“Oh, my.” Madame sighed. “That’s poor Grace Turner. A lovely dancer, but so competitive. She was furious that I got to dance the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy. She claimed I stole it from her, but I didn’t. I had to work hard for that part.”
Hmm, Nancy thought. Madame’s tale sounded a lot like what was happening between Darci and Shana.
Mrs. Wolaski eased herself out of her chair. “I’m so glad you found that picture, Alicia,” she said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my costumes.”
“Of course, Gertrude,” Madame replied. She seemed to be lost in thought.
“Could I see that picture again?” Nancy asked.
The directress nodded and handed the photograph to Nancy, who studied it closely. Since it was black and white, she couldn’t even tell what hair color Grace Turner had.
“Whatever happened to Grace?” George asked.
Madame shrugged. “She eventually left the company, claiming the directors were against her. I don’t know if she dropped out of ballet altogether, but I never heard her name mentioned again.”
“Grace Turner,” Nancy mused aloud. Something was trying to click in her mind. Then she remembered. “Grace Turner. G. T.!” Nancy said excitedly. Twirling around, she retrieved her purse from the top of the desk.
“G. T.?” Bess asked in a puzzled voice.
Nancy dug in her purse and pulled out the lace handkerchief. “They’re the initials on the handkerchief I found on the stage after the fire.”
Madame’s head snapped up. “You’re not suggesting that Grace Turner was involved in the fire? Why, that’s crazy!”
“You’ve really flipped, Nancy,” Bess said. “Grace would have to be . . . umm . . . over fifty years old now.”
“Wait a second,” George cut in. “Maybe it’s not Grace, but someone who wants us to think it’s Grace.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Nancy turned to Madame. “May I borrow this picture?” she asked.
“Why, certainly,” the directress replied. “But please take good care of it. It’s my last one.”
Just then, Nancy heard a creak outside in the hallway. She glanced over at the door. It was halfway shut. Putting her finger to her lips, she signaled the others to be quiet, then tiptoed to the door. Carefully, she put her hand on the knob and flung it open. The hall was empty.
“Is anyone else here at the school besides Mrs. Wolaski?” Nancy asked Madame.
“Not that I know of,” the directress said. “Shana should be arriving shortly to try on her costume.”
Bess giggled. “Maybe it was the ghost of Grace Turner,” she said.
“Right,” Nancy muttered to herself. Maybe her ideas about Madame Dugrand’s old rival had been a little farfetched, but at this point, Nancy wasn’t going to rule out anything.
After helping Madame straighten the rest of the office, Bess, Nancy, and George went back out into the hall.
“What now?” Bess asked.
“We’re off to the police station,” Nancy replied, heading toward the front door.
“To report the theft?” George asked, puzzled.
Nancy chuckled. “I doubt the police would care that an old picture was taken. No, we’re going to find out more about Grace Turner.”
Half an hour later, Nancy, Bess, and George were in Chief McGinnis’s office at the police station.
“I’ll be glad to have our technician do an age progression on this,” the chief said, holding the picture up. “We will have to blow the photo up first, though, so it’ll be a bit grainy.”
“What’s an age progression?” Bess asked.
“Well, it’s a process in which a computer scans a photo and is able to show what a person might look like however many years from now you want,” Chief McGinnis explained. “It’s a technique that’s been used to track children who have been missing a long time.”
“That’s neat,” George said. “So we’ll be able to tell what Grace Turner looks like now.”
The chief laughed. “Or what the computer thinks she should look like, anyway.”
“That’s what I need.” Nancy had already given him a summary of what was going on at the school. “When will it be ready?”
“How about tomorrow afternoon?” The chief grinned at Nancy’s impatient look. “I’m afraid the technician isn’t even here on Sunday, so you’ll have to hold your horses.”
“Okay. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.” Nancy thanked the police officer, and the girls left the office.
“Where are we going now?” George asked.
Bess pulled a face. “Let me guess. Back to the dance school, right?”
Nancy grinned. “How’d you guess? I want to keep an eye on things. Besides, I have lots of work to do as prop mistress. But we’ll stop off at Yogurt Heaven for lunch, my treat.”
“Thanks.” Bess sighed. “I’ll need the energy. Knowing Mrs. Wolaski, she’ll have plenty of sewing for me to do.”
• • •
