Lost in Paris by Cindy Callaghan Page B

Tunnels.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œDuring 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.
    â€œListen,” 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.”
    â€œWho 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.”
    â€œWhen was that?” the nurse asked.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œThis is a great hidden room,” I said.
    â€œI love that it is like . . .” He made an “oooooo” sound, like a ghost.
    â€œYou mean scary.”
    â€œYeah. You think?”
    â€œWith 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.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œAnd she will go look for the duck that you write about in the note?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œRight. 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