Free KC Frantzen - May the K9 Spy 02 - May Finds a Way: Peril in Paris by KC Frantzen

in a trimmed potted plant. The bees around the fringe fall away and die, leaving a smaller group intact.
    Léonce darts in front of me and motions towards a trash bin across the avenue. Masks, gloves and clothes. No sign of the anarchists.
    As we turn back, the ground is littered with dead and dying bees. “Léonce, we have to help. C’mon.”
    I hear him groan.
    The survivors appear angry. I decide to try and speak bee.
    “How horrible! May I help you to a safe location? I won’t eat you like my sister did.”
    They buzz around, sensing me I suppose. They seem more active, then release to expose the bees in the center.
    The queen! She seems weak but okay, well-protected by her guards.
    She flies towards me and does a little dance. I can’t tell if it’s a greeting or a thank you, but soon she swoops and lands on my back. Most of the others follow.
    Gosh, now what?
    Several scouts twirl and waggle.
    “Look,” says Léonce. “Seems like they want you to follow.”
    I trail behind as they lead us to the next avenue. Hope we hurry. All these legs tickle! I want to flip over and scratch my back sooo much. Ahead, we notice some bees clinging to an arching branch on an old tree. The queen lifts off and dances again.
    “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
    I notice Léonce giving me a look.
    “What!”

    There’s also an “M” on a pole on this avenue. It seems there’s more than one entrance to Métro in this area. We take the stairs underground.
    Perfume, sweat, dead cow, cheese, bread, fear, love – the smells are similar to Washington, DC, but with a French flavor.One thing is the same, the human pandemonium. So many, all in a hurry. There’s clicking as they walk through the ticket-taker machine. No ticket for us!
    We leave on the next train. Léonce has me watch for Cluny la Sorbonne where we will disembark. It takes a while, but I realize there’s a map above the train doors and all the stops are marked. He seems proud when I say, “Next stop.”
    He shows me how to wait underneath the first row seats and let the forest of legs get off first. We jump just before the doors close.
    The walls and ceilings are covered in shiny white tile, with a scattering of huge scribbles. A lady nearby explains to a tourist that they are replicas of autographs of famous humans from the area. No pawographs. Interesting.
    We locate the exit, pass through several hallways, up steps, and into the sunlight. Much better. After several blocks we arrive at a large plaza with a huge building in the middle. Le Panthéon .
    We’re early, so we search for snacks.
    When the sun sinks in the sky he says, “We should prepare. They will arrive soon.”
    We stoop under an iron gate and enter Le Panthéon at ground level. But when we descend smooth concrete stairs, my bottom lip sticks out a bit.
    Underground. Oh joy.
    I don’t like this place of cold hard cream-colored stone. Nothing is soft or green, like where Léonce lives. The layeredhuman scents vary. Some are strong, from today, some are faint and age-old. We trot together down a long, dimly lit corridor with hall after hall of crypts on either side.
    At least we’re traveling towards a light.
    “We will position for observation, after I show you their meeting area.”
    As we near the end of this corridor, I hear sounds like a show on the Antiquity Channel. Odd. We approach a large room, with chairs and tables and a screen. A video is playing about another lady Marie, a Madame Skodowska-Curie and her husband, Pierre. Wonder if Dad has seen it?
    I feel Léonce’s paw on my shoulder. “Maintain silence when they arrive. Come. We will monitor from over here.”
    We enter one of the crypt hallways nearby and he indicates I should jump up. Piffle. We’re upwind of where the group will meet. Can’t be helped, but it knocks out one of my best senses.
    My friend settles in to wait, ears alert, tail hugging his body.
    I inspect the vault nearest me. “Why would someone named Louis Braille be