“What in the world was that?” Bess finally asked, from beside Nancy.
“Believe it or not, I think it was the Mouse King,” Nancy said, looking around. The prop room was so dark, it was like being in a cave. And because she knew the floor was littered with junk, she didn’t dare take a step.
Bess laughed nervously. “The Mouse King? You’re kidding. Who would be crazy enough to run around in a seven-headed mouse costume?”
“Someone who didn’t want us to recognize him or her,” Nancy replied. Mentally, she kicked herself. Like a dummy, she’d left her purse in the car. That meant she didn’t have a flashlight or her lock-picking kit. She hated being so unprepared.
Bess let out her breath. “Well, I guess knowing that it was just a person wearing a costume makes me feel better.”
Nancy gave a low chuckle. “At least something’s making you feel better. Since we’re locked in and the power is off, we may be in for a long night.”
“It’s a good thing we wore our coats. Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t there two doors to this room?” Bess asked in a hopeful voice.
“You’re right! How could I have forgotten that?” Nancy turned toward where she thought the backstage door was, but the total darkness was disorienting. “This place could be booby-trapped,” she added, remembering how the nutcracker doll had nearly fallen on George’s head. “Maybe the Mouse King was in here rigging up another surprise.”
“Oh, great.” Bess groaned.
Nancy was trying to decide what to do next when Bess suddenly grabbed her arm. “Nancy,” she whispered, “do you hear squeaking?”
Nancy stopped to listen, then nodded. “Yes. And I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”
“What?” Bess asked nervously.
“Don’t panic, but it sounds like mice,” Nancy said. “You know, those harmless little furry creatures.”
“Mice!” Bess jumped toward Nancy, almost knocking her over. “Get me out of here!”
Suddenly, the prop room lights blazed on.
“That’s weird,” Nancy said, frowning.
Bess shivered. “Now I’ll be able to see the little furry things instead of just hear them.”
A few minutes later, a key turned in the lock and the door flew open.
“Caught you!” a voice cried. Whirling around, Nancy and Bess found themselves face to face with Lawrence Steele. He was brandishing a tire iron menacingly. When he saw Nancy and Bess, he raised his brows in puzzled surprise. “What are you two doing here?”
“Somebody locked us in,” Nancy said simply. She looked at him suspiciously. “And what are you doing here?”
Lawrence snorted. “Saving your skin!” he retorted. “You would have spent a cold night in the prop room if I hadn’t decided to drive by the school on my way to the gala. I saw that the front door was wide open, so I grabbed my tire iron and came in to take a look around. Then, when I tried the light in the hall, I figured someone had switched off the main breakers.”
“I bet you locked us in here,” Bess accused. Stepping forward, she glared up at the handsome dancer.
“Ha! Believe me, if I’d locked you in, I certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you out.”
Bess shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “But then who did shut us in here?”
“Whoever the person was, he found your Mouse King headpiece,” Nancy told Lawrence. “He put it on so we couldn’t recognize him.”
Suddenly, Bess let out a little shriek and jumped on top of a box.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lawrence demanded, pointing at Bess with his tire iron. “And where are your shoes?” he added, looking at her stockinged feet.
“There are mice in here,” Nancy explained. “We left our shoes by the door so the intruder wouldn’t—”
“Mice!” Lawrence interrupted. He leaned the tire iron against the door jamb, then fell to his knees and began crawling around.
“Have you gone crazy?” Bess inquired as Lawrence crawled past her.
“Of course not,” he snapped. “I’m looking for my mice.”
“Your mice?” Bess repeated in disbelief.
Lawrence stopped to peer under the sled. “The mice in here must be the ones that were stolen from my locker a couple of days ago.”
“You keep mice in your dance locker?” Bess stared down from the box, a horrified look on her face.
“Not usually. Only when I plan to feed my snake. Ah ha!” Lawrence said suddenly, pouncing on something. Getting to his feet, he held up a struggling white mouse by its pink tail.
Bess wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Yuck.” Lawrence slipped the mouse into a pocket of his tweed top coat. Then he looked back and forth at Bess and Nancy. “Okay, so why don’t you girls explain what you’re doing in here?”
“We’re just helping Madame,” Nancy replied. “Bess had to pick up a costume to hem, and we heard a noise. So we went to investigate, and . . .” Her voice trailed away.
Lawrence nodded. “And you figured it was me wearing a giant mouse head. I guess you don’t seem to trust me very much, Ms. Drew.”
Nancy raised her brows. “What makes you say that?” she asked in an innocent voice.
“Oh, it’s just a feeling I get,” Lawrence replied. He picked up the tire iron and slapped it against his left palm. “No one seems to believe in me these days,” he added.
