Bess groaned. “Suddenly, hemming sounds fun.”
George and Nancy laughed as they went up the steps, through the front entrance, and into the hall. Madame’s office door was shut. When they stopped in front of it, the girls could hear someone moving around the room.
“She must be working,” Bess said, knocking lightly on the door. “There aren’t any classes till two today, but she’s probably here already. Madame?” she called. “It’s Bess. Nancy, George, and I are going to be working in the prop room.”
Bess knocked again, but there was no answer. The sounds had stopped. She gave Nancy a worried look. “Do you think everything’s okay?”
Nancy turned the door knob. It was locked. “Madame?” she called loudly. “Are you all right?”
“Listen.” George hushed them.
Nancy held her breath. Inside the office, she could hear a faint scraping sound. “Someone’s opening the office window,” Nancy whispered.
Spinning around, she dashed down the hall and pushed open one of the double doors in the back of the building. It swung open an inch, then clunked to a stop.
“What’s the matter?” George asked.
Nancy peered through the inch-wide opening. “The doors won’t budge. Someone stuck a pole in the handles. Whoever was in Madame’s office is getting away!”
“What’s going on here?” a voice called from down the hallway. Madame Dugrand and Mrs. Wolaski were standing on the top of the basement steps.
“We heard someone in your office,” Bess explained. “But the door was locked.”
“And whoever it was jumped out the window, then barricaded the back door,” Nancy added.
“What are you talking about?” Madame strode down the hallway, a key in her hand. “My door shouldn’t be locked.” Unable to keep up, Mrs. Wolaski hobbled a few steps behind the directress.
Inserting the key into the lock, Madame swung the door open and gasped. Drawers had been pulled out and dumped. Files and papers were scattered across the floor.
Stepping into the office, Nancy glanced at the front window. It was wide open. She dashed to the window and peered out. She could see footprints leading through the snow and around to the back of the building. “I’m going after our culprit,” Nancy said. “Give me a boost, George.”
Placing a hand under Nancy’s knee, George lifted her friend onto the window sill. Nancy slid through, swung her legs around, and plopped into the snow. Then she raced to the back of the building.
But she was too late. The footprints led to car tracks, which turned off onto the dry road. Nancy had lost the culprit again.
Nancy clenched her fists in frustration. Then she bent down to inspect the footprints. They had the same pointy toes as the ones from last night.
Turning, Nancy retraced her steps, keeping her eyes trained on the ground in case the person had left another clue. Something glinted in the snow, catching her eye. Nancy immediately picked it up. It was a shard of glass.
She stuck it carefully in her coat pocket, then went up to the double doors in the back of the building. As she had guessed, a broom handle was stuck in the two door handles. The intruder had obviously been prepared, Nancy thought, so the break-in had definitely been planned. But by whom? And why?
When Nancy returned to Madame Dugrand’s office, the directress, Bess, George, and Mrs. Wolaski were cleaning up.
“Is anything missing?” Nancy asked quickly.
Madame shook her head. “That’s what’s so strange,” she said. “So far, nothing seems to have been taken. It appears that this is just another attempt to mess up the production.”
“Wait a minute,” Bess said. She was standing next to the desk, hanging up the framed photos that had been knocked to the floor. Stepping back, she surveyed the wall. “Didn’t you have five pictures, Madame? Four on the outside and one in the middle? I’ve looked everywhere, but I can only find four.”
“Hmmm.” Madame moved around the desk to stand next to Bess. “You’re right. But why would someone take a picture?”
Nancy pulled out the shard of glass from her pocket. “That’s what this must be from,” she said. “The glass covering the picture. Look, there are a few more pieces of glass on the floor below that wall,” she added, pointing. “Whoever took the picture must have dropped it, and the glass broke.”
“By why would someone take one of those old photos?” Mrs. Wolaski asked. The elderly wardrobe mistress had slumped into the office chair to rest her feet.
Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied in a puzzled voice. “But the picture must have been stolen because it contained some kind of clue.”
“What do you mean?” George asked.
Nancy looked up at the group in the office. Four pairs of eyes were staring expectantly at her.
“I’m not sure,” Nancy said slowly. She swung her gaze to Madame. “But if you have another copy of that old photo, we may be able to solve our mystery!”
13
Shredded Dreams
Everyone turned to Madame Dugrand. “We’re in luck,” the directress replied. “I’ve saved all of my old photos, and I do have a duplicate of the picture that was stolen. It was from a Nutcracker production thirty-five years ago.”
Stooping with the grace of an ex-dancer, Madame began sorting through a number of pictures scattered on the floor. Nancy knelt down beside her. “It looks as though our thief was hunting for the duplicate, too,” Nancy said. “Who would know there was another copy?”
Madame shrugged. “Anyone, I suppose. I love to show off my photos.”
“Here it is!” Bess announced from the other side of the desk. “It’s the one of you in your Sugar Plum Fairy costume.”
Madame stood up and took the picture from Bess. George and Nancy peered over her shoulder. The photo was of a group of dancers. A young Alicia Dugrand—in her late teens—was in the center, poised on her toes. The other dancers, all about the same age as Alicia, were dressed in their snowflake costumes and had their arms gracefully arched toward her.
“Who’s that?” Nancy pointed to a ballerina on the far right. Instead of facing the photographer, she was glaring at Madame with a hateful expression.
