The Ghostwriter Secret by Mac Barnett Page B

happened.
    â€œSteve, stop!” Dana whispered fiercely.
    Steve stopped.
    â€œThat’s the maid’s key card,” said Dana. “It opens all the doors in the hotel.”
    â€œHey, not everyone gets to go on a trip with their parents every summer and stay in hotels with fancy key cards,” Steve said.
    â€œKey cards aren’t really that fancy.”
    â€œWhatever. I have a lock to pick.”
    Steve was still for a few seconds, then he slowly withdrew the card. Right in front of his face, next to the handle, was a brass card slot with three little lights on it. He put the card in the slot and quickly removed it. A green light flashed and a lock clicked. Steve tried the handle. The door opened.
    â€œWe’re in!” said Steve.
    Dana smoothed the divot he’d made in the caviar, wiped the spoon on his shorts and put it back on the tray, and replaced the silver dome. Steve took a deep breath. The boys walked through the door, unsure what they’d find on the other side.

CHAPTER XX
THE MISSING MAN’S ROOM
    T HE CURTAINS WERE DRAWN and glowed at their edges. Otherwise the room was dark.
    â€œMy mom says that’s the sign of a nice hotel room—when the curtains block out the light even in the daytime. MacArthur Bart’s got nice taste,” Dana said.
    â€œOf course he does,” said Steve. “He’s the greatest writer of all time.”
    Usually Dana rolled his eyes when Steve said that, which annoyed Steve and usually led to an argument. If Dana rolled his eyes this time, it was too dark to see.
    Steve walked over to the drapes, yanked themopen, and let the late-morning sunlight fill the room.
    Everything was neat and tidy. Steve had half expected upended furniture and dresser drawers strewn across the floor. Instead there was a typewriter on a desk and an empty suitcase on the floor. Three suits hung in the closet: one blue, one tan, one brown. There were socks in one drawer, underwear in another.
    Dana dropped his beach ball and took off his hat and backpack. Steve put the camera down on the dresser.
    â€œLook for anything that might tell us something about Bart’s disappearance,” Steve said. “A letter from someone, a plane ticket to South America, a personal check for a large amount of money. Or a business card,” Steve added. “We don’t even know where MacArthur Bart lives.”
    Dana was peering under the bed, using Steve’s flashlight. “I think there’s a battery under here,” he said.
    That wasn’t very exciting.
    â€œNever mind. It’s just roll of mints.”
    That was even less exciting.
    â€œActually, it’s antacids.”
    This search was going poorly.
    They searched everywhere—every drawer, everysuit pocket, every hard-to-reach corner—for some kind of clue that would tell them anything about what had happened to MacArthur Bart. When they were done, they searched again.
    Nothing.
    Steve sat down on the edge of the bed. Dana offered him an antacid. He ate it. Then he sighed.
    â€œWe don’t know anything more about MacArthur Bart now than we did this morning.”
    Dana was looking out the window. “They have a nice pool here. Maybe we should go swimming.”
    It wasn’t a bad idea—the Bailey Brothers often stopped sleuthing to take a dip—and Steve was about to agree when he noticed a small white notepad on the bedside table. He’d seen it earlier, but—of course!—how had he forgotten? Steve stood up suddenly.
    â€œDana, give me a pencil.”
    Dana reached into his backpack and hurried over with a bright yellow pencil in his hand. Steve snatched it from him and sat back down. The Bailey Brothers had used this trick to crack two different cases—
The Symbol of the Wheezing Jaguar
and
The Mystery of the Third Twin
. Now it was Steve’s turn. He grabbed the pencil sideways in his fist and rubbed it back and forth against the