The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog

by Martha Freeman

  “There’s Mr. Ross,” I said.

  “And what about Nate?” Tessa said.

  “You’re right—he was in the East Room Tuesday. Only he wasn’t there the whole time, remember? When we were holding Hooligan, he kind of disappeared.”

  Tessa said, “Yeah, that was strange.” Then she looked up. “Hey, we’ve been asking people about ‘strange’ all afternoon, and there it is!”

  I was going to say Nate would never steal anything. But then I thought of something logical. “Tessa—remember how you thought they’d have to cancel The Song Boys? I mean because the baton was missing.”

  “When I still thought it was the Who-za baton,” Tessa said.

  “Sousa. Right. It was Nate who told us that the Band can’t play without it.”

  Tessa nodded. “But now we know that isn’t true.”

  “We know that,” I said. “But Nate doesn’t. He wasn’t there when we talked to Colonel Michaels. And after that, we never told him. I bet he still thinks if the baton is gone, then The Song Boys can’t play.”

  Tessa’s eyes got big. “And besides that—remember?—he told us he hoped something would happen so they can’t play!”

  For a moment, the only sound was Hooligan woofing in his sleep. Finally, Tessa said what we were both thinking: “What if Nate took the baton so they’d have to cancel The Song Boys?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I might hate my cousin. But I couldn’t believe he would steal anything.

  Tessa, on the other hand, could totally believe it.

  “There’s only one question left,” she said, “what did he do with the baton?”

  I wanted my sister to slow down, but she was on a roll.

  “When he came out of the Blue Room today, he wouldn’t say what he was doing,” Tessa went on. “You know what I think? The baton is in the Blue Room!”

  “Tessa, that’s nuts.”

  “It’s not! Look, Cammie, here’s what happened. When Hooligan did the frenzy on Tuesday, Nate grabbed the baton. Then he had to hide it fast. He couldn’t carry it upstairs because anybody might see him. So he hid it someplace downstairs.”

  “Oka-a-ay,” I said. “But what does that have to do with him being down there today?”

  “Maybe he was making sure it was still there—that we hadn’t found it,” Tessa said. “He wasn’t carrying anything when we saw him. So it’s still down there. Come on!” Tessa jumped to her feet, but at the same time, Granny came in and said we should go wash up.

  “Granny,” Tessa announced, “there is an emergency. I am afraid we will have to delay dinner.”

  Granny was not impressed. “And what is this so-called emergency?”

  “Nate stole Colonel Michaels’s baton and hid it,” Tessa said. “And now Cammie and I must go and get it back.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GRANNY’S answer was dead silence.

  Not a good sign.

  Finally, Tessa said, “Are you angry at Nate?”

  “No,” Granny said.

  “Are you angry at us?”

  “Yes,” Granny said.

  And then she let us have it. “You girls have been out to get that boy since we moved into the White House. His behavior hasn’t been perfect, goodness knows. But I can hardly blame him if he feels ganged up on.”

  Unlike me, Tessa is not a wimp. If someone gets mad at her, she gets mad back. “In my opinion”—she put her hands on her hips—”Nate stole that baton.”

  “And in my opinion . . .” Granny’s hands were on her hips, too. “You are full of prunes, Tessa Parks! Your cousin—my grandson—is not a thief. And that is the last I want to hear on the subject. Understood?” She looked at Tessa first, then me.

  We looked at our shoes. “Understood,” we said meekly.

  And we also understood that there would be no more detecting that night.

  Dinner was not so fun. Granny didn’t once crack a smile, and Tessa and I were half afraid to talk. Besides the fancy Italian noodles, the only good thing was that Nate didn’t eat with us. According to Granny, he was having some kind of an extra piano lesson.

  An extra piano lesson?

  Here in America in the twenty-first century, I am one of two kids my age who does not have a phone.

  Nate is the other.

  Supposedly, we are too young. And all the excellent arguments about why we need them (like being the only person without one is ruining my social life!!!) do not convince our parents.

  Nate and Aunt Jen have their own family phone upstairs. People call me on our family’s phone. Usually when it rings for me, it’s Courtney. But that night it wasn’t.

  “Cameron? This is Colonel Michaels. How are you?”

  I was sitting on the floor doing homework. Picturing Colonel Michaels, I sat up straight. “Fine, sir, how are you?”

  “Very well, thank you. I was just wondering whether you’ve had any success with the baton.”

  Tessa was sitting beside me. Granny was in a chair across the room. There was a book in her lap, but I knew she was listening. If I mentioned Nate, she’d go ballistic.

  “Not exactly success,” I said. “But today we interviewed witnesses and applied logic.”

  “Ah,” said Colonel Michaels.

  “And, tomorrow, uh . . .” I looked at Tessa for help, but she shrugged and shook her head. “Well, tomorrow . . . our plan is to find it once and for all.”

  “Splendid,” said Colonel Michaels. “Then perhaps you could meet me just prior to the concert? And bring the baton with you.”

  What I said was, “No problem,” but what I thought was, I hope.

  Mom still hadn’t come upstairs when we went to bed, so once again, Granny said good night. She had barely closed the door when Tessa rolled over. “It’s in the Blue Room!”

  I wasn’t so sure. But I didn’t have a better idea. “The three color rooms connect,” I reminded her. “Nate could have been in Red or Green for all we know.”

  “You’re right,” said Tessa. “How about this? Pretend you’re Nate on the state floor on Tuesday. You need a good hiding place in a hurry. Where do you go?”

  I didn’t have to think, I just knew. It was something Granny had shown me, Nate and Tessa the first week we moved in. Even then, I had thought what a brilliant place it would be to hide something.

  “The worktable,” I said.

  I couldn’t see my sister in the dark, but I could feel her smiling. “Cammie—you’re a genius!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GRANNY doesn’t usually stay mad for long, and she was in a better mood at breakfast—especially after she saw us acting super nice to Nate.

  Weirdly, Nate was pretty nice himself. Like in the van on the way to school, Granny gave me my last spelling quiz before the test—and he didn’t show off and spell words before I could.

  Did he maybe feel guilty about stealing the baton?

  Then at school, something good happened. Finally!

  On everybody’s desk except mine and Nate’s were thick, cream-colored envelopes with the return address, “The White House,” in blue. Courtney had one. And so did Ms. Nicols.

  Inside were fancy printed invitations:

  President Marilee Parks, Mr. Richard Parks

  and Ms. Jennifer Leone

  Request the pleasure of your presence at

  a performance by The Song Boys

  In support of literacy

  2 P.M. on Saturday

  The East Room of the White House

  1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

  Refreshments to follow

  Score, Aunt Jen!

  Right away the girls started talking about what they were going to wear. And the boys started talking about what they were going to eat.

  For a little while, I got to be the hero! And Nate didn’t even spoil it by calling The Song Boys bubblegum.

  But at recess, Courtney said, “When they’re done singing, do we get face time?”

  And Alexander said, “If there�
��s pizza, I can’t have tomatoes. I’m allergic.”

  And after recess, Ms. Nicols said, “I’m sure everyone would really appreciate it if The Song Boys would take a few minutes to answer questions. Can that be arranged, Cameron?”

  So much for being a hero. I told them all the same thing: “I don’t know. It’s up to Aunt Jen and Mrs. Silver.”

  The spelling test was after lunch. I thought after Granny had quizzed me so much, I would ace it. But I couldn’t concentrate. And no matter how I arranged the letters, the words kept looking wrong.

  “How did it go?” Granny asked in the van later.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

  Tessa and I wanted to go detecting as soon as we got home. But what were we going to tell Granny? And how would we get rid of Nate?

  Luckily, Nate disappeared upstairs right after our snack. And when we asked for permission to go downstairs, Granny said okay. She knew Colonel Michaels had called. And we were careful not to remind her about our number one suspect.

  This time Tessa didn’t bother to change clothes. She just grabbed her pink Sherlock Holmes hat, and we raced downstairs to the Green Room.

  In case you’re wondering, I am not normally a person who thinks furniture is interesting. You sit on it, eat on it, put a book on it. Besides that, who cares?

  But the worktable in the Green Room is different. I noticed it when Granny explained it was the same design as her grandmother’s sewing box—but bigger.

  Tessa had asked, “Did your grandmother know she had a rare and historic antique?”

  And Granny pointed out, “She thought it was the latest high-tech gadget.”

  Now, Tessa and I were beside the table.

  “Ready?” Tessa asked.

  “Be careful,” I said. “It’s historic.”

  “Duh,” Tessa said, “like what isn’t around here?”

  Carefully, she removed the lamp on top and set it on the floor. Next, she lifted the tabletop, then together we unfolded all the bits and pieces to reveal . . . about a million hidden compartments! That’s what makes this the superhero of furniture: mild-mannered table on the outside, secret transformer on the inside.

  I wasn’t disappointed when we didn’t find the baton right away. Nate would have hidden it better than that. But after we one-by-one opened every lid and drawer, I had to admit I was wrong.

  “Guess I’m not such a genius,” I said. “But maybe the bad guy isn’t Nate? Granny says criminals are stupid, and Nate isn’t.”

  “But I don’t know anybody stupid!” Tessa whined.

  “Mom says Hooligan’s not too bright,” I said.

  Tessa looked around. “Shhh! You’ll hurt his feelings! And anyway, I meant a person.”

  I shrugged. “Mostly, the White House is full of smart people—unless you believe what Courtney’s dad writes in his blog.”

  “Maybe Courtney’s dad took the baton? Or what about Courtney?”

  “Why would they do that?” I said. “And besides, the baton disappeared on Tuesday. Courtney hasn’t even been here since Monday.”

  Tessa tapped her head. “Way to apply logic, Cammie. I know—those men in the gray suits. Who were they, anyway?”

  “They weren’t carrying any baton,” I said. “They weren’t carrying anything.”

  “That means if they did steal it—they had to have hidden it,” Tessa said. “I know—what about the fireplaces?”

  This was a smart idea. Almost every room on the state floor has one—and they’re all full of kindling. Kindling would make excellent camouflage for a baton.

  We started with the Green Room then fanned out.

  Poking around fireplaces is dusty. It hurts your knees. Plus I got a splinter. I had just finished up in the Red Room when I heard Tessa squeal.

  Did she find it?

  “Where are you?”

  “East Room! Hurry!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THERE are many famous paintings in the East Room, including one of the Martha Washington looking serious. When I ran in, she was looking serious at Tessa.

  “What is it? What did you find?”

  “There.” Tessa pointed.

  I had to stare before I saw them: two plastic legs with gold zip-up boots. They were frozen in a scissor kick, sticking straight up from the kindling.

  “Astronaut Barbie,” said Tessa. “Can you get her? I’m afraid to look.”

  “Shut your eyes,” I said and pulled Barbie from the rubble.

  Tessa peeked through her lashes. “Is it bad?”

  “She’ll live,” I said. “It’s good she was wearing a helmet.”

  “Let me see,” Tessa said, and I handed her over. Barbie was in one piece, but her spacesuit was a mess. Tessa licked her thumb and wiped a smudge off. “Could she be a clue?”

  “A clue that Hooligan grabs stuff and drops it,” I said. “But we already know that.”

  By now we had looked in every fireplace, and it was getting late. We decided to do one more walk through of the state floor before we went upstairs. In the Blue Room, we found Mr. Ross—the one witness we hadn’t interviewed! He was looking back and forth between two vases on a mantle.

  “Hello, girls,” he said. “Do these look lined up wrong to you?”

  I thought they were fine, but Tessa said, “The left one’s too far forward.”

  Mr. Ross reached up and made the adjustment. “Thank you.” Then he spotted Tessa’s beat-up Barbie. “Hooligan?”

  Tessa nodded. “We found her in a fireplace.”

  “I trust she’ll make a full recovery,” said Mr. Ross. “In the meantime, I understand you girls were looking for me.”

  Tessa explained that we were investigating. Then she crossed her arms over her chest. “Mr. Ross, did you notice anything strange on Tuesday afternoon?”

  “Only that Hooligan came out of nowhere!” Mr. Ross shook his head. “It’s a good thing we know that dog’s on our side. I’ve mentioned the missing items to the Secret Service, and they’ve been talking security breach.”

  “Security what?” Tessa asked.

  “Now there’s no need to worry,” said Mr. Ross. “But let’s say we really had a thief in the White House. We’d have to restrict access till the problem was resolved.”

  This time Tessa looked at me. “ ‘Access’?”

  “People coming to visit,” I said.

  Tessa waved her hands the way she does. “Like for example The Song Boys?”

  “Now, girls, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Mr. Ross. “It’s just that Mrs. Silver was beside herself over those place cards. And then there’s the baton. . . . But the other items are trivial, and I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm. Do you have more questions?”

  We didn’t. So Mr. Ross wished us good luck and headed for his office. We were right behind him till Tessa stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Cammie,” she said, “who would move one of those vases, anyway?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Somebody dusting?”

  Tessa shook her head. “The maids are super careful. And Granny said a clue could be something out of place. Those vases are tall and they have lids. Wouldn’t a baton just fit?”

  One second later, I was reaching for a vase. When I lifted the lid, I saw there was something inside: a poor, dead, dried-out fly.

  Because she takes ballet, Tessa is good at standing on her tiptoes. But she is shorter than me and bobbled her vase. If it broke, Aunt Jen would kill us . . . but finally Tessa got a grip. Then she lifted the lid, looked inside, and said, “I see something, Cammie!”

  “The baton?”

  Tessa reached in and . . . it was not the baton. It was something shorter and fatter that was wrapped in a napkin. Carefully, Tessa unfolded the napkin and revealed . . .

  . . . six cookies?

  Score, Cammie and Tessa!

  But wait—were they green and stale?

  Tessa inspected them one by one. Then, brave
ly, she tried a nibble. After she swallowed, I counted to ten. When she didn’t double over or throw up, I took one and tried it, too.

  Delicious!

  It took approximately thirty seconds for us to devour all six cookies. I was wiping the last crumbs from my lips when I thought of something. “Wait a sec, Tess. If those are the missing cookies from yesterday—”

  “—then we just ate the evidence!” Tessa said.

  But the cookies didn’t have anything to do with the baton.

  Did they?

  Before I could ponder that question, I had something new to think about—a loud buzz from outside that finally changed into WOP-wop WOP-wop WOP-wop.

  Helicopters! And they were coming this way!

  “We’d better hurry,” I said to Tessa, and we ran for the stairs.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HELICOPTERS can only mean one thing on Friday afternoon.

  Daddy’s home!

  The helicopter that carries the president is called Marine One. A helicopter carrying anybody else in our family is called Marine One Foxtrot. F for foxtrot, F for family. Get it?

  No matter who’s inside, the helicopters travel in a group, and nobody knows which one has passengers. This is supposed to fool bad guys.

  It also fools Tessa and me. Usually when we try to guess which one Mom or Dad is in, we are wrong.

  Granny and Malik—he’s another Secret Service agent—were at the Dip Room door when we got there.

  “The one on the left?” Malik guessed.

  “I think the one in the middle,” I said.

  “I vote with Cammie,” Tessa said.

  The helicopter rotors slowed, and their whirlwind died. Finally, the hatches opened—and Dad emerged from the one on the left.

  “Yesss!” Malik said.

  “How do you do that?” Tessa asked.

  Malik grinned. “The Secret Service has its secrets.”

  Dad waved to the news guys, came down the steps, stopped and looked toward the Rose Garden. My mom’s office—the Oval Office—is on the other side of it and, right on schedule, Mom was walking out the door. When she reached Dad, she gave him a squeeze and a kiss, then the two of them walked toward us holding hands while cameras flashed and whirred.