Lost in Paris

by Cindy Callaghan

  “Pfft,” Henri said. I think the English translation of that would’ve been “no freakin’ way.”

  We pulled into one of the hotel’s four parking spots.

  “Can you get Fifi?” Brigitte asked Henri. “Put her in her pink sac. She likes riding around in that.” Her cell phone rang. “I will come in un moment.’’ She answered it, “Boutique Brigitte—Pour les Petits Animaux.”

  Henri walked toward his three former friends with a white puffy pup in a pink bag over his shoulder. He stood up straight. “Comment?”—What?—he asked them, as tough as possible.

  “Beau sac,” Jean-Luc said.

  “Pink is your color,” Robert added.

  “Stop it,” Sabine said to them. “Pink is the new black.” Then to Henri she said, “We came to see how you were doing with the key.” Now she was trying to be nice? Something fishy was going on here. Fish? Would that be Brigitte’s next pet?

  “Really?” Henri asked.

  “You know, six minds are better than three,” she said.

  “Like a partnership?” I asked.

  “Pfft,” Henri said.

  “Yeah, pfft,” I added. “We’re way close to solving this clue. We’re not gonna help you.”

  Brigitte, who finished with her call, joined us with Sylvie’s bag, the snake’s head now poking out through the hole for air.

  Jean-Luc’s, Sabine’s, and Robert’s eyes popped out at the sight.

  “Afraid of a pretty little snake?” I asked them. “There’s no way you’ll be able to go to where this clue leads if you’re afraid of stuff.”

  “Comment?” Henri asked me.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I said to him. “I won’t give it away. Even if I did, they would be too afraid to follow through.”

  Just then the lacrosse bus pulled up. Perfect timing. We all stood and watched the muddy, tired American lacrosse team get off.

  I could see Mom sitting in the last row of the bus. I took out my phone and sent her a quick text that, if things went the way I hoped, would help with this little thing I was doing to Henri’s so-called friends.

  JTC each offered me a high five on their way by.

  “Victory,” Josh said.

  “Another win,” Topher said.

  “We advance to the next round,” Charlie said.

  They followed their team into the hotel.

  Mom came up to us and glanced at her phone like I thought she would when she heard my message arrive. She said to me, “An abandoned metro station? I don’t think so, Gwen,” she said.

  “Shh—Mom,” I said, and bent my neck toward our three competitors, like she’d spilled some majorly secret and important beans in front of the opposing team.

  “What? It’s too dangerous. And sorry, but I’m too exhausted to go with you. We can talk about it tomorrow.” Then she looked at Brigitte. “Pretty snake.” She petted Fifi and departed.

  Sabine, Jean-Luc, and Robert whispered to each other.

  Jean-Luc said, “Since your mommy won’t let you go to the old metro station at night, we will go on ahead and just beat you to another clue. Then we will tell the other teams where to go, and you will be last again.”

  They walked off, laughing. Robert barked.

  “I do not know what . . . what was that?” Henri asked.

  “I knew that was exactly what my mom would say, so I made up something to text her. And, presto, those three morons are off on a wild goose chase,” I said.

  “They are chasing a goose? Is that like a duck?” Henri asked.

  “No. Sorry. It’s just an expression. It means that they are off in the wrong direction, wasting their time.”

  “I am glad they are chasing ducks,” Henri said. “You are . . .” He pointed to his head.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I have three older brothers who’ve taught me pretty much every trick in the book.”

  “What book?” Henri asked.

  “Never mind. Sorry, there isn’t a book.”

  “Yes, there is,” Henri said. “Inside. Let’s look for the key in the hotel books.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Do you want to go in the hotel?” Brigitte asked Sylvie, who was still nestled in the bag. “She does.”

  12

  Brigitte and Henri went into the lobby, but I walked to the corner where Knit Cap was. He was singing, “It’s time . . . my time . . . my time to fly . . .”

  The words were familiar, but the tune wasn’t.

  Coincidence?

  “Did you write those lyrics?” I asked.

  “Yup. Ages ago. But I couldn’t finish it. I’m good at the music, but not the lyrics.”

  “That’s funny. I’m just the opposite. I write lots of lyrics, but not music,” I said. “But those words you were just singing. Do you know they were part of the Shock Value contest?”

  “Yeah. It’s all over Twister.”

  That made sense.

  Then he asked me, “If you write lyrics, then you must sing?”

  “Um. No. Not so much,” I said. “My brothers say that I sound like a dying hyena when I sing.”

  “You know,” he said, “sometimes brothers say things that aren’t true just to be mean.” He strummed. “Give it a try: ‘It’s time to fly.’”

  My brothers did a lot to be mean; that was true. I glanced around, and no one I knew was in earshot.

  He coaxed me again. “It’s time to fly,” he sang.

  I inhaled deeply and softly sang, “It’s time—”

  “Louder.”

  I inhaled again. “It’s time to FLLLLYYYYYY!”

  Knit Cap took his sunglasses off and looked at me with widened eyes. “O-M-G.”

  “That bad?” I asked. “I told you. Hyena.”

  “No. Your brothers stink. You’re really good. Try again.” He played the lead again and I sang.

  People walking by threw money in the open guitar case. “If you hang with me, I’ll be rich,” he said.

  “Unlikely,” I said.

  He craned his neck toward my royal blue bag. “The key?”

  “Yeah. Any ideas what it might open?” I asked. “I want to get there first so that Murielle duPluie can do a story about us in first place!”

  “I have a few ideas,” he said. “It’s a game, so there might not be an actual lock.”

  “Duh.” Of course. “Lock is too obvious,” I said. “But what else could a key lead to?”

  “That, my new singing friend, is the question. You need to think deep. You’re like a poet if you write lyrics. Musicians and poets think really deep. That’s why you know what I’m saying.” He strummed a chord. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and walked toward the hotel door, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced that he knew what he was talking about.

  13

  The old hotel lobby was cozy and dimly lit, but bustling with chaos tonight—infested with a sweaty lacrosse team and their parents. In a particularly dark corner Beef, Professor Camponi, and his nurse huddled around the key like it was a crystal ball and they were waiting for it to reveal its secrets.

  Professor Camponi scratched his chin and looked off in the distance, thinking deeply.

  Henri watched them too. “Do you think we can check the book of tricks and send them to get the ducks?”

  I grinned.

  “I think we can come up with something,” I said. My mind searched through all kinds of tricks my brothers had played on me. Like the time JTC sent me an invitation to MaryEllen Marini’s costume party, which might have been okay if I was actually invited to her party and it had been a costume party.

  “You work here,” I said, still thinking through the details. “That’ll be a big help with this.”

  “Is that what the trick book says?” he asked.

&
nbsp; At some point I’d have to tell him again there wasn’t an actual book of tricks. But now that I thought about it, maybe there should be. “Do you have any royal blue paper?”

  “I think I can find some,” he said.

  I waited for him as he fetched the paper.

  Brigitte looked at her watch. “I need to bring Fifi and Sylvie home. I will leave you two in charge of the ducks, okay?”

  We agreed.

  Brigitte said, “I will pick you up in the morning after I go to the Cliquots. I have an important pet delivery to make for them.”

  “That sounds good. My mom won’t let me out anymore tonight anyway,” I said. “Brigitte, thanks for taking me on this hunt. I know you have your job to do, but I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”

  “That is what big sisters are for,” she said. Then to Sylvie and Fifi she said in French, “Come on, precious babies, I’ll put you to bed.” She called as she left, “Bonne soirée!” A few seconds later I heard the bark of a horn as she drove away.

  “I have it,” Henri said about the paper.

  “Is there a place where we can work?” I asked.

  “I know a place. It is perfect.” Henri walked into a corner of the lobby and slipped behind a tree in a flower­pot. The wall was lined with dark woodwork and busy with elaborate oil paintings of royalty. He pushed in a piece of wood molding. That triggered a slim section of the wall to shift aside, providing a narrow entrance. Henri squeezed through it. After a quick glance behind me, when I saw the lacrosse team and parents all chatting and distracted, I did the same. It was totally Scooby Doo.

  The wooden door slid closed after me, and we were in pitch black. “I can’t see.”

  “Un moment.” Henri turned on a flashlight app on his phone and led the way through a narrow passageway.

  “What is this?”

  “Halls behind the walls. They lead to . . . you know . . . tubes under Paris.”

  “Tunnels?”

  “Oui. Tunnels.”

  “What for?”

  “During wars, people needed to hide and move around in secret,” he said. “But today it is just halls.” He stopped at a section where we could hear people talking on the other side.

  “Listen,” I said. It was Beef.

  Henri moved a playing card–size piece of wood affixed to the inside of the wall. It revealed several holes, each a bit bigger than a pin. He turned off his flashlight and squinted to look through a hole, and I did the same. We spied into the lobby.

  Beef spoke to Professor Camponi. “I’ve got to get those backstage tickets. Don’t you understand?”

  The nurse answered, “You must really love Shock Value.”

  “Who doesn’t love Shock Value? But, it’s more than that. So, so much more,” she said, without offering the deets. “I just need the good professor here to solve the clues to make sure I win. Capeesh?” Professor Camponi nodded. “Good. Because if you don’t, it’s bye-bye to the free tours, and you won’t be able to give your granddaughter the tickets she’s wanted since the last concert.”

  “When was that?” the nurse asked.

  “The one our friend Clay Bright didn’t make it to,” Beef said. “Camponi’s only granddaughter was going to that concert, which was obviously canceled when Clay decided to go all Houdini and disappear. She never got to see her favorite band. Now Grandpa has a chance to be her hero. I’ll get a backstage pass and he can get the tickets,” Beef said. She turned to look at Professor Camponi directly. “You got that, Camponi?”

  Professor Camponi nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

  14

  Henri slid the wooden card back in front of the holes and turned the flashlight on again. I was about to talk about what Beef had said when Henri put his hand over my mouth and whispered, “Shh.” He walked further down the secret corridor and into a small, dark room. With matches from his back pocket he lit candle sconces hanging on the wall. It was an old office with worn and cracked leather chairs. Dust and cobwebs covered every surface.

  Who would need an office hidden behind the hotel walls?

  Henri took his sleeve, pulled it down over his hand, and used it to wipe off a large section of the desk, where he set the royal blue paper and black pen.

  “This is a great hidden room,” I said.

  “I love that it is like . . .” He made an “oooooo” sound, like a ghost.

  “You mean scary.”

  “Yeah. You think?”

  “With three older brothers I’ve been scared by the best of them. It takes a lot to freak me out.”

  He nodded, but I didn’t know if he understood “freak out.” “What are you going to write?” he asked.

  “I’m gonna write a letter to myself.” I wrote, To Gwen Russell. “It will be from a Shock Value representative. It’ll have information about the key. When Beef sees a royal blue message for me, and she hasn’t gotten one, she won’t be able to resist reading it.”

  “And she will go look for the duck that you write about in the note?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I am glad you have older brothers,” he said.

  I wrote the rest of the note in my most grown-up handwriting. It said:

  Most people from Paris know there is a basement in Orly airport with lockers where employees store their belongings. Since you are American, we thought it was fair for us to tell you because you would have no way of knowing this.

  Good luck.

  From,

  The Shock Value Team

  Henri asked, “She will go to Orly looking for a basement that is not there?”

  “Right. Plus, she’ll think that they’re somehow giving me extra help because I’m American, and that will make her mad. If she’s mad, maybe she’ll make a mistake.”

  I folded the note and gave it to Henri. “Can you put this out on the front desk tomorrow morning? Place it where you’re sure she’ll see it.”

  “Oui.”

  Henri blew out the two candles and led me through the secret corridors back into the lobby, which was now empty. My phone vibrated. I looked at the text. It was from Josh. He said Mom was looking for me. I said, “I have to go.”

  “Bonne soirée, Gwen,” Henri said.

  “Bonne soirée, Henri,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You can wait and thank me when we are in the front row!”

  I ran up the center staircase, taking the steps two at a time. I slowed and turned my head to look back, and at the exact moment, Henri turned his head and our eyes met.

  15

  When I came down in the morning, my mom and JTC were ready to leave for the next round of lacrosse games.

  “Behave for Brigitte,” she said to me, and she gave me money for lunch. “And wish your brothers luck.”

  “Bonne chance,” I called to JTC. They shoved several mini breakfast tarts into their mouths, stuffing their cheeks like chipmunks, and gave me the peace sign.

  One quick look at the front desk and I immediately saw the royal blue paper. I made myself a plate of grapes and tarts, pretending I had no idea it was there.

  Beef entered the hotel through its huge wooden door, which was complete with tarnished golden handle and hinges.

  I concentrated on my grapes and looked out the window for the arrival of the petmobile. I wondered if Fifi and Sylvie would be with us today. As embarrassing as that van was to drive around in, I’d grown strangely attached to it and its passengers. After a while you got used to its unique appearance and odor.

  Beef was instantly attracted to the blue paper. Without hesitation she walked toward it and spoke to the concierge. “Hiya, Étienne, how’re you doing this fine morning?”

  I backed up behind the tree in the flowerpot.

  “Bonjour, Madame LeBoeuf. It is a beautiful day.”

  “I see
you have this note for one of the members of my next tour. I’d be happy to deliver it for you.”

  “I thought your tours were canceled today, Madame.”

  “You are on the ball, Étienne. They were. But I will see this girl this morning. And I’d be happy to deliver this for you.”

  “Oui, merci, Madame LeBoeuf. That would be kind of you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Unless I ever need a favor, in which case I’ll mention it. Ha-ha!” She took the note with a big smile. “I’m just joshing you, Étienne.”

  “Oh. Ha-ha. Joshing. I understand.” He smiled broadly.

  I saw her slide the royal blue note into her pocket, scan the lobby, and leave.

  From my view through the tree leaves, I saw Knit Cap sitting cross-legged in an armchair, studying the people and activity while sipping coffee that was for hotel guests. It seemed like he made himself right at home in the lobby, which was strange because he wasn’t a guest. He’d watched what Beef had just done. Then he found me between the greens and raised his cup in a gesture that suggested he knew the trick I’d just played. Of course he didn’t have his sunglasses on inside, and without them there was something familiar about his face.

  I came out of my hiding place.

  “That had something to do with the key?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Good for you,” he said. “Now you’re playing the game. And remember that games and puzzles are more challenging if they provide misdirection.” He stood and swung his guitar over his shoulder and went on his way.

  Then I saw the petmobile drive up the boulevard.

  Did I say I was becoming attached to the pet­mobile? The basketball nose was now a beak, and large foam feathers had been stuck to the sides. The horn announced Brigitte’s arrival with a Squaaawk!

  I ran out front to see what this transformation of the petmobile meant. Tourists photographed the wheeled bird, but the locals didn’t seem to notice or care.

  Brigitte took a while to find the perfect parking spot, just like she seemed to do everywhere in Paris. “Bonjour!” she called to me. She had on a green lab coat today, which was equally as dirty as yesterday’s black one. This one was speckled with white and black droplets that I suspected were bird poop. On her head she wore a hat with a long beak.