The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(7)

“Of course,” I replied. Miss Taylor’s classes put on two recitals a year: one in June and one in December. It didn’t matter that the recitals were small and the audiences consisted of friends and family; everyone took them as seriously as if we were dancing at Lincoln Center in New York. The weeks leading up the performance, I would practice morning, noon, and night. My dad had to make a rule banning jetés before seven a.m. because my leaps woke him up.

“Do you remember what happened to Maggie before every recital?” Bess asked, breaking into my reverie.

I thought for a second, and it all came rushing back: Maggie sitting in the corner, wide-eyed, trembling with nerves, pale as a ghost. “Stage fright. We were all nervous, but she was on a whole different level.”

Bess nodded. “It didn’t matter that she was the best by far. She was so anxious, she threw up before every performance. Imagine how nervous she is about dancing for Oscar. Maybe we shouldn’t show her the posters.”

Bess had a valid point. I was doing this to help Maggie. It wouldn’t do any good to make her more stressed before the performance. What if she made a mistake in front of Oscar because of the poster? On the other hand, it seemed wrong to investigate Fiona without Maggie’s permission, especially since she had explicitly asked me not to.

As I examined the poster again, the solution suddenly occurred to me.

“We’re not going to investigate Fiona,” I announced. Bess and George looked at me in shock.

George leaned forward and placed her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling all right, Nancy?”

I grinned. “I didn’t say I’m not taking on the case. I just said we’re not going to investigate Fiona.”

“I don’t get it,” George said.

“We’re going to investigate the poster. We’re going to find out who vandalized the file. But we’ll ignore the other acts of sabotage and pretend Maggie never said anything to us about Fiona. When we know who vandalized the poster, we can tell Maggie, and then she can decide what to do.”

Bess and George smiled.

“All right, what’s the first step, boss?” George asked.

I looked at the tube the posters had come in and noted a sticker that read SHARP IMAGE. “Bess, you stay here and keep an eye on Maggie. We might not officially be investigating Fiona, but I don’t trust her. Don’t let Maggie be alone, and if anything suspicious happens, call me right away.”

Bess nodded.

“George,” I continued, “you and I are going to Sharp Image to see what we can find out about whoever submitted this file for printing.”

“Sounds good, Nancy,” Bess said as she headed back into the theater.



Sharp Image is a regional chain. They’re known for their sterile white walls and counters, with giant photos of animals and landscapes adorning the walls, showcasing the bright and clean printing jobs. What most people know them for, though, are the hot-pink vests and hats they require all employees to wear. It is widely regarded as one of the most humiliating uniforms in River Heights, and most of the employees look positively miserable in them.

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.