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 supposed 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?”
