The Ghostwriter Secret by Mac Barnett Page A

down another a hallway. There, on the only tray in the corridor, they discovered a bowl of glistening black caviar, a pink fillet of salmon, and a plate of pale and fragrant cheeses.
    â€œWe’re here!” said Steve.
    Dana popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. “That’s good,” he said, chewing. “How are we going to get inside?”

CHAPTER XIX
BREAKING AND ENTERING
    T HE B AILEY BROTHERS’ D ETECTIVE H ANDBOOK
has a useful chapter called “Picking Locks”:
    Picking locks is a breeze! It’s also sometimes against the law! But if your heart is good and your intentions are noble, like Shawn and Kevin’s, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Just:

    1. take a credit card

    2. insert it here

    3. wiggle it around

    4. and you’re in!
    Steve took out his Velcro wallet, opened it as quietly as he could (which was not very quietly), and took out his detective’s license. It was a little bit flimsy.
    â€œDo you have a credit card?” Steve asked Dana.
    â€œSeriously?” asked Dana.
    â€œWait here,” said Steve.
    He sprinted softly back down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the carpet’s deep pile. When he got to the end, he froze, got down on the ground, and peered around the corner (it’s always best to be above or below eye level when you’re sneaking around).
    There, twenty feet down the hallway, was the maid’s cart, parked outside a room. Maybe there was something flat and thin on there. He tiptoed down the hall and ducked behind the cart. The door to the room was propped open, and Steve could hear the sound of flapping sheets as the maid made the bed.
    Steve rummaged around the cart, looking forsomething he could pick a lock with. A toothbrush handle would be too thick. The needle from a sewing kit wouldn’t be thick enough. He put a bottle of lavender bubble bath in his pocket, but not because it would help him break into Bart’s room—it was a gift for his mom.
    From inside the room came the soft thudding of pillows being fluffed. Steve didn’t have much time. He snuck around to the front of the cart, where, next to a set of keys and a half-full bottle of Diet Coke, sat a white plastic card with “Sea Spray Waterfront Hotel” written on it in cursive. Steve couldn’t believe his luck. He slipped the card in his pocket—just as the maid walked out of the room with an armful of bed linens. She stopped suddenly and eyed Steve suspiciously.
    â€œCan I help you?” she asked.
    â€œOh, I, uh, was looking for an extra washcloth.”
    The maid smiled, but not warmly, and took a washcloth off her cart. “Here,” she said, her hand outstretched. “Next time just ask. Things go missing off these carts.”
    Steve nodded quickly and hurried down the hall.
    When he turned the corner, Dana was lifting a spoonful of caviar to his mouth.
    â€œHow is it?” Steve asked.
    â€œSalty,” said Dana. “But good.”
    â€œYou know those are fish eggs, right?”
    â€œDelicious fish eggs.”
    Steve shook his head. “Look what I found.” He reached into his pocket, removed the card, and flashed it in front of Dana’s face.
    Steve kneeled down with the handbook opened next to him on the floor and slid the card into the crack between the door and the jamb, just above the lock, then started wiggling the card back and forth.
    Nothing happened.
    â€œWhy isn’t this working?” Steve muttered to himself.
    â€œWhere’d you get that card?” Dana asked through a mouthful of caviar.
    â€œI took it off the maid’s cart.”
    â€œBut, Steve—”
    â€œI know, I know. It’s stealing. But my heart is good and my intentions are noble!” He sawed away at the card.
    â€œSteve—”
    â€œThe handbook says it will work. I just need to keep wiggling.” The card warped and bent and almost broke, but still nothing