Lost in Paris (4 page)

7

Brigitte bent to tie her shoe. “What is it?” she asked me without looking at the clue.

I held it up. “It's like a little model of a building.” I looked at it. “Not a building, really, because there aren't windows . . . it's like a monument, maybe. We have one in Washington DC called the Washington Monument. There are words on the side.” I turned it. “ ‘It's time to fly' is etched along the side.” I put the little building in my pocket.

Brigitte stood back up. “It's time to fly,” she repeated, and thought.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Nope. Nothing.” She looked at her watch. “We'll think about it on the way.”

“Where?”

“Fifi. Pee-pee. Remember?”

I didn't like the idea of disrupting our search now, but since we didn't know where to go next, “To Fifi,” I agreed.

On the short drive over, we brainstormed different ideas. “It's time to fly.” I put it in Google, but didn't get anything useful. “These are harder than I thought,” I complained.

“Which one is your favorite?” Brigitte asked me.

“Which what?”

“Band member. Alec, Winston, or Glen?” she asked.

“I can only pick one?”

“Only one.”

“Winston,” I said. “How about you?”

“Alec.”

“Why Alec?”

“He is British! I love the Brits!” she said. “Why Winston?”

“He's the cutest. And the youngest,” I said. “And I love his French accent.”

The Shock Value members were a mix of ages. From youngest to oldest there was Winston (16), Alec (20),
and Glen (26). Clay was thirty when he disappeared. The two oldest, Glen and Clay, were also the two Americans of the band.

Shock Value won a big TV talent contest three years ago and came out with an awesome (with a capital
A
) song. When Clay disappeared a year ago, they stopped recording and touring. Everyone was surprised they didn't replace him. Then a few months ago they released a new album without Clay. The music sounded a little different, but it was still fab.

Brigitte drove past a huge church. I could see the giant spires and what looked like little monsters etched into the sides. Based on pictures, I could tell it was Notre Dame Cathedral.

“Look at those scary statues,” I said.

“We call them
gargouilles
,” Brigitte said.

“Sounds exactly like what we call them, gargoyles,” I said. “Isn't it convenient when French and English words are the same, or almost the same?”

“
Oui.”
Brigitte giggled, and we made a list of words that were the same in both languages:
ski
,
bizarre
,
important
,
zoo
,
menu
,
garage
. And, most important to me,
boutique
!

“We're here.” Brigitte pulled up in front of a four-story apartment building with beautiful iron balconies
that looked
très chic
. A doorman came to the pet­mobile and opened my door for me.
“Bonjour,”
he said in a husky voice, “
Brigitte pour les petits animaux.
Fifi is waiting for you.”

“
Merci
,
Philippe,” Brigitte said. “We won't be long. We're on the hunt for those Shock Value tickets. Did you hear about the contest?”

“Of course!” Philippe said. “If I had more time, I would try it myself.”

“Ask him if he knows what the clue means,” I whispered to her.

“Ah, Philippe, do you know what ‘It's time to fly' means? It's our clue.”

He rubbed his chin. “Time to fly . . . time to fly . . .
l'aéroport
? The time of a flight?”

Hmmm. That sounded possible.

“Maybe,” she said.
“Merci.”
I followed her to the elevator, which was like none I'd ever seen. We stood on a platform, and Brigitte pulled a caged wall down in front of us. The elevator rattled as it brought us to the fourth floor. I held on to the waist-high railing for support. “Orly is one of our airports,” Brigitte said. “Very big.”

“It may not be a big airport.”

“True.” She lifted the cage and walked to the first door in the hallway. She pulled a gigantic key ring out of
her lab coat pocket. The rounded end of each key had a rubber cap. And each cap had a name written in slim black letters. She found Fifi's key.

A white, puffy, fluffy, yappy pup ran to the door. When it tried to stop, it slid across the hardwood floor until it hit the wall with a little thud. Fifi didn't seem to mind. She redirected toward us and yapped more.

“
Bonjour
,
Fifi!” Brigitte talked in a baby voice. She pulled a leash out of another lab coat pocket and put it on the pooch.
“Comment vas-tu? Est-ce que tu étais une bonne chienne? Allons-y,”
she said to Fifi.

We went back down in the elevator and walked down the boulevard, which was lined with many more buildings like Fifi's. We turned a corner at La Boulangerie Moderne, a French bakery whose outside walls were painted brick red and trimmed in gold paint. The red-and-gold awning was decorated with the name and phone number in beautiful cursive.

With the smell of croissants in our wake I saw a brilliant building that made me think I was suddenly in Italy, not France. “Wow! What's that?”

“The Panthéon.”

“What is it?”

“It is one of my favorite places in Paris. Actually, it wouldn't be fair to all of my other favorite places if they
heard me say that. But I like it a lot.” She lowered her voice. “It holds the remains of important people. You know what I mean by
remains
?”

“Like, the bodies?” I asked.

“Corpses,” she added to make the idea of it more gruesome.

“Maybe we won't go in there,” I said.

She perked back up. “Besides the remains, it is a very beautiful mausoleum. And I love the story of why it was built.”

“I like a good story,” I said. “Tell me.”

“King Louis the Fifteenth was very sick. He made a vow to God himself. He said that if he recovered, he would replace the ruined church that used to be here with a magnificent building. Then, he did recover! And built this. It looks over all of Paris.” As quickly as she'd given me the brief history lesson, she refocused on Fifi, baby-talking more in French. She was more interested in the dog than in the incredible historic building in front of us. Maybe she was used to walking around seeing ancient stuff and buildings like this, but I wasn't.

While I thought the Panthéon was beautiful and I wanted to learn about it, it didn't have anything to do with “it's time to fly.”

“Wait,” I said. “Gargoyles fly, don't they? Maybe ‘a
time to fly' is sending us to a gargoyle in Paris.” I googled “gargoyles in Paris.” Hmm. “There are hundreds across the city. Way too many to check out.”

“Maybe it's about telling time. Like a watch,” she said.

“Of course!” I yelled. “That's brilliant. Is there a famous clock tower?”

“There is! Gare de Lyon, but maybe that is too . . . like, too easy . . .”

“Obvious?” I asked.

“Right. Obvious,” she said. “I was thinking that Paris is home to the most famous watches.”

“Is there a factory?”

“No, a store,” she said. “Cartier!”

8

“What about Fifi?” Brigitte asked.

“This is a race, Brigitte! Bring her. Hurry!”

We ran to the petmobile. For having such little legs, Fifi could run fast.

Brigitte retrieved a gadget from the back of the van and strapped it into the backseat. She set Fifi into the thing, which was very like an infant car seat, secured a harness over Fifi's fluffy paws, and clicked the seat belt. Fifi could only be more protected if we wrapped her in bubble wrap, but I didn't mention that because it
wouldn't have surprised me if Brigitte had bubble wrap in one of her pockets. Brigitte got in the front and ever so cautiously pulled out into traffic, checking her mirrors over and over, rolling the window down, and pointing to the spot she was moving to.

I thought about explaining the part about the race again.

She drove with both hands firmly clenched around the steering wheel, and she leaned in close to the windshield. I didn't want to break her concentration and I didn't want to make her angry. After all, the only reason I was able to participate at all was because she'd agreed to be my “babysitter.” And it was pretty awesome that she had a car and was interested in this hunt too. If she quit on me, I'd be in a major jam.

Even at our snail's pace it didn't take long to arrive at the Cartier store in la place Vendôme. Brigitte parallel parked right in front of the Cartier store. When she backed up the petmobile, it made a
Beep! Beep! Beep!
that attracted even more attention than the average minivan dressed like a cat-dog.

There was no sign of the Hôtel de Paris bus. Either Beef had already been here or, hopefully, we'd beat her. I had a good feeling about this place. Beef had probably gone straight to the obvious clock tower.

I glanced around for some sign of a Shock Value rep; I didn't see one. Maybe she wouldn't be dressed in a blue shirt at each location. Maybe she'd even be hidden or undercover, like as a store employee.

Each of the windows was decorated with white lights and displays of watches on black velvet wrists. A half-moon awning covered every window, with the word
Cartier
written across it in posh script.

In a word, this place looked
fancy
.

Brigitte examined me, and then herself. “Wait. We can't go in like this.” She opened the back of the petmobile. She scavenged around and found a purple sequined beret, which she put on my head, slightly off to the side. If you looked at it closely, you could tell that it had two ear holes. Then she took three leashes, braided them together, and wrapped them around my neck like some
nouveau
fashion statement. She took her lab coat and tied it over her shoulders like a cape of sorts, unbuckled Fifi, and tucked her under her arm like an accessory. If you didn't look
too
closely, we could possibly pass for two chic gals shopping for an upscale watch. For a last touch I grabbed a pair of postage stamp–shaped sunglasses with wire frames from the bottom of a box of junk. I wiped off the smudges that were probably from the last dog who'd worn them, and set them on the end of my nose.

We marched into the exquisite watch store like we totally belonged. I walked to the counter, glancing down at the bejeweled watches.

“Can I help you?” a man in a pin-striped suit asked. He eyed me with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

I peered right over the top of the sunglasses looking for the girl from Shock Value. She was nowhere. Maybe this guy worked for the band. I whispered, “It's time to fly,” like it was a secret password, and slid the glasses back over my eyes to conceal my true identity.

He paused, maybe considering if I was worthy of it. Then he asked,
“Pardon?”

I repeated, in case he was just checking to see if he heard it right, “It's time to fly.”

He exhaled as though I'd annoyed him. “Can I help you or not,
mademoiselle
?”

I guess not.

I whispered to Brigitte, “I don't think this is the place.”

She nodded, and like a customer who couldn't find anything suitable, she stuck her nose into the air, tightened her grip on her white fluffy dog, and marched out.

If Brigitte didn't succeed as Paris's premier pet sitter, she might seriously have a future in acting. As Brigitte buckled Fifi up, I said, “That was embarrassing.”

“Nah. We'll never see them again. Besides, I always
figure they have seen some person more odd than me,” she said. She put the van in drive and focused on the road. “Where are we going?”

“I can't help but think that I've seen that monument in one of my tour books. Let's go back to the hotel and I'll look it up.”

“
Bien.
That is not far.”

Again, Brigitte drove like a snail on a leisurely ride. I was glad she was a safe driver, but it bugged me that she didn't realize that we were in a hurry! It seemed like every car was flying by us. Some honked. Brigitte just waved at them and smiled.

I ran into the Hôtel de Paris and lingered for just one extra second in the lobby to see if Henri was working, but I didn't see him. I was about to race up the center staircase when I heard,
“Salut!”
I turned to see Henri standing in the fireplace, covered with soot. “How are you?” he asked.

“Great! What are you up to?”

He looked up for only a second, then remembered that I didn't mean “up.” “I am dusting the fire chimney.” He looked at my hand. “What is that?”

“It's a clue for the Shock Value treasure hunt. It's some monument with a message: ‘It's time to fly.' We're trying to figure out what it means. I'm going up to get a book to see what it is.”

“It is not a monument.”

“It's not?” I asked.

“
Non.
It is an
obélisque
.”

“What's that?”

“It's tall and stone. When the sun shines, it makes a dark mark on the ground.”

“Like a shadow?”

“Right. That is it! A shadow to tell the time. Like before clocks.”

“Like a sundial?” I asked. “Or an obelisk?”

“
Oui
, but a very big one,” he said. “It is in la place de la Concorde.”

“Do you know how to get there?” I asked.

“
Bien sûr
.” Of course.