it,” Derek replied. “And I know for a fact that that wasn't you, Nancy Drew, or you, Georgia Fayne,” he said, calling George by her full name.

George glowered at him. She hates being called Georgia.

“That's also expressly written in our terms and conditions,” he continued smugly, crossing his arms with a satisfied smile. He seemed to be enjoying this.

“Well, how about this?” George said, apparently as frustrated with Derek as I was. “We'd like to pay for some Internet time.”

I gave George an approving nod. I knew she was thinking that she could use the network to access the company's main system and get the file that way.

Unfortunately, Derek wasn't dumb—just lazy. He knew exactly what George was thinking. “Sorry, girls. There will be no hacking of our system today. Our terms and conditions also say we can deny service to anyone, and I'm denying service to you both. Bye-bye now!” He popped his earbuds back in and turned away.

“What do we do now?” George asked.

I was asking myself the same question. This was our only lead so far, and I wasn't sure of our next move.

“I can't believe Derek Chase of all people is derailing our investigation,” I muttered.

“Hey, Nancy, look,” George said, gesturing toward the wall. I turned to see where she was pointing, and my jaw dropped. Hanging there was a photo of the CEO of the entire Sharp Image chain.

“That's the guy—” George began.

“We saw yelling at his son outside the theater,” I finished.

GEORGE OPENED HER MOUTH TO
say more, but I quickly put my finger to my lips. I nodded my head toward Derek as I hustled George out the door. We needed to discuss this new development, but I wanted to talk as far away from his vindictive ears as possible. If he knew I suspected his boss (Michael Carter, according to the photo on the wall), he would come up with a way to sabotage my case in no time.

“I bet you Michael Carter destroyed the posters because he was mad about Colin dancing,” George burst out as soon as the door closed behind us.

“He did seem incredibly angry,” I acknowledged.

“More than angry,” George countered. “He seemed ashamed that his son danced, like he didn't want anyone to know.”

I looked at George's face. Her cheeks were bright red, and there was fire behind her narrowed eyes. It was rare to see George this angry. She was one of the most levelheaded people I knew, and she prided herself on her ability to make logical decisions without letting her feelings get in the way. Bess was the opposite. Extremely empathetic, her feelings dictated almost every decision she made. I was less emotional than Bess and more emotional than George, and having both perspectives had led to many detective breakthroughs. I knew George had been upset seeing Michael yell at Colin, but I hadn't realized just how angry it had made her.

“You're right,” I said. “But the vandalized poster seemed targeted at Maggie. Colin's name wasn't even crossed out,” I pointed out.

“Michael didn't become the CEO of a major company by being dumb,” George countered. “Crossing out Maggie's face makes the posters unusable, guaranteeing that a smaller audience will see his son dance. It also keeps the suspicion away from him. He's worth investigating,” she insisted. “As CEO, he had access to the poster file,
and
he has a grudge against this ballet. Besides, do we have any better suspects?”

I wasn't sure that Mr. Carter would travel to River Heights just to sabotage a poster, but if I had learned anything over the years, it was that every lead, no matter how unlikely, was worth following. Even if the person didn't end up being the culprit, they often led to new information about the correct suspect.

“All right, “I said. “Let's talk to Michael.”

“First we have to find him,” George noted.

“Yeah, but we know he's from out of town, and it didn't seem like he was planning on leaving without Colin. . . .”

“So he must be checked into a hotel,” George finished.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Hang on,” George said, whipping off her gloves and quickly typing on her phone. I knew exactly what she was doing. We'd searched for a suspect on an earlier case by visiting local hotels and asking for guests. “If you remember, there are eight hotels in River Heights,” she said holding up her phone, showing me the list.

“All right,” I said. “But let's call first this time. I have an idea. . . .”

George grinned widely as she dialed and handed me the phone. “Yes! Nancy Drew undercover. My favorite. Who are you going to pretend to be?”

I just smiled and wiggled my eyebrows in response. “You'll see.”

“Hello and thank you for calling the River Heights Inn,” a woman answered. “This is Karen. How may I help you?”

I took a deep breath. “Hi,” I said in my most mature and authoritative voice. “My husband, Michael Carter, is on a business trip in River Heights, and I forgot where he's staying.”

I heard Karen take a breath, as if she wanted to say something, but I just kept right on going.

“I tried his cell phone, but it goes straight to voice mail. He probably forgot to charge it. Does your husband forget to charge his phone too?”

“I'm sorry,” Karen interjected. “We can't give out—” I knew she was going to say that she couldn't give out guest information, but I didn't give her the chance. I kept talking, going even faster now.

“It is absolutely imperative that I reach him. Our cat is stuck in the chimney again. The dog chases her and she panics and she wedges herself up into the chimney. And Marmalade—that's our cat—she loves Michael. She'll come out if she hears his voice. I need to get him on the phone and put him on speaker. If I can't reach him, she'll stay up there for days . . . with no food, no water. I just don't know what will happen to her,” I finished dramatically.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then I heard clicking sounds as Karen typed into the computer. I gave George a thumbs-up. My ruse had worked. George grinned.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Carter,” Karen said. “Your husband is not a guest at our hotel.”

I hung up and turned back toward George. “One down. Seven to go,” I said. George dialed the next number and I cleared my throat. When the clerk answered, I launched right in. “Hi, I believe my husband, Michael Carter, is a guest at your hotel. I simply must reach him. Our cat is stuck in the chimney. . . .”

It turned out Michael was staying at the fifth hotel we called: the Grand Hotel. As we drove over, I called Bess to update her and put her on speaker. I quickly ran through everything that had transpired since we'd split up.

“Anything happen at rehearsal we should know about?” I asked.

“No. I haven't let Fiona out of my sight, and nothing fishy has happened. Everyone has been focused on the show.”

I heard Jamison screaming in the background. “Sarah, my ninety-year-old grandmother has better pointe work than that! You are a disgrace to this art form!”

“Man,” George said. “He is really mean.”

“No kidding,” Bess said. “He's been yelling like that all afternoon. I've seen at least four dancers cry.”

“Maybe it's just because of the stress he's feeling with Oscar LeVigne coming to the show,” I said, trying to give Jamison the benefit of the doubt.

“I don't know,” Bess said. “I've been talking some more with that guy, Sebastian, the pianist—”

“Do you have a crush on him?” George piped up. I grinned. I had been wondering the same thing. Bess is pretty and kind, and more or less every boy she meets ends up having a crush on her, but she's picky about who she'll go out with. Still, there was something about her voice that made me wonder if she was actually interested.

“What!? No!” Bess squawked. “He's just nice. Besides, I'm pretty sure he and Maggie are dating. Anyway, Sebastian says this is par for the course. Jamison always yells at the dancers.”

I shook my head. “I can't imagine trying to solve a case with someone screaming at me to solve it faster. How does Jamison think this will make them dance better?”

“I don't know,” Bess said. “I will say, though, he seems to get results. I think the ballet is going to be amazing.”

“Well,” George said, “I don't regret choosing robotics class over ballet.”

“And I don't regret quitting ballet,” I added.

We pulled into the hotel parking lot.

“We'll call you after we talk to Michael,” I told Bess.

As I turned off the ignition, I turned to George. “You remember the plan?” I asked.

“It's not brain surgery,” she said. “I wait precisely three minutes and then come in.”