The Right Chord

by James Ponti

Shane had followed the path to where it ended. That’s when he started digging. He figured that if he could “dig it,” he’d find the treasure and then “get back” to the camp for the show.

  At least, that’s what he thought at first. After digging seven holes and working up quite a sweat, he was wondering if maybe he had it all wrong. He was just about to start on hole number eight when he heard a clanging. It was Mrs. Torres ringing everybody in for lunch.

  “Saved by the bell,” he said with a tired sigh. He picked up the shovel and started the long walk back to the center of camp. Along the way he kept a lookout for any signs or hints but saw none.

  Shane was the last one to make it back to the mess hall and when he saw the other campers’ faces, he knew in an instant that none of them had been successful in finding their artifacts either. There was a general sense of frustration around the table. This was despite the fact that Mrs. Torres had made one of her most popular meals—spicy chicken quesadillas with pico de gallo and guacamole.

  “I think I have tried these keys in half the locks in the entire camp,” Lorraine moaned. “And not one even came close to opening.”

  “I’ve looked through more clothing today than I have in my entire life. Nothing helped,” Colby said, taking a bite of his lunch. “Although this quesadilla is delicious.”

  “Did anyone come even close to figuring out what they were supposed to be looking for?” Caitlyn asked.

  They all shook their heads.

  “Not at all,” Mitchie said sadly. “I can’t even figure out how to read my clue.”

  “Maybe it’s all a big prank,” Tess offered. “Maybe there is no real way to solve the mysteries. Maybe it’s Brown’s way of putting one over on us on the very last day.”

  “It’s not a prank,” a voice said.

  They turned and saw Brown walking toward them. “I warned you that it would be hard,” he said, smiling. “But don’t you see— that’s what will make it great when you solve the clues.”

  Lorraine laughed. “If we solve them.”

  “You will,” he said. “I have faith in you. Remember what I told you about the Beach Boys and how they got their sound. Be like the Beach Boys.”

  He took a tortilla chip and dipped it in the guacamole. “Delicious,” he said. “I will miss you all. But I will especially miss Connie’s amazing guacamole dip.” He dipped another chip, took a bite, and smiled.

  “Good luck, everyone! Remember, be like the Beach Boys.” He took one more chip and left.

  Once he was gone, Colby turned to the others. “Now I’m even more confused. What did he tell us about the Beach Boys that’s a clue?”

  “You’ve got me,” Caitlyn said.

  Mitchie thought back over the conversation. “It’s how the Beach Boys got their sound. What did he tell us about that?”

  “It was the harmony,” Shane said. “How the five of them came together to make one sound.”

  “You’re right,” Tess responded. “That’s what he said. But how does that relate to us? Are we supposed to sing together?”

  “Maybe we’re supposed to solve the puzzles . . . together,” Colby said, his eyes growing wide as the thought struck him. “Work as a team.”

  Mitchie nodded. “I think you may be right. Maybe that will help us.”

  “Right,” Caitlyn said. “Like if we split all the keys up, we can try more locks faster.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Shane said. “Let’s see them.”

  Lorraine took her pillowcase full of keys and dumped the contents onto the table.

  “Man, you weren’t kidding,” Shane said. “There must be about a hundred of them.”

  Something about that number caught Mitchie’s attention. “Wait a second,” she said, struggling to figure out what was tickling her brain. “What about the poem that went with them?”

  Lorraine pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. She opened it up and read to them, “A Glam-Rock Costume for Lorraine, by Brown Cesario.”

  “Queen and ELTON knew how to dress

  When they wanted to impress.

  And you can, too, if you please—

  Just solve the riddle of these KEYS.”

  She set the paper down on the table and the group looked at it. “Notice how ELTON and KEYS are written in all capital letters,” Lorraine said.

  “Elton John?” Caitlyn guessed.

  “It’s gotta be,” Lorraine said, shrugging.

  Suddenly, Mitchie smiled. That was it! “Count the keys! Everyone count keys!”

  They each grabbed some of the keys and started counting. When they were done they added them all up.

  “Eighty-eight keys,” Mitchie said.

  Lorraine shook her head, realization dawning. “Just like a piano. There are eighty-eight keys on a piano, and there are eighty-eight keys in that pillowcase. They aren’t to open a lock. They represent a piano!”

  The campers didn’t waste any time. They made a mad dash outside and downstairs to the B-Note. The camp’s snack bar and hangout was conveniently located right below the mess hall. In the corner of the room was an upright piano. When they got there they found a piece of sheet music.

  Lorraine rushed over and looked at it. “It’s an Elton John song!”

  Now they were all getting excited.

  “Play it,” Tess said.

  Lorraine recognized it right away. She loved Elton John and played the song perfectly. Except, for some reason, one note kept coming out wrong.

  “You’re missing a note there,” Tess said.

  “No, I’m not,” Lorraine said, smiling. “Something’s blocking it.”

  Lorraine stood up, opened the top of the piano, and looked inside.

  “What is it?” Mitchie asked.

  “A pair of sunglasses,” Lorraine said as she pulled a pair of incredibly outlandish sunglasses out of a case.

  “They’re not just any sunglasses,” Brown said. He had slipped into the room unseen while they were all focusing on the piano. “Elton John wore those sunglasses while he was on tour back before you were born. Try them on.”

  “Really?” Lorraine said.

  “Really,” he replied.

  Lorraine slipped the glasses on. “How do they look?”

  “Incredible,” Mitchie said. “Like they were made for you.”

  “Elton wore lots of ridiculous outfits and sunglasses and costumes. Do you know why?” Brown asked.

  “I read about it in one of your magazines,” Lorraine said. “Unlike guitar players who got to dance around the stage, Elton was always stuck behind his piano. He wanted to make sure he stood out and that people remembered him. So he wore those outfits.”

  “Excellent,” Brown said with a smile. “And tonight, when you’re playing piano, you’re going to be wearing the same glasses and you’re going to stand out, too.”

  The others all shared a look. Now that they had some success, they were ready to tackle the rest of the mysteries—together.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  “Which mystery should we solve next?” Lorraine asked.

  “How about Caitlyn’s?” Tess said.

  “Let’s do it,” Shane said, impressed that Tess was thinking about somebody other than herself. “What do you have, Caitlyn?”

  “Here’s what was in my envelope,” she said, holding up the sheet music. “There are scales, and the word produce is written across the top.”

  “What do scales have to do with rap?” Tess asked.

  “And how do you ‘produce’ them?” Caitlyn said.

  “Maybe if you recorded it and then you gave it a hip-hop beat,” added Shane.

  “Or maybe,” Colby said, getting into it, “instead of an instrument, one of us should do it like a human beat box? That would be kind of like rap.”

  “All these are good ideas,” Caitlyn said. “Better than anything I came up with.”

  “Can I see the poem?” Tess asked.

  Caitlyn handed it to her, and
Tess read it to everyone else. “Recipe for Rap,” she said.

  “A producer is a special fixer,

  An artist who controls the mixer

  To blend the parts to make them cook

  And bake a sound that’s off the hook.”

  They all just sat there and thought about the poem for a minute. Tess passed it around, and they each took a look. Nothing was coming to them.

  While they were thinking, Colby started looking through the canteen’s cabinets.

  “You think the clue is there?” Caitlyn asked.

  “I’m not looking for a clue,” he said. “I’m looking for food.”

  “Again?” Caitlyn asked.

  “There isn’t any,” Mitchie said. “We cleaned out practically everything.”

  Shane laughed and looked at him. “Didn’t you just eat lunch?”

  “Yeah, I did,” Colby said. “But food helps me think. Besides, that poem got me hungry with all the talk of cooking and baking and blenders and mixers.”

  Tess smiled. “Colby, you’re a genius. Let me see that again.”

  Caitlyn handed her the poem.

  “Listen to the words that are in this,” she said. “Recipe, mixer, blend, cook, bake. That can’t just be a coincidence.”

  Mitchie couldn’t help noticing that Tess was being really helpful and nice. With a pang, she realized she was going to miss Tess—attitude or not. “You’re right,” she said, snapping out of it. “We better go to the kitchen.”

  In a flash, they all bolted out the door of the B-Note and headed back upstairs. When they walked into the kitchen, they were greeted by the delicious smell of the dessert that Connie was baking.

  “I’m back in heaven,” Colby said, savoring the aroma. “Just the smell of food is helping me think better.”

  “Good,” Mitchie said. “Because I’m still stumped. Caitlyn and I have gone over every inch of this kitchen and we didn’t see anything that looked like it belonged in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.”

  Shane looked to Connie, who was checking the oven. “I don’t suppose you can help us at all.”

  “Sorry. I’m not supposed to give any hints.”

  “Okay,” Colby said. “I know you guys think I’m a food crazy. But am I the only one who thinks that smells absolutely delicious?”

  “It does smell pretty incredible,” Shane agreed.

  “Are you allowed to tell us what you’re cooking?” Colby asked Mrs. Torres.

  “Of course I am,” she said with a smile. “Apple Brown Betty.”

  “It even sounds delicious. Can you tell us what’s in it?”

  Mitchie rolled her eyes.

  Connie laughed. “Bread, butter, sugar, cinnamon, and two pounds of apples.”

  “Wait a second,” Mitchie said. “Why’d you change your voice when you said two pounds of apples?”

  “Did I?” her mom said with a sly smile. “I better get out of here before I get in trouble.”

  “She’s trying to help us out,” Mitchie said when her mom was gone. “Two pounds of apples is a hint.”

  “I’ve got it!” Colby exclaimed.

  The others all turned to him excitedly.

  “You do?”

  “It’s the cinnamon,” he said.

  Shane gave him a perplexed look. “What’s the cinnamon?”

  “The smell that’s driving me crazy,” he said. “I love the smell of cinnamon.”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath. “We’re trying to focus here,” she said through clenched teeth. “Can you forget about the food and think about the clues?”

  “Sorry,” he said with a gulp. He knew not to mess with Caitlyn when she was on a mission.

  They thought for a moment.

  “I’ve got it!” Colby cried again. “It’s the apples.”

  “That’s it,” Caitlyn said, getting truly frustrated. “Forget about the food.”

  “No,” he said. “This time I was talking about the clues. I figured out the hint.”

  “You did?” Tess said. “What is it?”

  “Measure out two pounds of apples,” he said.

  Shane gave him a look. “Is this some elaborate plan to get an extra serving of Apple Brown Betty?”

  “Just do it.”

  Shane grabbed some apples and put them on the kitchen scale until it read two pounds.

  “Now what?” he said.

  “How did you weigh them?” Colby asked.

  “On the scale.” Now Shane was getting frustrated.

  “Not just any scale,” Colby laughed. “It’s specially made to weigh fruits and vegetables. It’s called a produce scale.”

  “That’s right,” Mitchie said. “A produce scale. The clue isn’t to produce scales. It’s to check the produce scale.”

  Caitlyn gave Colby a big smile and tossed him an apple to eat. She lifted the bottom of the scale. Underneath was a key.

  “Ugh,” Lorraine said. “Another key.”

  “Except this time, I know exactly where that key goes,” Mitchie said. “That’s the key to my mom’s catering truck.”

  They went out back and unlocked the door to Connie’s catering truck. Everything was neatly put away, just as they had left it. They looked at the drawers, all clearly labeled.

  “Now what?” Caitlyn asked.

  Colby noticed a drawer marked DESSERTS.

  “Ooh,” he said. “Can we look in here?”

  He reached for the drawer, but Mitchie playfully smacked his hand. “No.”

  Colby pulled it back and took a whiff, wondering if he could smell any of the desserts.

  “I think I know,” Tess said, ignoring Colby and his insatiable appetite. “What’s the key piece of equipment for producing rap music?”

  “A mixer,” Caitlyn said.

  Tess turned to the wall full of compartments, each one specially marked to hold a particular item. She pointed at one.

  Caitlyn smiled and opened the compartment. Inside was a mixer. But it wasn’t a kitchen mixer. It was a recording mixer.

  Caitlyn pulled it out as if it were a priceless antique.

  “Kind of basic, isn’t it?” Colby said.

  “Yeah,” Caitlyn said softly. It had to be at least twenty-five years old. “The mixers we have in our studios are ten times more advanced. But this one’s a classic.”

  She turned it over and on the bottom was a piece of masking tape. Written across the tape in big black letters was the name RUN-DMC.

  Caitlyn nearly fainted. “I don’t believe it! This mixer was used by Run-DMC. They were legendary in the early days of rap.”

  The group stood quietly in the back of Connie’s catering truck and let Caitlyn enjoy the moment.

  “Brown Cesario is the coolest person ever!” she announced. She held the mixer to her chest, almost reverently. “What are we finding next?”

  She scanned the room, and Colby raised his hand.

  “Anyone know anything about Paul David Hewson and his sleeve?” he asked.

  “I don’t know anything about his sleeve,” Mitchie said. “But I know who he is.”

  “So do I,” Tess commented. She and Mitchie shared a smile while Colby started bouncing up and down.

  “How do you know Paul David Hewson?!” Colby pleaded.

  “Everyone here knows him,” Tess said.

  “If I knew,” he said a little crossly, “I wouldn’t be this desperate.”

  “I bet you a candy bar that you know at least five songs by him,” Mitchie said.

  “Probably ten!” Tess added.

  “You’ve got a candy bar?” he asked. “Is it in the desserts drawer?”

  “No!” Mitchie said, laughing. “Forget about the desserts drawer.” She slyly popped open the door to the minifridge in the back of the truck. She pulled out a king-size candy bar.

  “Is that frozen?” Colby asked, desperate to take a bite. “They’re so good frozen.”

  “Frozen solid,” Mitchie told him. “I’m going to give you a hint and let you
have a chance to earn this.”

  “Okay. Give me the hint.”

  “If you watched Music Makers on Hot Tunes as much as Tess and I do, you’d already have figured this out,” she said. “Paul David Hewson is his real name, but you know him by his stage name.”

  Colby racked his brain for a moment. He thought about the clue. It was the sheet music from the U2 song, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” That’s when it hit him.

  “Does it have something to do with U2?” he asked.

  Mitchie dangled the candy bar ever so closely in front of him.

  “Is Paul David Hewson’s stage name Bono?”

  Mitchie tossed him the candy bar. “You are correct, sir.”

  “Excellent,” Colby said as he quickly unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite. “Now we know it has something to do with Bono. But that still doesn’t solve the problem. What’s hidden up his sleeve? I’ve been through the entire Wardrobe Studio and there was nothing that belonged to Bono.”

  “He’s right,” Lorraine said. “I think I would have noticed that item myself.”

  Shane smiled and nodded as he remembered something. “Earlier, when my uncle played the Beach Boys album? What did he call that thing that held the record?”

  “The sleeve!” they all said in unison.

  “It’s hidden in a U2 album!” Colby cried.

  They rushed out of the catering truck and ran to Brown’s cabin. He was sitting in his chair, hiding his face behind a newspaper. He knew exactly why they were there.

  “Careful with my records,” he warned them.

  They all stepped back and let Colby carefully flip through the albums. Luckily, Brown was organized, and the records were alphabetized so U2 was easy to find. Colby randomly pulled out an album. Nothing. Then he pulled out another and removed the record sleeve. A picture fell out of the sleeve and onto the floor. He picked it up. It was a picture of the band, and there was a note attached to it. He read the note to everyone.

  “Turn around and you will finally have found what you’re looking for.”

  When Colby turned around, Brown lowered the newspaper to reveal that he was wearing a black cowboy hat. Colby looked down at the picture of the band.

  “Wait a second,” Colby said, putting it all together. “That hat looks just like Bono’s hat.”