Granny took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes and looked at me. “Cameron, you know you can’t get to the truth if you let your feelings influence your detecting.”
I looked at the carpet. “I know.”
“So,” said Granny, “do you think it’s possible Mr. Lozana might have bugged your bug?”
“No!” I said.
“Really?” said Granny.
“Maybe,” I said. “It turns out he was in the White House last night, and I can’t figure out why.”
“In that case, you have to treat him and Courtney just like all your other suspects.”
I sighed. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a detective.”
“You’ve done well on your other cases,” Granny said. “I’d hate to see you give up now. Besides, a spy in the White House is a very dangerous thing. We have to get to the bottom of this, and soon.”
Mr. Bryant cleared his throat. “If I may?” he said. “It’s coincidental you should be talking about Mr. Lozana because just at this moment, I happen to be reading his blog.”
Granny made a face. “I don’t know why you give that blog the time of day, Willis. I have zero interest in anything Mr. Lozana writes.”
Mr. Bryant said, “All right, then. I won’t say one word more.”
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then Granny said, “Oh, fine. What did he write?”
Mr. Bryant started to smile, straightened it out, then read out loud: “ ‘According to sources in the Parks White House, the president plans to add ground-up insects to school lunches at her earliest possible convenience. Yes, you read that right. Instead of being exterminated in school cafeterias, cockroaches may soon be on the menu.’ ”
“Oh, my stars in heaven!” Granny said. “Courtney must have reported what Mr. Amaro said at lunch yesterday to her father! But I thought we made it clear that the president is absolutely against it.”
“Hooligan,” I reminded her—and Hooligan thumped his tail.
“Ah, yes.” Granny sighed. “Now I remember the interruption. Does Mr. Lozana say anything else, Willis?”
“Only this,” Mr. Bryant replied. “ ‘Attempts to confirm details with Chef Amaro Amaro, a leading proponent of the bugs-for-food program, have thus far been unsuccessful.’ ”
“Wait a sec,” I said. “Maybe that’s what Mr. Lozana was doing at the White House last night, trying to interview Mr. Amaro.”
Mr. Bryant nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”
“And something else, too,” I said. “Mr. Lozana didn’t know Mom was against the bug idea. But Tessa and I did. She told us so last night.”
Mr. Bryant looked up. “Where was that?”
“Where did she tell us that, you mean? In our room. She came in to say good night after Granny did.”
“Was your new pet listening?” Mr. Bryant asked.
I shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Like we already figured out, the spy must have put the tiny transmitter on him yesterday evening, so anything that happened in our room after that . . . Oh!”
Mr. Bryant smiled. “The spy heard what your mother said. Therefore, the spy knows bugs are not going to be on the lunch menu. Mr. Lozana, on the other hand, does not know this.”
“Therefore, Mr. Lozana is not the spy!” I said. “My friendship with Courtney is saved! And that’s not the only good thing.”
“What else?” Granny asked.
“Basically, we’ve solved the case. I mean, we only have one suspect left.”
Before I could tell them who that suspect was, there was a knock at the door.
“Excuse me, Judge, Mr. Bryant,” said Charlotte. “But President Parks is requesting Cameron in the Oval Office for a meeting with Mr. Schott.”
I jumped up. “Well, that’s convenient! Thanks, Granny! Thanks, Mr. Bryant! You guys are the best!”
Granny nodded. “Aren’t we, though?” Then she went back to her book.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE
Charlotte and I stopped to pick up Tessa on our way. “Straighten your detecting cap,” I told her. “You have a suspect to question in the Oval Office, and if I’m right, we’re going to solve this case right now!”
Tessa jumped off the sofa. “What’s Courtney doing in the Oval Office?”
“It’s not Courtney,” I said. “Mr. Lozana’s not the spy.” Then I explained about the blog post. “Hurry up!”
The kitten flyers were on Tessa’s desk. She grabbed a stack on her way out the door. “While we’re there, I’ll post them for the people who work in the West Wing,” she said.
“Seriously?” I said. “But you don’t want to get rid of the Ks.”
“I know, but it’s like you said, Cammie. We can’t win this fight.”
This didn’t sound like my sister, and I studied her face for a second. Was I imagining it? Or was she trying hard not to smile?
To get to Mom’s office from our bedroom, you go to the ground floor and hang a right. The West Wing is actually in a separate building, so you have to go outside on a covered walkway called a colonnade and pass the Rose Garden. Besides the Oval Office, where my mom works, the West Wing has offices for the vice president and some advisors, as well as a room for press conferences and space for the news guys.
Charlotte came with us. Most of the time, we’re not allowed to leave the house part of the White House without either somebody from the family or somebody from the Secret Service.
Mom’s secretary smiled when we got to the door and said, “Go right in.”
The Oval Office really is oval-shaped. It has three tall windows with gold drapes, paintings of cowboy scenes on the walls and a bust of Benjamin Franklin on a table. George Washington’s portrait is over the white fireplace. On the oval-shaped rug is a picture of the seal of the president of the United States. It has a gigantic eagle in the middle.
Since the room is a lot bigger than most offices, there’s also space for sofas and comfy chairs.
Inside, we expected to see Mom sitting on one of the sofas across from Mr. Schott. What we never expected were two more people: Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb!
“What are you guys doing here?” Tessa asked.
Mom frowned. “What my daughter meant to say was ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. How very nice to see you.’ ”
“That, too.” Tessa nodded. “And Cammie and I are fine, just so you know.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Mr. Morgan. “To answer your question, we requested a meeting so we could report to your mother that the government sensing device is no longer detecting the AV signal from your pet cockroach.”
Tessa and I looked at each other, then glanced sideways at Mr. Schott. I wasn’t sure about my sister, but I didn’t want to say anything about the investigation in front of our very last suspect!
Finally, I thought of a safe question. “Uh . . . what time did the signal disappear?”
Mr. Morgan looked at the notes in front of him. “At approximately thirteen-thirty-two today,” he said.
“That’s one-thirty-two in the afternoon,” Tessa said. “We were outside in the Kitchen Garden. Maybe the signal couldn’t be detected because James Madison was so far away.”
Oh, Tessa. So much for not talking about the case in front of Mr. Schott.
Mr. Morgan asked, “Has the bug returned to the White House since then?”
Tessa said, “He’s been back most of the afternoon.”
“In that case,” said Mr. Morgan, “it’s most likely that something happened to break the transmitter. Is that possible?”
Tessa and I looked at each other. “Hooligan.”
Mom sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”
I explained how Hooligan had had to find James Madison, then fetch him from among the zucchini. “Maybe Hooligan bit the transmitter by mistake and broke it,” I said.
“Or maybe dog slobber is toxic to technology,” said Tessa.
Mr. Schott nodded solemnly. “Either is possible.”
Tessa looked at Mr. Schot
t and crossed her arms over her chest. I got a bad feeling. She wouldn’t try to question our last suspect right here in front of Mom and everybody, would she?
Yes, she would.
“Mr. Schott,” my sister said, “how do you know that?”
Mom said, “Tessa!”
But Mr. Schott said, “Don’t worry about it, Marilee. Among other things, my company makes government sensing devices, Tessa. That’s why Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb asked me here this afternoon. They needed some information, and I’m—ahem—an authority.”
“Write that down, Cammie. He’s an authority!” said Tessa. “Then tell us this, Mr. Schott. Why is it you were in Mr. Jackson’s elevator last night? Isn’t it true you were sneaking James Madison back into Cammie’s and my bedroom so you could spy on us?”
Mom closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. She does this sometimes instead of screaming. “Tessa, your father and I have known Kirk Schott for twenty-five years,” she said. “He has every US government security clearance there is. He is not spying on you.”
Tessa waved her arms. “Well, I am sorry to have to tell you and the United States government that you’re wrong, Mama. I know because we’ve eliminated all the other suspects!”
Mr. Schott’s laugh creaked as if he didn’t use it very often. “I was in Mr. Jackson’s elevator last night because I had a headache and came back early from a reception.”
Tessa said, “And do you have proof?”
Mom started to say something, but I was faster. “He’s telling the truth, Tessa. He didn’t do it, either.”
Tessa waved her arms. “Again?”
“Think about it,” I said. “The real spy didn’t expect to get caught, right? So he must not have known that a government sensing device would detect the AV signal. Mr. Schott knows all about what government devices do. Therefore, he can’t be the spy.”
Tessa slumped down in her chair. “Oh, fine.”
I was frustrated, too. But my brain kept right on working. I explained how the Hooligan alarm had sounded earlier and added, “If it was the spy who set it off, maybe he was going to our room hoping to find James Madison and fix the transmitter.”
Mr. Morgan nodded. “That’s a possibility, but there’s another one as well. Now that he isn’t transmitting, your pet is no longer useful to the spy. In fact, he poses a risk. If the transmitter is examined, it could be used as evidence.”
I gulped. “You mean instead of wanting to fix the transmitter, the spy might have wanted to, uh . . . eliminate James Madison?”
Mr. Morgan nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Webb and I fear your pet is in very serious danger. From now on, if you hope to keep him safe, you must take every precaution.”
CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX
A cockroach isn’t cuddly.
A cockroach doesn’t wag its tail.
A cockroach doesn’t look up at you with love in its eyes, like Hooligan, or sing cheerful songs, like Humdinger, or lie on your feet to keep them warm at night, like the Ks.
But now that I’d known James Madison a while, I kind of liked him. His stripes were pretty. His antennae were graceful. And the spikes on his legs looked very punk.
Besides that, James Madison was our pet. If anything happened to hurt him, I’d feel terrible!
That’s why, when we left Mom’s office, I hurried back to warn Nate that James Madison was in danger. Meanwhile, Tessa said she’d meet the two of us at dinner. She had a stack of kitten flyers to post.
Mom and Aunt Jen both had meetings. Dad was in California building airplanes, which is his job during the week. He comes to Washington on weekends. Anyway, since they were all busy, Tessa, Nate and I were eating dinner with Granny in the Family Kitchen.
While Tessa and I folded napkins, we told Granny about our meeting in the Oval Office. Then Nate came in and set James Madison in his mobile home on the table. Granny crossed her arms over her chest, stared down at our cockroach and shook her head.
“But he’s in terrible danger!” Tessa said. “We have to keep an eye on him at all times!”
“That doesn’t mean he belongs on the dinner table,” said Granny. “In fact, strange as it may seem, I prefer not to have cockroaches in the kitchen at all.”
“Don’t you love our pet cockroach, Granny?” Tessa asked.
Granny eyed James Madison through her glasses.
James Madison eyed Granny back.
“I would say I feel about him the same way he feels about me,” Granny said after a moment. “But I will make you a deal. He can stay with us in the kitchen, provided he’s out of sight.”
Tessa closed James Madison in the drawer with the pot holders and dish towels. Then Granny served the plates. Her spaghetti and meatballs were delicious, as usual. We talked about protecting James Madison from the spy, and Granny told us her opinion: the only way to do it once and for all was to solve the case.
I looked at Tessa and Nate. “We know that, right?”
They nodded.
“The trouble is we’re down to zero suspects,” I said.
“What if you take the evening off?” Granny said. “You know how your muscles need to recover when they’ve worked hard. The same is true for your brain. Give it a rest, and tomorrow you’ll come back smarter than ever.”
“Woot!” Tessa surprised me by pumping her fist. “I know what we’re gonna do tonight.”
“What?” Nate and I asked at the same time.
“The best brain rest ever invented, duh—TV!”
Our TV is in the Solarium, which is at the top of the White House, connected to the third floor by a ramp. Besides the TV, there’s a Ping-Pong table and also tons of windows. Outside, there’s a balcony with a barbecue. Because it’s so high up, there’s a wonderful view of the city, especially the lights at night.
While Lily’s parents were at their party, Lily had a babysitter. On our way upstairs, we stopped to ask if Lily could hang out with us till bedtime. Their family was staying in the Lincoln Bedroom, which is across the hall from the Queens’ Bedroom—Granny’s apartment.
In spite of the name, President Abraham Lincoln didn’t ever sleep there, but he did use it as an office sometimes. Today it’s decorated in old-timey style from the nineteenth century. The furniture is dark curvy wood with fancy carving on it, and the drapes are gold.
Honestly? I think it’s ugly. Tessa, on the other hand, thinks it’s perfect for a princess—meaning perfect for Tessa.
Anyway, the babysitter was glad to lend us Lily.
“What should we watch on TV?” Tessa asked her. “You’re the expert.”
“Pay-gown Smackdown!” Lily answered.
Of course.
Playground Smackdown is her dad’s number one hit.
CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN
The idea of Playground Smackdown, in case you never saw it, is that grown-ups dress like little kids in shorts and T-shirts and race around an obstacle course that has teeter-totters, swing sets, monkey bars and a sandbox. To win, you have to be fast and coordinated, but you also have to use nasty tricks to stop your opponents.
Watching a lady in a Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt pour molasses on a sliding board, Tessa said, “I’m an actual kid, but I would still be embarrassed to act like that on TV.”
As you can imagine, Lily has seen every episode of Playground Smackdown about two hundred times. Now she pointed at the screen and giggled. “Watch dis pawt! I love dis pawt!”
I guess the camera was at sandbox level, because sneaker after gigantic sneaker pounded by, each one kicking up a dust storm that blotted out the sun. More exciting were the ants and caterpillars and earthworms. From that angle, they seemed as big as dinosaurs and twice as strange.
“Ewwwww!” chorused Lily and Nate.
Tessa said, “They’re just misunderstood.”
I didn’t say anything. I was thinking about James Madison in the Kitchen Garden with mountain-sized zucchini.
Then I thought of something else.
When he was ta
lking to Courtney and her dad, hadn’t Mr. Verity said they used hidden cameras on his shows?
Maybe the camera Mr. Verity used for his reality show was the same kind as the one attached to James Madison.
While I was thinking, I spaced out the TV until a commercial made me pay attention. It was a promotion for the news with Jan and Larry.
“. . . devil kittens at the White House,” said the announcer. “Jan and Larry have the story at ten! Stay tuned!”
“Devil kittens—what?” I looked at my sister, who had clenched her teeth to keep from smiling. “Tessa—” I said sternly, but before I could say more Mrs. Verity—still in her glamorous clothes—appeared at the top of the Solarium’s ramp.
“The party was a dud,” she said. “So we’re home early. And now, young lady, it’s time for bed.”
“No-o-o-o!” Lily protested.
Tessa was glad of the distraction. “How about if I come and read you a story?”
This worked like a charm. “Is that okay, Mommy?” Lily asked.
“Sure, and what a nice offer.” Mrs. Verity reached for Lily’s hand, and I noticed something for the first time. They were wearing matching nail polish—and it was orange.
“Piggyback!” said Lily.
“You’re too big,” said Tessa.
“I can take her.” Nate bent down. “Hop on.”
Lily climbed onto Nate’s back, and they all headed toward the second floor.
“Come on, Cammie!” Lily called.
“In a second,” I said.
The sight of that nail polish made me forget all about whatever it was Tessa was hiding. Wasn’t nail polish an awful lot like paint? And maybe it wasn’t only Mr. Schott who knew about technology.
I might be crazy.
But I might be on the brink of solving the Case of the Bug on the Run.
All I needed was one more thing: a trick question.
The Case of the Bug on the Run Page 6
