The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog Page 3

  At three ten when we were packing our backpacks to go home, Courtney tried to make me feel better.

  “I still like you, Cammie,” she said. “And even if I don’t get invited, I will still still like you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “But,” she added, “I’ll like you better if I do get invited.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to being trapped in the van with Nate all the way home. But it turned out not to matter. The second our seat belts were buckled, Granny said, “Hooligan is AWOL again, and Mr. Ross is not happy.”

  Like I said, Mr. Ross is the head usher. I know that sounds like a job in a theater, but actually he’s in charge of the whole White House. The job got the name in the 1800s when the main thing that person had to do was usher people in to see the president.

  “So this time,” Granny continued, “I think we should apprehend the fugitive ourselves—if you don’t have too much homework, that is.”

  “We don’t!” we all said at the same time. And we spent the rest of the drive discussing what Granny calls logistics. In the end, we decided to search from top to bottom. So, after eating our single solitary cookies along with a bunch of grapes and some celery sticks, we deployed to the solarium.

  The ground and state floors of the White House are the public parts. The family part is mostly on the second and third floors. Mom and Dad, and Tessa and I have our bedrooms on the second, while Aunt Jen and Nate’s rooms are on the third. From the third floor, there is a ramp that leads up to the solarium.

  “All right, troops,” Granny said when we reached the top of the ramp. “It is now—” she looked at her watch “—sixteen fifteen hours. Cammie, you take the rooms north of the hall. Tessa, you’re going south. Nathan—your job is to search up here in the kitchen and storage rooms. We reconvene at sixteen twenty-five. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” we said.

  “A-a-a-a-a-and fan out!”

  The three of us ran back toward the hall. Nate went straight ahead. “Hoo-hoo-hooligan!” we yodeled. But the only answer was an echoing “Hoo-hooligan!”

  Ten minutes later, we had looked under beds and tables and behind curtains and toilets, but there was not a snuffle or a whimper or a scritch-scratch.

  “We now know for sure where Hooligan is not,” Granny said. “I’ve done a pretty good search of the second floor myself, so let’s go downstairs.”

  In the morning, the public can tour the state floor of the White House, so we stay out of the way. But in the afternoon there aren’t tours, so we can come down if we want. I was looking under a sofa in the Blue Room when Tessa came running.

  Something was wrong. Was Hooligan hurt?

  “No, no, not Hooligan!” Tessa was out of breath. “The baton—the historic Who-za one Nate knows about? It’s missing!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “NOT Who-za—Sousa!” I said.

  Tessa waved her arms. “Whatever.”

  Then she explained.

  She had gone into the East Room looking for Hooligan and found Colonel Michaels. “He told me the baton is missing,” Tessa said.

  I said, “That’s too bad,” because I could see she was upset. But really, I was relieved nothing bad had happened to Hooligan.

  Tessa shook her head. “You still don’t get it, Cammie. It’s not too bad. It’s really bad! Without the baton, there’s no Song Boys!”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “The Marine Band can’t play unless they have it. Nate said so. No band—no Song Boys.”

  Was this true? Or was this Tessa drama?

  “Come on,” I said. “We better talk to Colonel Michaels.”

  We found him in the East Room. Remembering how he hadn’t exactly forgiven us, I was extra polite. “Good afternoon, Colonel Michaels.”

  “Good afternoon, Cameron. I suppose your sister has explained?”

  “It’s becoming a real mystery!” Tessa said. “Cammie and I are good at solving mysteries. Dad asks us to find his missing glasses all the time.”

  “They are usually on his head,” I said.

  “Plus detecting skills run in our family,” Tessa went on. “Granny used to be a cop.”

  “Police officer,” I said.

  “Well, I could certainly use the help of skilled detectives,” said Colonel Michaels. “It’s important that I get the baton back before Saturday. Otherwise, how will I keep the beat for The Song Boys?”

  “We know all about your baton,” Tessa said. “Nate wrote a report on John Philip—”

  “—Sousa,” I said before she could get it wrong.

  “Did he now?” said Colonel Michaels. “And he mentioned the Sousa baton?”

  Tessa nodded. “And how the band can’t play without it.”

  Colonel Michaels shook his head. “Oh dear. That old myth.”

  “It isn’t true?” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” said Colonel Michaels. “Somewhere some author wrote that the Sousa baton is in regular use. And from there someone got the idea we don’t perform without it. But the fact is the Sousa baton is so valuable it’s only used for ceremonial occasions.”

  Ha! I thought. For once our so superior cousin got something wrong!

  “Then what baton is it that’s missing?” Tessa asked.

  “My own, and I want it back,” said Colonel Michaels. “Could I assign you two experienced detectives to solve the mystery?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Sure!” Tessa said. “First, we have some questions.”

  I looked over at my sister. “We do?”

  Tessa shrugged. “That’s what they say in books.”

  “Go ahead,” said Colonel Michaels.

  Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “Colonel Michaels,” she said, “when did you last see the baton?”

  “I had it yesterday when I was directing right here in this room,” Colonel Michaels said. “Then there was the, uh . . . fracas with your dog, and we packed up in haste. I thought I had put the baton away as usual, but when I opened the case today, it was empty.”

  “We’re sorry about Hooligan,” I couldn’t help saying.

  “Yes,” said Colonel Michaels. “I know. In fact, it occurred to me he might be the culprit. Dogs and sticks, you know. With all the excitement, I easily could have set it down for him to pick up.”

  “That was good thinking,” Tessa said.

  “Thank you,” Colonel Michaels said. “Do you have more questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tessa said. “What about you, Cammie?”

  “Hooligan couldn’t have taken the baton,” I said.

  “That’s not a question,” said Tessa.

  “Oh, sorry. But he couldn’t have. Everyone was watching when he went crazy, and after that we had him by the collar. Then Granny did. And then we took him upstairs. He never had a chance to steal anything.”

  Colonel Michaels nodded. “Yes, I see. Perhaps I was too quick to blame him.”

  “We’ll find your baton, Colonel Michaels,” Tessa assured him. “We’ll even get Granny to help.”

  Colonel Michaels picked up his hat. “Thank you, girls. And good luck.”

  After that, it was time to go back upstairs. And guess where we found Hooligan?

  In his bed—relaxing like he’d been there all day!

  Tessa and I sat down on the floor beside him.

  “Do you realize all the trouble you caused us?” she asked.

  “Where were you, anyway?” I asked.

  Hooligan looked up and thumped his tail. I think he wanted to tell us. But he couldn’t woof the words.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MOST of the time, Nate eats with Tessa, me and Granny. But that night he was having dinner with Aunt Jen upstairs. They had something particular to talk about, Granny said. She wouldn’t tell us what, but she did say the topic had nothing to do with San Diego.

  Too bad.

  Dinner was macaroni and cheese with applesauce and green salad. Usua
lly our dinners come from the White House kitchen, and we eat in the family dining room on the second floor. On special occasions, we eat in the small dining room downstairs, and on really special occasions—like if an important queen or a movie director comes to visit—we might get to eat with everybody else in the State Dining Room.

  While we ate, we told Granny about how we met up with Colonel Michaels in the East Room, and he asked us to find the missing baton. After that, we asked for detecting advice.

  “I was never actually a detective, you know. I was a beat cop and eventually a sergeant. Then I went to law school,” Granny said.

  “That’s when Mom was little, right?” I asked.

  “Aunt Jen was in preschool when I started,” Granny said. “And your mom was in second grade like Tessa here. Your grandpa had been dead a couple of years.”

  “Why did you want to go to law school?” I asked.

  Granny sat back in her chair. “Cops investigate crimes, but they can’t put criminals in prison,” she said. “That’s what prosecutors do. And for that job, you have to be a lawyer. Then—I won’t lie—money mattered. Most of the time, lawyers earn more than police officers. I had two little girls to raise.”

  “Even if you weren’t a detective,” Tessa said, “you must have seen mysteries get solved. Plus you saw how bad guys get caught.”

  “Wait a sec, Tessa. We don’t even know if there is a bad guy,” I said. “Probably, the baton is just lost.”

  Tessa frowned. “That wouldn’t be very interesting.”

  Granny laughed. “In my experience, most criminals are tripped up by stupidity. Smart people find smarter things to do than commit crimes.”

  Tessa nodded thoughtfully. “So the first thing we should do,” she said, “is look for somebody stupid.”

  “Well, detectives first look for anything strange or out of place because it might be a clue,” Granny said. “Then, of course, they interview witnesses.”

  “We already interviewed Colonel Michaels,” Tessa said.

  “Excellent,” Granny said. “Who else was a witness?”

  “Everyone in the East Room yesterday afternoon,” I said.

  “That includes me,” Granny said, “but I only saw the baton when it was in Colonel Michaels’s hand.”

  I said I thought we should write a list of everybody who was there, then talk to as many as we could. “Does that make sense, Granny?”

  “It does,” she said. “But if you’re planning on doing interviews tomorrow, you’ll have to be quick about it. Your aunt has some kind of dinner going on. Oh, and be sure to take notes. Later, you look through your notes and—” she tapped her head with her finger “—apply logic.”

  “I’ll take the notes because my handwriting is good,” I told Tessa. “And you can do the talking because . . .” I hesitated.

  “I’m a loudmouth!” Tessa grinned. “I knew someday that would come in handy.”

  After dinner, we wrote our list. We probably wouldn’t be able to talk to the musicians, but we could talk to people from the staff who had been there. The ones we remembered were: Mr. Ross, Mr. Baney, Mr. Patel, Mrs. Hedges and Mr. Kane.

  Mom had a meeting that went late, so it was Granny who came in to say good night. I was sinking into my pillow when there was a knock, and the door opened a crack.

  “Are you awake?” Mom whispered.

  “We didn’t used to be,” Tessa said.

  Tonight Mom was dressed in her Madam President clothes—stockings, high heels, skirt and jacket. She came in and sat on the edge of Tessa’s bed, but immediately bounced back up. “Ow! What was . . . ?” She held something up.

  “Ski Barbie!” Tessa said. “Thanks for finding her, Mom.”

  “Hmmph,” Mom said. “Those poles are sharp!” Then she apologized for coming in so late. “The senators are still arguing about that energy bill. If it goes much longer, I’ll have to run up to Capitol Hill and knock heads together.”

  “Cool!” Tessa said. “Can I watch?”

  Mom laughed. “I didn’t mean it literally. I meant, uh . . . I’ll have to offer some encouragement. Now, what did you girls do today?”

  We told her about school and about how Hooligan went AWOL again. I was going to explain how Colonel Michaels had assigned us to find his baton, but by then it was obvious Mom had other things on her mind.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Nathan,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and I have a suggestion to help you all get along better. And no, Tessa. It is not San Diego.”

  Tessa frowned.

  Mom continued. “What I was thinking is that family relations are like international relations. For example, lately the United States has not been getting along with the government of a certain nearby nation. Now, what do you think my secretary of state has advised me to do?”

  I thought of Nate. “Declare war?”

  Mom gave me a look. “No, Cameron. What he suggests is that we help the other country—send experts and money to make their farms and roads and hospitals better.”

  “Nate hasn’t got farms and roads and hospitals,” Tessa said. “And I spent my allowance on pink boots. Remember?”

  I helped Mom out. “Are you saying we should be nice to Nate?”

  Mom nodded. “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know much about other countries,” Tessa said, “but I know my cousin, and that is a dumb idea.”

  “Tessa!” I said. “You can’t say ‘dumb’ to the president.”

  “I didn’t say ‘dumb’ to the president. I said ‘dumb’ to my mother. Aren’t we supposed to express our opinions?”

  “We’re supposed to be polite,” I said.

  “Could I say something?” Mom asked.

  “You should express your opinion,” Tessa said.

  Mom said thank you, she planned to, then, “I’m wondering if either of you has ever heard the saying, ‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar’? It means nice often gets you what you want.”

  “So if we’re nice, Nate will leave?” Tessa said.

  Mom didn’t say anything right away. I think she was counting to ten. Finally she took a breath. “Let’s try an experiment,” she said. “How about if you two are extra nice to Nate and we see what happens? One week only.”

  It’s tough to say no when Mom is being reasonable. “One week only,” I repeated. “Tessa?”

  “One week only,” Tessa grumbled.

  All this time Mom had been sitting on Tessa’s bed. Now Tessa twined both arms around mom’s neck. Gently, Mom removed one arm, then the other. She gave Tessa a kiss. She came over and gave me one, too.

  At the door, she said, “Good night, muffins,” but I could tell already her mind had moved to other things—probably knocking heads together.

  Our door closed.

  Tessa whispered, “Cameron? I don’t get it. Is Mom saying Nate’s a fly?”

  I yawned. “I think so. Sort of.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Tessa said. “So after we’re done with being nice, we should try a different experiment.”

  “What’s that?”

  Tessa giggled. “A fly swatter.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE next morning, Tessa started right in with nice. “Good morning, Cousin Nathan. May I get you a glass of orange juice?”

  Nate is always the last one up. That day his eyes were barely open. He looked at Tessa through his lashes. “Are you sick or something?” he asked.

  At the counter pouring milk, Granny said, “Nathan?”

  “She’s makin’ fun of me!” he said.

  Tessa’s usual answer, Am not, would not have been nice. So instead, she pressed her lips together, got a glass from the cupboard, poured orange juice, set the glass at Nate’s place and smiled a big sweet smile.

  Granny had watched the whole performance. “What do you say, Nathan?” she asked.

  Nate was suspicious, but with Granny watching, he had no choice. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  Sco
re one for nice!

  When Tessa sat down, I reminded her we were going to start detecting after school. “You need to be thinking of questions,” I said.

  “Detecting what?” Nate asked.

  I would have said, “None of your bee’s wax,” but I remembered nice. “Colonel Michaels’s baton is missing,” I said.

  Nate’s face turned serious all of a sudden. “His baton is missing?”

  I looked at Tessa, and I knew it was killing her not to tell Nate how he’d been wrong about the baton.

  It was killing me, too.

  But telling him wouldn’t exactly be nice—would it?

  So instead I just said Colonel Michaels had asked us to investigate.

  “Do you want to help us later?” Tessa asked, and my heart sank. I mean, there is such a thing as too nice.

  But luckily, Nate said, “Uh . . . no. I’m kind of busy this afternoon.”

  And was I imagining it? Or did he have a weird look on his face?

  At school, I had a fight with Courtney.

  It started when I saw Kyle before the first bell, and he told me Courtney’s dad had written about Hooligan on his blog.

  We were standing around the flagpole. Tessa, Nathan and I get there early so the Secret Service agents can get in position.

  “The header says, ‘Is First Dog Out of Control?’ ” Kyle said. “And then it says something like, ‘Killer dog attacks unwary White House visitors and even steals their stuff!’ ”

  Kyle’s dad is a congressman, and Kyle’s favorite books are biographies. He watches CNN and he reads The Washington Post at breakfast. No surprise he also reads Courtney’s dad’s blog.

  “That’s not true one bit!” I told him. “Hooligan just has too much energy.”

  “What did Hooligan steal?” Kyle asked.

  “He didn’t steal anything—he just grabbed markers,” I was going to tell the whole story, but then I spotted Courtney. I am usually a wimp about fighting. But not if I have to defend my dog!