“That’s the White House butler,” Mr. Hawthorne whispered. “He’s probably talking to the chef about an upcoming dinner. They have to do a lot of planning when the president is having two hundred good friends over for dinner. Especially if one of them happens to be a king or something.”
“I’d be too nervous to cook for a king,” I said. “Imagine if you burned the casserole!”
“These chefs are professionals,” Mr. Hawthorne replied. “But I bet they get nervous too, sometimes.”
Just then, he put a hand to his ear, the one the wire went to. Then he spoke into his sleeve for a few seconds. “Oops,” he told us. “I have to leave you for a few minutes. Not an emergency, but something I have to deal with.”
“Do we have to leave?” Abby asked.
Mr. Hawthorne shook his head. “David can take care of you,” he said. “We can meet up again in, say, twenty minutes? In my office?”
“Sure,” David said.
Mr. Hawthorne took off. David turned to us with a grin. “Okay,” he said. “Time for one of my favorite activities.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Find Sparky.”
“You mean, the president’s cat?” Abby said, staring at him. Everybody’s seen that cat on TV. It was hard to believe David had seen him in real life.
“Yup,” said David. “He likes to hang out down here, or even farther downstairs, in the basement. I’ve found him in the strangest places.”
“What are we waiting for?” I asked. “Let’s go.”
David led us all over that building. It was so cool. We saw some of the private rooms where the president and his family entertain guests. We saw more of the kitchens. We saw the woodshop, the repair shop, and the office that handles the heating and cooling of the White House — where there’s a computer that shows the exact temperature in every single room!
We saw all kinds of people at work: people who were cleaning and cooking, polishing silver, moving furniture, or carrying stacks of papers from one place to another. Everyone seemed busy and in a hurry. It takes a lot of work to keep a place like the White House running.
We never did find Sparky, though Abby swore she saw a flash of white (he’s white with black spots) when we were near the woodshop. But I didn’t care. It was still the most awesome White House tour ever.
Finally, David led us back up to the offices where his dad was based. He showed us another really cool computer, one that monitors the exact location of every member of the president’s family at all times. “That’s one way they keep track,” he explained.
David was lucky. I could see it wasn’t easy for him to have a dad in the Secret Service, but there were some awesome perks!
We thanked Mr. Hawthorne for the tour and headed back to the hotel to catch our bus home. David came along to see us off.
“I’ll visit you in Stoneybrook one of these days,” he promised as we stood waiting to board our bus.
“You better,” I told him. “I know Stacey would be happy if you did too.”
Melissa and Lucas were off to one side, kissing and whispering and looking like sad little puppy dogs as they said their good-byes. “I’ll miss you so much, Lukie,” I heard Melissa say.
“And I’ll miss you,” said Lucas.
“I want you to have this,” Melissa said, handing something to Lucas.
He laughed. “Your trophy! The one you earned by beating me. I’ll treasure it.” He held the trophy to his chest. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” said Melissa, smiling at me over his shoulder as she hugged him again.
I had a feeling Melissa would be back in D.C. soon. Maybe Abby and I would come with her. Washington had turned out to be a pretty exciting place to visit, and now I had friends there too. David, Mr. Hawthorne — and, of course, Agent Melendez.
The author gratefully acknowledges
Ellen Miles
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.
Copyright © 2000 by Ann M. Martin
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First edition, 2000
e-ISBN 978-0-545-87513-4
Kristy and Kidnapper Page 9
