“No trouble, dear.” Madame smoothed the younger sister’s auburn hair.
Lawrence let out a deep breath. “Well, now that that’s been resolved, what’s the next step?” He looked at Nancy.
“Get back to work on The Nutcracker,” Nancy answered. “Make sure it’s the best production the dance school has ever put on. But,” she warned, “don’t forget—we’re all in danger.”
• • •
The next day, Monday, Nancy spent a lazy morning at home. She’d already called the dance school to make sure that nothing strange was going on. She passed the time by reading the newspaper and eating a leisurely breakfast.
But as the morning wore on, Nancy began to grow anxious. She was eager to get a look at the results of the age progression. Chief McGinnis laughed after she’d called him a second time.
“It’ll be ready in an hour,” he assured her. “The technician will leave it at the front desk.”
Nancy phoned Bess and George, then ate a quick lunch. By the time she’d picked up her two friends and parked in front of the police station, exactly one hour had gone by. Once inside the station, the girls went straight to the desk.
“We’re here to pick up a photograph,” Nancy told the sergeant on duty.
“You must be Nancy Drew.” He picked up an eight-by-ten-inch manila envelope and handed it to Nancy.
“Hurry and open it, Nancy,” Bess urged.
Nancy pulled out two photographs and laid them side-by-side on the sergeant’s desk. One was a blowup of Grace Turner from thirty-five years ago. The other was the computer’s age progression.
Silently, the three girls studied the now older-looking woman. The computer had given her permed gray hair, thinner cheeks, and wrinkles under her eyes.
“What do you think?” George asked.
Nancy frowned. “The older Grace Turner looks quite a bit like the younger one. It doesn’t remind me of anybody, but then, our culprit could be using a disguise now.”
Then Nancy had an idea. Excitedly, she turned to the desk sergeant and asked him for a pencil.
“Let’s try something,” she said. Quickly, she began drawing on the photograph. She added glasses, wispy strands of hair, and bags under the eyes.
Bess leaned forward and peered down at the now enhanced photo. “Oh, no!” she gasped a second later. “It looks like Mrs. Wolaski.”
“I’m afraid so, Bess,” Nancy said. “There’s a very good chance that Mrs. Wolaski is also Grace Turner—the only enemy Madame Dugrand has ever had!”
15
A Star in Peril
“Wait a minute.” Bess frowned in confusion. “Mrs. Wolaski is really Grace Turner? That’s crazy. Mrs. Wolaski is about seventy years old. And Grace Turner should be the same age as Madame Dugrand.”
Nancy nodded. “Pretty clever disguise, huh?”
“So it’s all an act,” George said, nodding. “The limp, the cane, the hunched shoulders, how upset she was when Shana’s costume was slashed.”
Bess shook her head in bewilderment. “No way! Mrs. Wolaski slaved over that costume. She wouldn’t have deliberately ruined it.”
“Unless she thought it would take suspicion off her,” Nancy explained. “Remember, she knew we’d found that photo. And I bet she was listening in the hall when I made the connection between Grace Turner and the initials on the handkerchief. She must have figured that someone would recognize her sooner or later.”
“We’d better get back to the school and warn Madame Dugrand,” George said.
Nancy nodded. “The faster the better.”
When the girls reached the dance academy, they hurried straight to Madame’s office.
The directress looked up when they knocked on the door. “Everything is falling into place now, thanks to you girls,” she said with a smile. “The programs are here. Darci and Lawrence are rehearsing for the matinee, and Mrs. Wolaski managed to fix Shana’s costume.” Then she noticed the girls’ crestfallen faces. “What’s wrong?” she asked quickly.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Nancy told her. “Take a look at this.” Bess pulled the two photos out of the manila envelope and laid them on the desk.
“I had your old photo age-progressed,” Nancy explained. There’s Grace Turner thirty years ago . . . and here she is now.”
“But this looks like . . . It couldn’t be . . .” Madame Dugrand tilted her head to look up at Nancy. “Gertrude Wolaski?”
George, Bess, and Nancy all nodded. Her brow furrowed, Madame again studied the pictures. “So Grace really did come back to haunt me. After all this time. She really must have hated me that much.” The directress sighed. “And I thought Gertrude volunteered to sew costumes because she loved ballet. How sad to think she was just waiting for a chance to get revenge.”
“Where is she now?” Nancy asked.
“She’s downstairs fitting Shana with her new costume,” Madame Dugrand replied.
“Shana’s alone with her?” Nancy asked, her voice rising.
“Why, yes. She went down about a half hour ago. Oh, I hope nothing’s happened.”
“Me, too,” Nancy said in a grim voice. Quickly, she led the way out of Madame’s office and down the hall to the basement door. But when the four of them reached the wardrobe room, they found it deserted.
“Oh, no!” Madame looked around the empty room. “What could have happened? I know they were down here half an hour ago.”
