Free Lost in Paris by Cindy Callaghan Page A

Harbor had suddenly become less special. “At least we’re in the lead, so we’ll have time to go to all of them.”
    â€œWe don’t have to,” Brigitte said.
    â€œWe do!” I agreed. “We have to be first. We’re gonna beat Beef.”
    â€œI mean we only have to go to one of the statues,” Brigitte said. “The correct one.”
    â€œHow will I know which one is correct?” I asked.
    Brigitte pointed to the numbers. “I use these kinds of numbers all the time to find my customers’ homes.”
    â€œLike a cell phone number?” I asked.
    â€œNo. They are coordinates for a GPS,” she said. “They are the exact location of the next clue.”
    â€œWell, what are we waiting for? Allons-y! ” I said. “Let’s go!”
    Brigitte took a gadget out of the glove box and punched in the numbers from the clue. Instantly, a voice told us in French to turn right. Brigitte, hands clenched on the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions on the wheel, did as the voice said.
    We were only a few blocks away from our destination when an alarm sounded from Brigitte’s watch. She pushed a little button to make it stop. She swung the petmobile into a U-turn.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I asked.
    â€œIt is time to pick up the birds from their baths.”
    â€œBut the statue?” I whined.
    â€œWork first,” she sang as if I would totally understand.
    Fine, I understood, but there was a lot at stake here besides a few wet birds.
    She maneuvered through the steep winding streets of Montmartre, past street-side painters and people sitting outdoors sipping cappuccino.
    Each of the three of us grabbed a birdcage from the bain d’oiseau and put the flock in the back of the minivan. The birds smelled good, like soap and flowers. “Here we go, guys,” Brigitte called back to them. “To the Île aux Cygnes to get the next clue.”
    â€œClue!” “Cygnes.” “Guys.” “Go!” The gang sounded less energetic than they had on the way to their bath this morning.
    â€œUsually they nap after their—” She whispered “bath” very softly, so they wouldn’t hear the word. “If you’re quiet, they’ll probably fall asleep.”
    We were ready to go, but Henri was nowhere to be found. I looked around the busy street until I saw the back of his head. He was at a small table-like wagon on the side of the road, paying a man. I joined him to see the table layered with rows of croissants. Henri held a bag open for me. “Croissant?”
    While I was a stranger to the croissant, I had never met a pastry that I didn’t like. So I took one and bit into it, and was pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet glob of chocolate hiding inside the flaky, buttery roll.
    â€œIt is good, non ?” Henri asked.
    â€œ Non. I mean, oui . It’s very good.”
    Back in the petmobile the three of us rode in croissant-­induced silence. Other cars whizzed around us. We passedthe Eiffel Tower and drove onto a bridge that crossed the Seine. Brigitte pointed off the side of the bridge to a small protrusion of land, but I was already looking at it. It was an exact replica of our Statue of Liberty. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was like her twin, her smaller twin.
    â€œPull over,” I said. “I think we’re first!”
    â€œFirst!” “First!” “First!”
    â€œShhh,” Brigitte said. “You woke them up. They get cranky if they don’t get a nap. And you would not like them when they are grouchy.”
    â€œSorry. But this is a race! Can you just pull over and let me out?”
    â€œI cannot stop here,” Brigitte said. “I will park ahead. We will have to walk.” She eased into a parking space, painfully slowly.
    â€œOr run,” Henri said. “Race you!” He took off toward the statue.
    I chased him.