The Case of the Ruby Slippers

by Martha Freeman

  At last it was quiet, and Tessa said, “Dad?” Then she crossed her arms the way she does when she’s talking to a witness. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

  By now Dad was back on the sofa with his eyes closed. “Is this what you wanted to talk to your mom about?”

  “That’s right,” Tessa said.

  “Shoot,” Dad said.

  “Since when does the president get to act like she’s some kind of a queen or something?”

  Dad opened his eyes. “And since when do you read Alan Lozana’s blog?”

  “Now is my turn to ask questions, Dad,” Tessa said. “You may have your turn later.”

  Dad sighed. “Fair enough. And I guess, to be honest, Mr. Lozana is, uh . . . not entirely crazy for once.”

  “Write that down, Cammie,” Tessa said.

  I got out my notebook.

  “But at the same time,” Dad went on, “there are certain things about the ruby slippers that I am not at liberty to discuss.”

  Tessa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Dad started to define “not at liberty,” but Tessa cut him off. “Everybody knows that—duh,” she said. “I mean what things?”

  Dad sighed. “It’s complicated. But I sure wish we knew where the real ruby slippers are. Your mom’s in the middle of delicate negotiations with the protesters in a certain nearby nation. She doesn’t need bad publicity right now.”

  “Well, I know one way to stop bad publicity,” Tessa said. “Cammie and I solve the mystery and get the real slippers back.”

  Hooligan shifted and grunted. I thought he was agreeing with Tessa in his sleep, but then all of a sudden he sat up, stood up and—I never would’ve believed it—kangaroo-hopped over the stripey sofa.

  What the heck?!

  A second passed before I heard what Hooligan had heard, the faint but unmistakable sound of galloping doggie toenails. It was coming from the Center Hall.

  “Uh-oh,” Tessa jumped up, too. “I hope Ozzabelle’s faster than she looks.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I read once that some people race dogs like horses, and that’s how it looked in the hallway—two dogs on a racetrack. Right in the middle stood Mrs. Hedges, waving her arms and making crazy hand signals. “Halt! Yield! Merge!”

  For a few long minutes, the dogs paid no attention, and all the priceless and historic objects in the Center Hall seemed to be in danger. Then, at last, Ozzabelle ran out of steam and skittered under a side table. Hooligan thought he had her now and tried to follow. Unfortunately, he’s about ten times her size, and crashed. Bang—ouch!

  “Poor puppy!” said Tessa, and covered him with hugs.

  Meanwhile, I crawled under the table. Right away, I could see there was something white in Ozzabelle’s jaws, but it was too dark to identify it. Would she snap at me to protect her prize?

  Inching toward her, I cooed, “Nice doggie. Good doggie.” Finally I got close and saw she wasn’t going to bite. She was wagging her tail. A second later, she dropped the white thing like a gift.

  “Why, thank you, pup,” I said. “What is it?”

  I scooped up both Ozzabelle and the white thing, then backed out and stood up. In the light, I saw I was holding something plastic the size of a small flashlight. From the weight, it felt like there were batteries inside. A flat-tipped piece of metal stuck out of one end, and on the top there was a button.

  Dad said, “It reminds me of an electric toothbrush, only instead of a brush there’s something like a skinny screwdriver on the end.”

  Tessa said, “Press the button, Cammie!”

  I did and the thing started to whir and shake.

  Weird.

  I had been holding Ozzabelle in the crook of my arm. Now she raised her head and tensed. I looked where she was looking and saw Mr. Will at the far end of the hall coming toward us.

  “Ah, Mr. Will.” Dad held up the thing. “Perhaps you can shed some light. What is this? Do you know?”

  Mr. Will bumped his glasses against his nose. “Never saw it before in my life.”

  “Your dog had it,” Dad said.

  Mr. Will reached for Ozzabelle. Same as last time, she didn’t want to go, but when he got out a pink treat, she couldn’t resist.

  “Oh, dogs,” he said when she was back in his arms. “They pick up whatever’s handy, don’t they? Now if you’ll just excuse us.” He turned back toward the stairs.

  “Strange fellow,” Dad said when Mr. Will was gone. “But your aunt likes him, which is what counts.” He looked at his watch. “I wish we could have dinner together girls, but there’s that fundraiser. I’ll be back in time for Monopoly.”

  Friday night Monopoly is a tradition in my family. When Aunt Jen’s in town, Nate doesn’t play, but tonight he probably would. This is too bad because he always wins.

  Dad kept the toothbrush-thing, gave us each a kiss then headed toward his bedroom to change.

  Tessa looked at me. “Have you been taking notes?”

  “You know it,” I told her.

  “Then come on, Cammie. There’re still a few minutes before dinner. I think it’s time we figure this thing out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  My cousin Nate is not only good at Monopoly, he is some kind of piano genius. While Tessa and I had been talking to the museum guys and chasing dogs, he had been practicing piano. Now he showed up in the West Sitting Hall, and we filled him in on the case of the ruby slippers—so far.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  Tessa took charge. “Sit down next to Cammie. She’s going to write the list.”

  Tessa and I have a system for solving mysteries. First, she asks witnesses questions and I write down their answers, along with anything else we know about the mystery. Second, we read over my notes and make a list of the most important stuff. Third, we study the list, looking for anything that doesn’t make sense. Stuff that doesn’t make sense a lot of the time turns out to be a clue.

  That’s the way Granny taught us to do it. And she should know. Before she was a judge, she was a police officer.

  After Tessa and I read over my notes, I wrote:

  • Real ruby slippers missing from box twice, yesterday afternoon and today.

  • Fake ruby slippers appeared in box today.

  • (Where did fake slippers come from?)

  • Real slippers last seen in box by Mrs. Silver in her office yesterday.

  • Disappeared sometime between then and now.

  I had barely written that last part when Nate said, “Obviously, someone took the slippers out of the safe and replaced them with the other pair. So the question is: Who knew they were there?”

  I thought back. “Mrs. Silver told everybody in the Dip Room yesterday that that’s where she was taking them. Remember, Tessa?”

  Tessa nodded. “Malik was there then. And the man in the black suit from the museum. Oh—plus the pretty photographer, too. I think Malik likes her.”

  I wrote all that down, except for the part about Malik and the photographer, then I added:

  • Hooligan tugged Mr. Bryant toward limo (why?) then spotted first slipper and snagged it.

  • Second slipper flew over lawn later, also retrieved by Hooligan.

  • Someone must’ve thrown slipper over lawn. (Why? From where?)

  “Don’t forget the other stuff we know about the slippers,” Tessa said, “what Mr. Lozana told you at school.”

  “Why does Mr. Lozana know about ruby slippers?” Nate asked.

  Tessa’s eyes got big. “Cousin Nathan, you’re a genius!”

  Nate said, “Thank you. But why bring it up now?”

  “Because that’s the part that doesn’t make sense!” said Tessa. “So it has to be a clue.”

  “But Mr. Lozana already explained that,” I said. “It’s because he’s interested in politics, and in this case politics and ruby slippers intersect.”

  “Right, right, right,” said Tessa, “but how did he know our family was b
orrowing the slippers at all?”

  “Oh. Well. Uh . . . that’s because of me, I guess. I kind of sort of mentioned it to Courtney,” I said.

  “Better write that down,” said Tessa.

  “You mean I’m a suspect?” I said.

  “Granny says we can’t rule anyone out. We have to be what’s-it-called—objective,” Tessa said.

  “But I know I didn’t steal the slippers!” I said.

  My sister has her own special kind of logic, Tessa logic. “That doesn’t prove anything,” she said. “You’re not objective.”

  “But why would I want to steal the slippers?” I said.

  “For money, duh,” Tessa said.

  “And now that you’ve got them, you can sell them online,” Nate added.

  “You stay out of this,” I said.

  Nate shrugged. “It’s logical.”

  “Oh, yeah, right!” I said. “If I try to sell the slippers online, everybody will know I stole them and I will get arrested!”

  Nate nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true. So I bet you must have had a buyer all ready before you stole them. And now your problem is how to deliver them to the buyer.”

  Nate and Tessa seemed so confident, I forgot I hadn’t actually stolen the slippers. “Why can’t I just mail them?” I asked.

  Nate shook his head. “They’re too valuable.”

  “Oka-a-ay,” I said, “so in that case what if I invite the buyer to the White House and give them over?”

  “Maybe,” Nate said, “but not that many people get invited to the White House. Wouldn’t it look suspicious?”

  Tessa chimed in. “Unless . . . you were inviting a whole bunch of people to the White House at the same time anyway. Like for a—” we all looked at each other—“party?”

  For a second it was quiet. And then I wrote what we were all thinking:

  • Slipper buyer coming to Aunt Jen’s birthday party?

  “Since you’re writing anyway, Cammie,” Tessa said, “you should go ahead and write down your what’s-it-called, impression.”

  “You mean confession,” Nate said.

  “Right,” said Tessa. “Here’s how it goes: ‘I, Cammie Parks, do swear I stole the ruby slippers. Amen.’”

  “That is not how confessions go, and anyway I am not going to write that,” I said. “I didn’t steal the slippers. And I can prove it. Whoever stole the slippers must’ve gotten them out of Mrs. Silver’s safe, right? Well, what do I know about breaking open a safe?”

  Tessa sighed. “Shoot. You’re right. When it comes to breaking open a safe, you don’t know anything.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  So far, logic wasn’t working out so well.

  I mean, honest, I did not steal the ruby slippers.

  But besides that, we only had a couple of other ideas, like the thief had to be somebody who knew about breaking into a safe. And the buyer really might be someone coming to Aunt Jen’s birthday party. It was six o’clock by now, and except on special occasions we always eat at six thirty. If we hurried, we would have time for one more piece of detecting.

  The White House chief usher’s office is next to the North Portico, the White House front door. We didn’t bother with the elevator. We ran down the stairs. The door to the office was open.

  “Mr. Ross,” Tessa folded her arms across her chest, “we have some questions.”

  Chief usher sounds like a job in a theater, but actually Mr. Ross is in charge of the White House building and the grounds, the front yard and backyard. The job got the name in the 1800s when the main thing that person did was usher people in to see the president.

  Mr. Ross looked up from his desk. “Lemme guess. You kids’re lookin’ for the red shoes. Am I right?”

  Mr. Ross is from Texas.

  “How did you know?” Nate asked.

  Mr. Ross smiled. “What besides a mystery brings y’all lookin’ for me with questions? And right now the big mystery is where in heck’re those shoes.”

  “We wanted to see the guest list for the party tomorrow,” I said.

  “Sure.” Mr. Ross nodded and tapped some keys on his computer. “But how come?”

  “Oh, Mr. Ross,” said Tessa sadly. “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid we are not at liberty to tell you.”

  I looked at my sister. “Tessa, what are you talking about?”

  She grinned. “I just thought I’d try out those words.”

  “That’s okay,” said Mr. Ross. “There’s no secret about the guest list. I’ll print y’all out a copy.”

  A minute later, we were reading over names. The only ones I recognized were our family, Courtney Lozana, Paul Song and one more, Miss Antonia Alfredo-Chin. There can’t be that many people with the last name Alfredo-Chin, can there?

  Nate noticed it, too. “Hey, is this some kind of relative of the president of a certain nearby nation?”

  Mr. Ross nodded. “President Manfred Alfredo-Chin’s niece, I b’lieve. She lives here in Washington.”

  “Is she a friend of my mom’s?” Nate asked.

  “Not that I know of,” said Mr. Ross.

  I had a sudden idea. “Mr. Ross, do any of these guests collect movie stuff? Like old props and costumes, maybe?”

  Mr. Ross shook his head. “No idea. These folks, though—” Mr. Ross made check marks by three names—“have some connection to the movie. One of them could be a collector. And now that you mention it, Miss Alfredo-Chin could be as well.”

  I noticed something else about the list. “Most of the names are in alphabetical order. But not these at the bottom.”

  “Those were the late additions,” Mr. Ross explained. “Miss Alfredo-Chin, Courtney, Paul Song and this woman—Gigi Sawyer. I b’lieve she’s the great-great granddaughter of one of the actresses. Mr. Will added her, too.”

  Something about those extra names bugged me, and I wrote them down in case they were a clue. I mean, I guess it made sense that Mr. Will had added Paul Song to the guest list; he’s a singer. And of course I knew why Courtney was coming. But what about Miss Alfredo-Chin and Gigi Sawyer? The party was for Aunt Jen. Shouldn’t the guests all be friends of hers?

  We thanked Mr. Ross for his help, and he told us good luck. On our way out of his office, we ran into Charlotte. “Dinner in five minutes,” she said. “Your grandmother says to tell you.”

  I told Charlotte we were investigating.

  “Good,” she said. “Maybe you’ll succeed where we grown-ups haven’t. It’s quite a mystery.”

  Nate asked, “Do you think the ruby slippers are still in the White House someplace?”

  “It’s likely,” Charlotte said. “We randomly check bags and parcels leaving the grounds. The thief would run a big risk of getting caught if he tried to get away with them.”

  “Write that down, Cammie,” Tessa said.

  I got my notebook out of my pocket.

  “Have you identified a suspect?” Charlotte asked.

  Nate said, “Not yet,” and Tessa and I shook our heads.

  “I’m off for the night, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “Keep me posted.”

  Dinner was chicken and green beans in the second-floor dining room. Granny cooked, and Mr. Bryant ate with us, too. Hooligan was under the table, meanwhile. He makes a comfy footrest.

  “Granny-y-y?” Tessa said sweetly between bites. “Do I have to go to ballet tomorrow? I think maybe my right ankle hurts. It should probably rest up.”

  “On the contrary,” said Granny, “it should probably get some exercise.”

  “But we’re detecting!” Tessa said. “And we have to solve the mystery before Aunt Jen’s party!”

  “I’m quite sure detecting is harder on ankles than ballet,” said Granny. “And besides, Cammie can work on it. There’s been some mix-up about scheduling the fields, and her soccer’s canceled.”

  “When is the party, anyway?” Nate wanted to know.

  “Three o’clock,” Granny said. “The idea is the driver b
rings your mom from the airport, she walks into the darkened hall, the lights come on and the guests yell, ‘Surprise!’ ”

  Tessa put down her fork, consulted her Barbie watch then crossed her arms over her chest. “I hate to tell you this, everybody. But three o’clock tomorrow is only twenty hours away!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Some things have changed since Granny and Mr. Bryant got to be special friends. Like that night after dinner, she went with Mr. Bryant downstairs to the White House theater to watch a movie instead of coming up to the solarium to play Monopoly with us. And sometimes the two of them go out on dates together. And she doesn’t come to our church anymore because she likes Mr. Bryant’s church better.

  Mostly, though, having them be special friends has been okay. I’m not saying they’re going to get married or anything because how do I know? But I never had a grandpa before, and having Mr. Bryant around is sort of what I think that would be like.

  Mom and Dad’s fundraiser dinner got done early, and when they came home, Tessa, Nate and I were in the solarium, which is more or less the White House family room. Mom and Dad were still dressed up. Dad was even wearing a black bow tie, and Mom had on a long, dark blue dress. My mom hates to dress up, and her hem brushed the floor because she had already taken off her high heels.

  Tessa sighed when she saw the dress. “Beautiful, Mama! Can I have it for my costume box?”

  “Uh, not quite yet, muffin. But I knew you’d want to see it. Now I’m going to change. These pantyhose are killing me.”

  “You’re coming back for Monopoly, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Mom said.

  While she was changing, Dad, Nate, Tessa and I got out the board, counted the money and picked out our pieces.

  We were ready to play when Mr. Will came in. The solarium is on the third floor near his room, and he had heard us talking. We all said hi, and Dad asked if he wanted to play. Dad was just being polite, but Mr. Will said sure.