My Dad, the Private Eye: The Falling Star

CHAPTER 11

Later that night, Dad hid in some bushes and watched the night security guard let out the last car from the studio lot. After the long electric gate rolled shut, the guard stepped out of his security booth and set off on his rounds.

Dad swallowed hard when he noticed the man had a gun holstered at his hip. But Dad went ahead with his plan anyway. Checking to see that the coast was clear, he quietly rushed up to the security booth and tried the door.

It was locked.

"Damn!" Frustrated, Dad ran back to the bushes.

And called me.

"Uh, Krista... do you know anything about picking locks?" he asked, whispering.

"What am I, some kind of thief?" I asked. Then I looked closely at his FaceTime image. It was really dark. "Where are you? And why are you whispering?"

Dad wondered how to put it. "I'm... on a stake-out."

"A stake-out? Cool!" I know, his first stake-out and he's calling me in the first five minutes. But I didn't know that at the time. "Let me look up lock-picking," I said, and I googled lock picking for dummies.

"I think someone fooled with the set that Patty Delaroy fell off of, and I'm hoping a security camera recorded it," Dad explained.

"Good deducing, Dad!" I said. Then I found a lock-picking video on YouTube. I couldn't believe it – it had five million hits! What were people up to out there? "Okay, Dad, you need two paper clips."

"Paper clips..." Dad wondered. "Hold on," he said as he scanned the area. Spotting a blue bin behind an office bungalow, he ran over and dug through all the recycled paper inside. Finally, he managed to snag two paper clips from the mess. "Got them!" he announced triumphantly, and he ran back to the security booth.

"Okay," I said, scanning through the lock-picking video, "stick one paper clip into the very top of the lock."

Dad straightened out one of the clips and inserted it into the lock. "Got it."

"Now, slip the other one into the lower part of the opening and listen for a little 'click'."

Dad carefully inserted the other clip and listened closely.

"Did you hear a 'click'?" I asked.

"I don't know," Dad said, furrowing his brow.

"It should sound like 'click!'" I clarified.

"I know what a click sounds like," Dad said, a little annoyed. He fiddled with the paper clips, not getting anywhere. "It's not working!"

I went back to the search page and frantically scanned my computer. "Wait, what brand is the lock?" I asked.

Dad looked closely. "Schlage."

"Oh," I said, realizing. "These instructions are for Weston."

"Why didn't you ask me the brand in the first –" Dad froze mid-question when he spotted the security guard rounding a corner. He quickly stepped back and shoved his phone and the paperclips into his pockets.

The guard walked up to the booth and gave Dad a curious look. "Can I help you?" he said, pulling out his door key.

"No, I just..." Dad said, trying not to panic. "I mean, yes, I was just wondering..."

"You work on the lot?" the guard asked suspiciously.

"Yes, I'm an extr-..." Dad stopped, thinking twice about his answer. "I mean, I'm a private investigator."