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said. “Thanks for your time.” She exited the hotel.
    Next to me, Mike’s entire body relaxed. The hotel clerk noticed Mike and approached us.
    â€œMr. Carter?” she said. Mike looked up at her nervously. George had definitely caught him off guard with the poster. “Is your cat okay?”
    â€œWhat?” Mike said loudly.
    â€œYour wife called about your cat being stuck in the chimney. Were you able to talk her out of there?”
    â€œBut I don’t have a cat,” Mike said with a look of surprise.
    â€œOh, I must have been mistaken,” the hotel clerk said.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, standing up quickly. “I have an appointment I need to get to.” I didn’t want to stay around too long in case Mike figured out that a nosy girl had come in asking him questions not long after someone called claiming to be his wife. Sometimes being a detective is all about knowing when to make your exit.
    As soon as I set foot outside, George accosted me.
    â€œWhat did his expressions tell you?”
    â€œI don’t think he’s our guy,” I said.
    George’s face fell in disappointment. “Are you sure?”
    â€œWell, it’s an inexact science, and when he saw the poster he was definitely angry and embarrassed, but I didn’t see anything that indicated that he was surprised or shocked that you would be asking to hang it, which he would have been if he knew it had been defaced.”
    â€œDarn it,” George said, pounding her fist into her thigh. “I really wanted it to be him.”
    â€œI know,” I said.
    Just then my phone rang. It was Bess.
    â€œNancy!” she said breathlessly as soon as I answered. “You have to get back to the theater right away. Something horrible has happened!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Threatened
    I PULLED UP IN FRONT of the theater, where Bess was pacing back and forth nervously. She yanked my car door open before I had even turned off the engine.
    â€œNancy! Thank goodness you’re here. I don’t know how I let this happen.”
    â€œBess, slow down,” I urged as I switched off the ignition and unbuckled my seat belt. “Just tell me everything.”
    Bess paused, as if she were searching for the right words. “I think I’d rather show you.”
    George and I followed Bess back into the theater. We walked quickly through the lobby, where clusters of dancers were whispering among themselves. They all looked shaken up.
    We entered the auditorium, which was almost completely empty. Only Jamison sat in the front row, staring at the empty stage, seemingly lost in thought.
    Bess indicated we should be quiet. I nodded. Based on what we’d heard earlier, I had no doubt Jamison would bite our heads off if we disturbed him.
    We tiptoed past him and entered a door to the right that led backstage. The difference between what the audience sees onstage and what actually happens backstage never ceases to amaze me. It’s part of what made me want to study ballet in the first place. When I was five, I saw The Nutcracker performed at that very theater. The daughter of one of Bess’s mom’s best friends was playing Clara, the lead, so we all got to go backstage after the performance. While we were watching the show, I had been completely captivated, transported to the Land of Sweets. But backstage I saw the pulleys that controlled the curtains, the painted backdrop that I had believed was a magical kingdom, and the costumes. For some people, seeing how the magic was made might have ruined the experience, but for me, seeing all the work that went into a production made it all the more impressive.
    When I got home that day, I told my dad I wanted to take ballet. As much as I wanted to learn how to dance, I also wanted to learn how to put on a show. I like knowing how things work and seeing behind the scenes. It’s part of what I enjoy about being a detective. Every person is putting on