MISS DUPART FINISHES DRINKING HER GLASS OF WATER. She opens her purse and takes out a rather large mirror and a tube of lipstick.
“It’s true,” she says. “Evan went downstairs.”
“Downstairs?” I ask. “What do you mean, Miss Dupart? I’ve seen plenty of pictures of the bar. I’ve never seen a set of stairs.”
Miss Dupart opens the tube of lipstick and slowly lines her lips with a dusty pink color. Next, she purses them together and makes a smacking noise. Content, she puts her beauty products away.
“You two are much too young to know this, but most drinking establishments, if constructed correctly, will have a trapdoor in the floor, behind the bar,” she says. “The trapdoor usually leads to where they store precious liquor or expensive wine bottles.”
A trapdoor! I should have known about it. Of course, where else would Evan be dipping down into? He wasn’t kneeling on the floor. He was actually leaving the bar.
“This explains so much! If there is a trapdoor, then that must mean one thing.”
“That Evan is very good at stocking liquor?” Derek says sarcastically. “I could have told you that. Dr. Von Thurston always made him serve a dry martini every night.”
“No, Derek, that’s not it!”
I scream, but it’s because I’m about to explode. This is the true break I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out how exactly Evan would be able to sneak into all these shows without anyone noticing. He set up the tea station for the Great Bradinski, and he was working the night of Angela’s act, but how was he able to sabotage the other acts? The trapdoor explains everything.
“The trapdoor most definitely leads to the tunnels underneath the Crossed Palms Resort,” I say. “It’s practically a whole other universe down there.”
Derek is finally getting my meaning. “It makes perfect sense. He would be able to visit where these magicians were storing their tricks before hitting the stage,” he says.
“Exactly! Plus, the bunnies!” I exclaim. “Evan must have stored the bunnies somewhere underground. I’m sure of it.”
“We need to bring this to the authorities,” Derek says.
I can’t believe Derek wants to go to the cops instead of just solving the mystery first. Right now we need to stop Evan while we’re hot on his tail. Alerting others will only delay us.
Miss Dupart places her hand softly over Derek’s shoulder. Derek is taken aback by the warm gesture. It seems as if he’s not used to such genuine expressions.
“Derek, you seem to be very attuned to many things. You clearly have a sense of style. You’re a young man who is not afraid to make bold choices,” she says. “I’ve met many such men. I’ve also known them to take necessary precautions when faced with adversity. You put your trousers on one leg at a time. You analyze and think through your ensemble.”
Derek nods. He’s really listening to what Miss Dupart is saying. It’s kind of a miracle.
“Wouldn’t you agree the best solution would be to prove your findings before taking them to the men in uniform?”
Derek pauses for a long minute. “I think you’re right,” he says timidly.
I pat him hard on his back. Of course I’m right! I’m a great house detective, and this mystery is about to get solved, I think.
I give Miss Dupart the biggest hug ever. She’s been so helpful! Without her, we would have never caught this break.
“Thank you for everything, Miss Dupart. I owe you a cherry Coke or two!” I say. “Actually, I’d be more than happy to take Clementine for her morning walks for a week.”
“You are very welcome. It was a great, unexpected nightcap. And I was able to bring forth Doriane for a one-act play,” she says. “On that note, I bid you both a good and productive night of sleuthing.”
Miss Dupart stands up and heads to the elevator. It’s time for us to pick up the pieces and find the right entrance to the underground. I have to think this one through.
“I probably should be heading out, too,” Derek says.
What? I’m so confused. Hasn’t Derek been by my side ever since we met yesterday? Didn’t he insist on telling me how he was a detective? This doesn’t make sense.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s obvious I’m nothing more than a part-time detective,” he says. “If I were a true detective, I would have thrown myself into the planters with you. Or figured out that Evan was the culprit. Instead, I’ve just been in the way. The only helpful thing I did was name our mystery: the Case of the Missing Props.”
“It’s true we haven’t seen eye to eye since we’ve met, and we might not see eye to eye in the next five minutes,” I say. “But you did help me figure out this case. If you hadn’t shared the information about Evan and the Swedish coin, I never would have pieced it together.”
As much as Derek annoys me, he did help. But I disagree wholeheartedly with him. The Case of the Missing Props is way too on the nose and lacking a certain magical flair to be the name of this case.
“Let’s head underground and see what we can find. Two sets of eyes are always better than one.”
“Okay, I’m in.” He pulls the cap farther down his head and tucks in his yellow shirt. “Where to?”
That’s a good question. I’m not exactly sure. Since Derek is now officially with me, I can’t possibly head to the women’s bathroom and go through the entrance I used earlier. I’ll have to locate another entrance—one that won’t draw any attention.
“Let me think,” I say, scratching the back of my yellow headband.
I absentmindedly watch Arnold leave the Palms Palace with a tray of half-eaten food. He quickly walks over to one of the hotel’s restaurants, right next to the Palace.
“I got it!” I say. “Follow me.”
We duck down a bit as we pass the Palms Palace, just in case Evan decides to pop up again from the trapdoor. I go into the restaurant and say hello to the host. She waves back. I always believe in walking with purpose, because that way no one can question what you are doing or why.
With Derek right behind me, we head toward the kitchen. Not all the guests at the hotel this weekend are part of the magic convention, so quite a few tables are taken up with people waiting for their meals.
The first person I see when I go through the swinging kitchen door is Chef François. He is much too busy dealing with the late dinner rush to pay attention to what I’m doing. He yells out instructions for the line cooks, and boy, are they following his orders.
With all the hustle and bustle happening, I easily lead Derek to the pantry in the back of the kitchen. No one pays us any mind. It’s filled with the usual items you would find in a pantry, all neatly organized in their categories. Racks upon racks of spices, towers of vegetables, bottles of olive oil. The restaurant is never lacking.
“Here we are,” I say, showing Derek the pantry.
“What do rows of paprika have to do with underground hotel tunnels?” he asks, scrutinizing the food. “Great for adding flavor, not for finding missing Chakra Cards.”
Oh, ye of little faith!
“You’re failing to see what is right before your eyes.” I stand in front of a tall silver shelf brimming with labeled vegetables. So much good stuff here: artichokes, bunches of arugula, bok choy. Chef François keeps this shelf up-to-date with the freshest finds from the hotel garden and local farmers. “This shelf is Chef François’s pride and joy. He spends every day tending to his garden and selecting the finest vegetables. Chef François also likes to roll his ingredients around. Which is why I can do this.”
I push the shelf aside very easily to reveal a concealed trapdoor. “See?”
“Excellent!”
“We better be quick. One of the cooks is bound to come back here for vegetable oil or something.”
Derek opens the trapdoor and we look down. It’s pretty dark.
“After you,” Derek says. “You seem to know your way around.”
Before I head into the darkness, I do one more thing: I steal carrots from the pantry and hand them to Derek. “For Esme, Coco, and Snowball.”
Derek stores the carrots in the front pocket of his yellow suit jacket without questioning. Score one to me for converting him into my own assistant detective!
We quickly climb down the ladder, and I make sure the door closes behind us. We reach the bottom in no time.
“This is the tricky part,” I whisper to Derek. I point to the long corridor to our left. “Right down there is where we’ll surely find the trapdoor that Evan uses to exit the Palms Palace. We can walk toward it, but we have to be extra quiet. He could be anywhere. We can’t let him see or hear us. Understood?”
“Understood.”
I press my body against the wall of the corridor. Derek tries to follow, but he’s nervous he might stain his suit. Everything is grimy. Dusty pipes hang over our heads. Boxes and abandoned machinery litter the halls. These tunnels are the keepers of lost and forgotten items.
I have my nifty flashlight. I carry it with me at all times so I can easily shine a light on a situation that calls for it, but I’d rather not use it right now. We need to find out if Evan’s down here, and I don’t want to alert him to our whereabouts. Even though Derek and I stay light on our feet, every single step we take seems to echo across the corridors. There are other strange acoustics. Dripping sounds. Hard stomps from above. The thrumming bass of a drum.
“What’s that?” Derek asks.
I stop in my tracks. I, too, hear a strange noise. It sounds like thumping. It could very well be the pipes. I can’t be sure, not from this distance.
“Let’s keep going,” I say.
We tiptoe along the dark, spooky corridor until I stop right underneath what should be the Palms Palace. The trapdoor is shut. I shine my flashlight for just a quick minute to reveal what I suspected: footprints! There’s only one set of footprints heading down the unlit corridor toward the thumping sound.
Right beside the footprints is a thin rope. It seems fairly new because there’s no dust on it. Next to it are three gallons of gasoline. Is Evan planning to dump the gasoline in the pool of water Dr. Von Thurston is going to walk on? Evan’s plans are way worse than I could have ever imagined! I do the smart thing and carefully drag the gasoline away from the trapdoor, only to find out one of the gallons is empty! I can only hope we’ll be able to stop Evan before something really bad happens!
I hoist the rope over my shoulder. This might come in handy.
I turn to Derek and point in the direction we’ll be walking next. Then I press my finger against my lips, the universal sign to keep quiet. I hope Derek listens because this is super important. I want to avoid any surprises. To be extra careful, I even take my loafers off and point to Derek’s yellow shoes. He shakes his head. I nod like I’m a pigeon. Eventually, he relents and takes them off. We simply can’t risk blowing our cover.
My toes curl up as soon as I take my first step. Dark and now cold!
Evan had better be down here, and we’d better find him before my poor toes freeze!