How did it get there, anyway?
I pictured a crate floating through the entrance of the museum and pushing buttons on the elevator . . . and I cracked myself up, which made Mom, Dad and Tessa all look over at me.
Oops.
Sorry, I mouthed.
Now the minister was talking about Jesus riding on a donkey, which made me picture a crate on the back of a donkey . . . and soon I was thinking about the case again.
By the time the minister said he would see us all next week to celebrate Easter Sunday, I had thought up the first step of a plan to solve the mystery, find the dinosaur egg and—by the way—prove to Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb that even if Professor Bohn liked to joke around, he wasn’t actually a bad guy.
All I needed was a single, solitary secret weapon—which luckily was not a problem. Right now, the one I had in mind was probably having a late-morning snooze.
It didn’t take much convincing to get Nate and Tessa to go along with my plan; neither of them had a better idea. So that same afternoon, the three of us—along with Malik, one of the Secret Service agents, and our secret weapon—were in a White House van on our way back to the National Museum of Natural History. It closes at five on Sunday, so by five-thirty it was pretty empty.
The secret weapon was on a leash, because otherwise I was pretty positive he’d chew up some ancient, priceless bone or spider or piece of an asteroid.
Like you’ve probably figured out, the weapon I’m talking about is Hooligan, our big furry mutt. Hooligan looks like a cross between an Afghan hound and a Dr. Seuss character, which my dad says is because he’s a mad mix-up of just about every kind of dog ever. Last time we went detecting, we found out Hooligan’s nose must’ve come from a bloodhound, because he sure can track a scent.
But was last time just beginner’s luck?
We were about to find out.
CHAPTER NINE
Professor Rexington met us inside the museum and led us through back hallways to a staff elevator that went up to the top floor, where her office is. Unlike Professor Bohn, Professor Rexington is not the most cheerful person ever. She hardly smiled when she said hello. But maybe she was just tired? There were circles under her eyes, same as my mom gets when she’s stressed out.
Finally, we arrived at her office. The door was open, and we went in.
“You wanted to see the desk where the crate arrived, right? Well, this is it.” Professor Rexington nodded at a big wooden desk with a neat stack of papers on top.
Meanwhile, our secret weapon wagged his tail and started sniffing inside a metal wastebasket beside the desk. It was full of crumpled newspaper and brown straw stuff.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “is that the packing material that was around the ostrich egg?”
Professor Rexington nodded. “Yes. I remember thinking the straw looked like nesting material—appropriate for an egg.”
“Can we see the crate, too?” Tessa asked.
Professor Rexington frowned. “I’m afraid I might’ve recycled it already–let me check.”
She went through a door to another room and rustled around. While we waited, Hooligan continued to sniff.
“Good puppy! Smart puppy!” Tessa threw her arms around him. “You already know what you’re supposed to do!”
My idea was for Hooligan to get the scent of the crate, then follow it backward from the desk. There are a ton of entrances to the museum. Knowing which one the crate came through might help us figure out how it got to the museum and who sent it.
Hooligan waited patiently for Tessa to be done hugging him; then he got back to work. At the same time, I knelt and looked at the date on the newspapers—Thursday, April 6, last Thursday. I pointed this out to Nate. He nodded and said since the crate arrived at the museum on Friday, it must have been packed and sent right away.
Meanwhile, Professor Rexington came back in with a slat of splintered wood and said, “Bad news. This is all that’s left.”
I examined the piece of wood, but there were no markings on it. Then I gave it to Hooligan to sniff. Did it smell like anything to him? Or were the different smells in the wastebasket confusing? For all I knew, somebody’s lunch leftovers were in there.
My great idea didn’t seem so great anymore. But it was too late to worry about that now. I would just have to trust our dog.
“Ready?” I said.
Malik, Tessa and Nate nodded.
“Okay.” I took the leash and stood up. “Hooligan—go find!”
CHAPTER TEN
Note to self: next time you track anything with Hooligan, let Malik hold the leash.
Hooligan was so excited and took off so fast he nearly separated my arm from my shoulder, not to mention that no one could keep up with us.
“Hoo-Hoo-Hooligan! Slow down!” Tessa whined, but our dog didn’t listen. Instead, nose held high, he galloped one way then the other down the corridors.
Was he really tracking a scent?
Or did he think we were playing tag?
Whatever it was, he was having a great time, and only skidded to a stop when he reached an impenetrable barrier—closed elevator doors.
This was a different elevator from the one we came up in. Nate, Tessa, Malik and Professor Rexington were way behind us by now, and before they could come near, Hooligan did one of the amazing tricks he’s learned since coming to live in the White House: he jumped up and pushed the elevator call button with his paw.
The elevator car must’ve been waiting, because the doors opened instantly, and Hooligan looked around like, We don’t have to wait for those slowpokes, do we, Cammie?
Well, of course we had to wait for them! I am not allowed to go anywhere without the Secret Service, in this case Malik—and he was bringing up the rear so he could keep Tessa and Nate in sight.
Thinking, No problem, I know how to hold an elevator, I let Hooligan tug me inside, but then, before I could stop him, he did it again—jumped up and pushed a button on the panel.
“Oh, no you don’t!” I started looking frantically for the button that opens the doors, but there were a lot of floors in the building and a lot of buttons, too! By the time I finally found the right one, the doors were shut and the elevator had creaked into gear.
“Hooligan!” I said. “Bad dog!”
He didn’t pay any attention, just sniffed the air, the walls and the corners. He was tracking something, but was it an ancient dinosaur egg? Or a stale turkey sandwich?
Down, down and down the elevator dropped into the museum’s unknown depths. On the way, I had plenty of time to think . . . and to worry. When finally we came to rest, we were someplace called Level D.
D for Dungeon?
The second the doors cracked open, Hooligan shot through, dragging me so fast my shoulders bumped one after the other—Ouch! ouch!—and before I even blinked, we were galloping top speed down what I think was a corridor, but I’m not sure because it was pitch-black and I couldn’t see a thing!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Can dogs see in the dark the way cats can? Why, oh, why, had I never looked this up?
I don’t know how long we ran or where we went, but just when my legs were ready to quit, Hooligan put on a burst of speed, the leash slipped out of my hand and I flew headlong into something big and solid and . . . furry?
Still blind, I backed up and hit another hard, furry something, turned left and . . . Ouch!—something sharp! A claw? A tooth?—then right and . . . bump, tumble, somersault—I was suddenly sitting on the cold, hard floor and trapped for sure, with big, furry, sharp-clawed somethings closing in around me.
What did I do?
I screamed!
And then the lights came on. Now it was glare that blinded me, but I could still hear—the click-click-clickety of galloping doggy toenails, and then a man’s voice: “What is going on in here?”
I blinked; my eyes focused, and here came my faithful dog on a mission to rescue me not only from this grumpy man but from a room full of life-size lions and tigers an
d bears—oh, my!
They were everywhere, each one stiff and staring just like the big African elephant in the rotunda upstairs.
Hooligan plowed into me a second later—Oof!—and licked my face—Ewww!—and for a few moments I just sat there breathing while the grumpy man sputtered about “unauthorized kids” and “trespassing” and “valuable exhibits.”
Then he got a good look at me. “Y-y-you’re Cameron Parks!”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. And I’m very sorry to be trespassing. And if you’ll give me a second, I’ll explain.”
By the time Malik, Nate, Tessa and Professor Rexington arrived, Mr. Clark had introduced himself, and I had told him how Hooligan was tracking a wooden crate that used to contain an ostrich egg. Level D was not the dungeon. It was a subbasement storage area for old museum exhibits like these stuffed hunting trophies.
Hooligan wasn’t done tracking yet, and now, trotting at a reasonable speed, he led us out of the storage room and down a corridor to a battered old desk by a set of double garage-type doors. Mr. Clark explained that the desk was his and that this part of the building was a loading dock.
Meanwhile, Hooligan sat himself down and looked up expectantly. As far as he was concerned, this was the finish line, he had won the race and now he wanted his prize.
I said, “Good puppy!” and pulled a doggy treat from my pocket and gave it to him.
Mr. Clark said, “There’s a driveway and a ramp outside for delivery trucks, but it’s not as big as the new one, so it’s not used much anymore. Sometimes I think everybody upstairs”—he looked at Professor Rexington—“has forgotten us.”
Tessa folded her arms across her chest like she always does when she’s interviewing a witness. “Mr. Clark, do you keep track of what’s delivered here?”
Mr. Clark looked offended. “That’s my job.” He pulled a fat black binder out of his desk. “What day are you interested in?”
Tessa said Friday morning, and Mr. Clark turned a couple of pages. “Is it this one?” he asked. “One of my coworkers entered it. I don’t work Friday mornings.”
The entry read: “Received 11:55 a.m., from Red Heart Delivery, one wooden crate weighing 15 pounds, 4 ounces. Destination 8th floor, office of Professor Rexington.”
“Jackpot, Cammie!” Tessa said.
“Yeah, whaddya know?” Nate said. “Your plan actually worked.”
“It’s Hooligan who should get the credit,” I said modestly. But actually I was pretty proud. Now all we had to do was phone Red Heart Delivery, find out who had sent the crate and bingo—we had cracked the case of the missing dinosaur egg!
CHAPTER TWELVE
We thanked Mr. Clark and Professor Rexington and said good-bye. Then Malik drove us back to the White House. On the way, I slipped our secret weapon one more doggy treat. He deserved it.
At home, we wanted to look up Red Heart Delivery right away and call, but we were already late for dinner. Mom, Dad and Aunt Jen were busy, so we kids were supposed to eat with Granny in the Family Kitchen—and she likes to eat at six-thirty sharp.
We had tuna casserole with noodles and peas, which maybe doesn’t sound that delicious, but there were fried bread crumbs on top, and homemade applesauce, too. When Granny gets sick of being waited on by the White House staff, she likes to cook for us.
While we ate, we took turns telling her what had happened at the museum. When we were done, she said, “I just have one question. You found the crumpled newspaper the egg was packed in—”
“It was dated Thursday, April sixth,” said Nate. “We made sure to check.”
Granny nodded. “Good . . . and what newspaper was it?”
Tessa, Nate and I looked at each other. None of us had noticed—and we should have—duh. The town the newspaper came from might tell us the town the ostrich egg came from!
Granny saw we felt dumb, so she tried an easier question. “Was the newspaper written in English?”
I thought for a second. “Yes, because I could read the date.”
Granny nodded. “In that case, it didn’t come from a certain nearby nation. They don’t speak English there.”
“So President Manfred Alfredo-Chin couldn’t have packed the ostrich egg,” I said. “He must not be the thief . . . unless he has helpers in an English-speaking place.”
“We already know Professor Bohn is the thief, Cammie,” Tessa said. “And when we call Red Heart Delivery, we’re going to find out that Professor Bohn’s the one who sent the egg.”
I didn’t think so.
And I was right.
But for all the wrong reasons.
After we put the dishes in the dishwasher, we went up to Nate’s room on the third floor to use his computer. He looked all over the Web, but he couldn’t find Red Heart Delivery anywhere.
So we trooped back downstairs to find Granny, who was reading in the West Sitting Hall, and she got up and looked till she found an old paper phone book in a drawer in the Family Kitchen.
There was no Red Heart Delivery there, either.
“Maybe they don’t want publicity,” Tessa said.
“All businesses want publicity,” Granny said. “Otherwise, how do they get customers?”
“Then why can’t we find them?” Nate asked.
“Only one reason I can think of,” said Granny. “Because they don’t exist.”
“Well, that’s disappointing!” Tessa said.
“A dead end.” I sighed. “What do we do now?”
Granny shrugged. “When you come to a dead end, you try another direction.”
And the next day, Monday, that’s just what I did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m in fifth grade, and Monday is the day fifth graders have library after lunch.
For our investigation, this turned out to be lucky, because Mr. Brackbill, the school librarian, likes to give us Internet research assignments.
That day the assignment was: Find five dinosaur facts from five reliable websites.
Dinosaur facts—yes!
Even better, we were allowed to pick our own partners, and right away I looked around for Evgenia. She is one of those quiet kinds of people you don’t notice till one day she says something that is seriously smart.
“I have an idea for what to research,” I said as soon as we sat down at the computer table. “Not that long ago, a dinosaur egg fossil was found in a certain nearby nation. Let’s look that up. I mean”—I suddenly realized that might sound bossy—“unless you have a better idea.”
Evgenia grinned as she logged us in to the computer. “You’re detecting again, aren’t you? When Jan and Larry talked about that missing egg last week? I thought, ‘That sounds exactly like a job for the First Kids!’”
We started by searching “dinosaur egg” and the name of the certain nearby nation. Bingo—we got lots of results from science magazines, newspapers, museums and TV stations. One of them included both Professor Rexington and Professor Bohn, so we tried that one first, and . . . guess what?
We found out the two paleontologists don’t like each other at all!
It’s not because of personal stuff. It’s because of science. I didn’t understand everything in the article, but basically they disagree about whether the dinosaur that laid the missing egg is a close relative of birds that live today. Professor Bohn thinks it is, and Professor Rexington thinks it’s not.
I guess if you’re a scientist, you think this kind of stuff is worth fighting about.
Anyway, the reason the dinosaur egg was coming to the United States at all was so Professor Rexington and Professor Bohn could study the shell. Each one thought its structure would prove he—or she—was right.
Evgenia and I looked at some more websites and found a picture of the missing dinosaur egg. I couldn’t help thinking the scientists who found it had to have been pretty smart even to have recognized that a gray, oval-shaped rock was really an egg fossil.
Mr. Brackbill would give us extra credit for having a pictur
e, so I copied and pasted it into my document. Then I typed these facts:
• The egg was found last fall by Professor Rexington, Professor Bohn and a team of scientists from the nearby nation.
• It probably came from a dinosaur called Unenlagia that was probably about six feet tall and had feathers.
• The Unenlagia dinosaur could flap its front legs the way birds flap their wings.
• “Unenlagia” means “half-bird” in a South American language.
We still needed another fact, and Evgenia saw that there was an article about the egg on the website of a certain nearby nation. Luckily, it was written in English, but what it said was totally different from the other ones:
The American scientists who found this so-called dinosaur egg are mistaken. Their ignorance can be seen very easily by the fact that they recently mistook an ostrich egg for a dinosaur egg at a presentation at an important museum in the capital of the United States of America.
In fact, the so-called dinosaur egg discovered in our nation last year belonged to a large bird that has been extinct for one century only. As every schoolchild in our nation knows, no animal or plant life lived within our borders until long after the time of the dinosaurs.
Evgenia’s eyes got big. “This is totally the opposite of everything else we’ve been reading!”
“And it isn’t very nice about Professor Bohn and Professor Rexington, either,” I said.
“Mr. Brackbill says just because you find something on the Internet doesn’t make it true,” Evgenia said. “You have to cross-check and consider sources.”
“I guess he’s right,” I said. “Let’s look up when the Unenlagia dinosaur lived.”
Evgenia went back to the Smithsonian website and found the answer. Then she added:
• Unenlagia lived in the Mesozoic period, about 90 million years ago.
I couldn’t wait to tell Nate and Tessa what I had learned, so of course the rest of the school day passed extra slowly. Finally, at 3:15, I was set free. Jeremy was driving the van that met us out front. Granny was in back.
The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg Page 3
