The Case of the Diamond Dog Collar Page 4

  I sighed. “Paul Song.” And I guess my face went moony because Tessa rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, brother,” she said, “and you make fun of me for having crushes!”

  Paul Song, in case you don’t know, is part of the best band in America, The Song Boys. Not that long ago, he and his brothers played a concert at the White House, and I got to meet him. He was really nice, not stuck up at all.

  And now he’d actually written me a letter!

  Dear Cammie,

  You will probably think I’m a dork for writing you an old-fashon letter with a stamp and everything. But right now we were sitting here in the hotel, and I saw this writting paper and I thought it would be funny to write you.

  On TV yesterday I saw how that TV dog guy is staying with you and giving Hooligan dog lessons! That is so cool! I wish he could give my dog dog lessons, too. I miss my dog when we are on tour. Did I tell you about him? He was a puppy at the pound when we picked him, and he grew up to be funny-looking but not as funny-looking as Hooligan. (Don’t let Hooligan read that part. JK.) My dog’s name is Singalong because when he was a puppy he liked to howl with us.

  My brothers don’t know it, but Singalong likes me best. That’s because I sneek him dog biscuts. I am going to have to stop, though. Or else he will be funny-looking AND fat. Here is a picture:

  Okay, so gotta go do the show. After LA, we go to San Fransisco and then Orgon.

  See you later. I hope?

  Best—Paul Song

  PS—If I just wrote “Paul,” would you know it was me, or do you know lots of people named Paul?

  “It’s not a very interesting letter,” said Tessa.

  “Hey!” I flipped it over and elbowed her. “It’s personal!”

  “Like a cartoon dog is so personal,” said Tessa. “He didn’t sign it ‘love.’ And he can’t even spell your name.”

  “You’re just jealous,” I said.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Girls?” It was Granny. She had gone to shower and change her clothes. Now she was back. “We need to eat early if we’re going to get to the museum on time. Go get yourselves cleaned up, and I believe Aunt Jen has put clothes out.”

  Pretty much any time we go anywhere, the news guys are there with their cameras. That’s why Aunt Jen picks our clothes. If she didn’t, I would wear gym shorts, and Tessa would wear pink party dresses.

  Usually I don’t mind changing, but now I was grumpy after arguing with Tessa. “I look fine already!” I insisted.

  Tessa looked me up and down. “You’d at least better fix your hair, Cammie. What if icky old Paul Song sees you on TV?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE Smithsonian Museum of Natural History is located on the National Mall, less than a mile from our house. So you’d think we could have walked there, right?

  Wrong.

  To keep us safe, we had to be driven. Tessa, Nate and I went in a van with Charlotte. Granny, Dad and Ms. Kootoor followed in another van.

  You’re probably thinking: Lucky-y-y! She gets to have a driver to take her places!

  But sometimes I feel more like I’m trapped. I mean, it would have been nice to walk to the museum with nobody knowing or caring who I was—to be like I used to be, a normal kid.

  Of course, back then, I didn’t appreciate how normal was nice.

  The museum building sits at the top of some big wide steps, and it’s full of cool stuff like dinosaur bones, crazy-looking bugs, pretty rocks and stuffed wild animals. Usually, it is also full of people. But when we walked through the big heavy doors, there were only a couple of guards and a man in a suit and tie. That was Mr. Rubio, the assistant curator. With so few people, the museum was kind of spooky and quiet. I felt like I was in church.

  Tessa didn’t. She tore through the doors, past the stuffed elephant in the lobby and around Mr. Rubio—“Hi, nice to meet you!” Charlotte ran after her, trying to keep up.

  The Hope Diamond has its own room on the second floor. Over the doorway is a helpful sign that reads, THE HOPE DIAMOND. It sits on a white velvet pedestal in a glass and metal case. It’s more than an inch long, which is big for a diamond, and it’s gray-blue, which is the main reason it’s special.

  Mr. Rubio and the six of us clustered around the case. I got out my notebook, ready to write. Tessa was wearing her pink detecting hat.

  “Over the centuries the Hope Diamond has been owned by millionaires, lords, ladies and kings,” Mr. Rubio explained.

  Nate, who knows everything, said he heard there was a curse.

  Mr. Rubio nodded. “The story goes that the diamond was stolen from the eye of a statue of a goddess, and the goddess cursed all future owners.”

  Uh oh. Were the museum walls going to crumble?

  “But there’s no evidence for the story at all,” Mr. Rubio continued. “What is true is that a lot of people who owned this diamond were unlucky and died broke.”

  “Well, that’s crazy,” Tessa said. “If you had this big diamond, you could sell it and not be broke anymore!”

  “Sell something so beautiful?!” Ms. Kootoor was horrified.

  “If the diamond’s unlucky,” Granny said, “why is it called ‘Hope’?”

  Mr. Rubio said it was owned by the Hope family in the 1800s, and that was the name that stuck. “The diamond was actually mined in India in the 1600s, then sold to the king of France,” he said. “At that time, it was known as the French Blue. Later it disappeared and turned up in London, but by then it was smaller. It had been cut and reshaped.”

  “I didn’t know diamonds were cut more than once,” said Granny.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Rubio said. “Sometimes they’re recut to eliminate a flaw. Sometimes a particular shape goes out of fashion. Other times, a diamond will be divided into smaller stones.”

  Dad asked, “What is it that makes a diamond special in the first place?”

  “Diamonds are rare,” said Mr. Rubio. “It takes billions of years for one to form deep under the surface of the earth. And the pressure makes a diamond one of the hardest materials known.”

  “But can’t they be manufactured?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, but the process is as expensive as finding one in nature,” said Mr. Rubio. “Of course, there are also diamond facsimiles. They can be made out of all sorts of minerals, or even plastic.”

  “So how does one tell the difference between real and fake?” Granny asked.

  “It’s not always easy,” Mr. Rubio said. “But I can demonstrate one test. Is anyone wearing a diamond?”

  Granny took off her engagement ring and held it out. Mr. Rubio took it, and raised it to his mouth. “Ewwww!” said Tessa. “You’re not gonna lick it, are you?”

  Mr. Rubio opened his mouth like he just might . . . but he was kidding. Instead, he made his mouth into an O and blew a sharp little puff.

  “See that?” he asked us.

  “The diamond didn’t fog up,” Granny said.

  Mr. Rubio nodded. “That’s because it’s real.”

  “Well, I hope so,” said Granny.

  “A real diamond has special physical properties that keep it slightly cool at all times,” Mr. Rubio said. “That’s why an old-fashioned nickname for diamonds is ‘ice.’ Those same properties mean that a diamond clears condensation almost instantly. A fake typically requires several seconds, or else has to be wiped clean.”

  Tessa crossed her arms over her chest the way she does when she’s interviewing a witness. “Mr. Rubio,” she said, “what would happen if a diamond got stuck in a compost grinder?”

  Mr. Rubio raised his eyebrows. I don’t think anyone had ever asked him that before. “Uh . . . how big a diamond?” he asked.

  Tessa showed him with her fingers.

  “I should think a diamond that big would break the mechanism . . . and probably make a horrible noise, too,” he said.

  “Write that down, Cammie,” Tessa said.

  “But the diamond we’re looking
for is fake,” I said.

  Tessa sighed and recrossed her arms. “Mr. Rubio,” she said, “what would happen if a fake diamond got caught in a compost grinder?”

  “I’m no expert on fake diamonds,” he said. “But I should think it would grind up just fine.”

  A diamond, even a famous blue one, is only interesting for so long. We looked around at the other things in the room—a meteorite, a crystal and a huge sheet of copper—then at some fancy jewelry in the room next door. It was almost time to go when Nate asked Mr. Rubio, “So how much money is the Hope Diamond worth?”

  “Nate!” Tessa delivered her best Aunt Jen look. “Money’s rude!”

  But Mr. Rubio said he didn’t mind answering. “You see, the Hope Diamond is worth two things at once: everything and nothing.”

  “Huh?” said Tessa.

  Mr. Rubio explained. “Looked at one way, the Hope Diamond is worth so much money it can’t even be calculated. There is not another like it in the universe! But looked at another, it’s worth nothing. That’s because it’s so famous, it couldn’t possibly be sold. Any buyer would recognize it and know it had been stolen.”

  I thought of something. “Is El Brillante the same amount famous?”

  “The diamond that disappeared in a certain nearby nation?” said Mr. Rubio. “I would say so, yes.”

  “So same thing,” I said. “No one could sell it. And if that’s true—why would anybody steal it?”

  Mr. Rubio shrugged and shook his head. “That’s one question I can’t answer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THAT night it was Dad who came in to give us our kisses.

  “Where’s Mom?” Tessa asked.

  “She’s sorry, girls,” Dad said. “Something came up.”

  “Something more important than us?” Tessa said.

  “Nothing’s more important than you,” Dad said. “But some things are more urgent.”

  “Hmmph,” said Tessa. “Hey—did you hear Cammie got a letter? From Paul So-o-o-ong.”

  “Aren’t there any secrets in this house?” I said.

  Dad smiled. “What did the letter say? Or don’t you want to tell?”

  “I’ll tell!” Tessa said. “He can’t even spell, and besides that—”

  Dad held up his hand. “All right, Tessa. Cammie’s entitled to some privacy. But, uh, sweetie . . . do you think you’ll write him back?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But not right away. Tessa and I have a mystery to solve.”

  Tessa woke me before I knew I was asleep.

  She was bouncing on my bed. “Cammie!”

  “Go away.”

  “No, seriously! I thought of something! We have to do some detecting!”

  I didn’t want to, but I opened my eyes. It was still dark. “What time is it?”

  Tessa didn’t answer, just pulled me out of bed. A weird dream had woken her. In it, Hooligan’s diamond collar was on display in the Hope Diamond’s case. Mr. Rubio was there, and he wrote on the foggy glass with his finger: “Are they real?”

  “Do you get it, Cammie?” Tessa asked.

  I shook my head to clear the sleep out. Then . . . “Oh—you mean the breath test? You want to do it on Hooligan’s collar!”

  I had to give Tessa credit. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  Without another word, we tiptoed out of our room and down the hall. Hooligan’s own bedroom is next to the elevator. It’s a room some first ladies have used for doing hair and makeup, but a long time ago a president’s dog named Millie had her puppies here. Now it’s where Hooligan goes to bed in his crate.

  Tessa whispered, “You block him in, and I’ll get the collar.”

  Hooligan’s crate has a black wire gate at the front. I crouched down, unlatched it and pulled it partway open. Tessa slid her hand in to unbuckle the collar. All the time my heart was pounding.

  “Got it!” Tessa whispered.

  Hooligan snuffled and shifted, and I thought my heart would stop. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but if he woke up, he’d wake the whole house.

  Back in our room, I breathed again. Then I turned on the lamp. In the light, the collar seemed extra sparkly, and I couldn’t help wondering how much it would be worth if the diamonds were real. Was I holding millions of dollars?

  “Your breath or mine?” Tessa asked.

  “It was your idea,” I said.

  Tessa made her mouth into an O.

  “Wait a sec,” I said.

  “What?”

  “If it’s real, we’re gonna want to scream, right?”

  Tessa nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

  “But we can’t,” I said. “If the president’s kids start screaming in the middle of the night . . .”

  “Good point,” Tessa said. “So how ‘bout if we scream silently?”

  “Pinky promise,” I said. We hooked our fingers.

  Tessa took a breath. “Here goes.” She put one of the diamonds next to her face, made her lips into an O again and exhaled. I leaned close, and together we looked.

  No fog.

  No fog?

  The diamond was real!

  We closed our eyes, we opened our mouths, we pumped our fists—and we screamed!

  Silently.

  To somebody watching, it would’ve looked like the sound was on mute.

  After that, Tessa and I took turns testing the other diamonds. And guess what? They were real, too. Every single one.

  Hooligan must have been super tired because Tessa and I sneaked the collar back onto his neck without waking him. After that, the two of us were so excited there was no way we could go back to sleep.

  So instead we brushed our teeth, washed our faces, got dressed, and made our beds. Ready to face the day, I looked at the clock on my bedside table.

  It was four in the morning!

  “Now what are we supposed to do?” I asked.

  “Let’s wake up Mom and Dad. This is big news!”

  I shook my head. “We can’t do that. Mom’s tired already, and she has a country to run.”

  “Then let’s look at your notes again,” Tessa said. “Now that we know it couldn’t have been ground up, we really have to find that diamond.”

  Instead of telling you every word Tessa and I said for the next three hours, I am going to summarize the important parts:

  • Sometimes diamonds are cut more than once.

  • Diamonds break compost grinders.

  • Famous diamonds are priceless and worthless.

  And

  • The diamonds on Hooligan’s collar test real.

  This brought up three fat questions:

  • Did the person/dog who sent the collar to Hooligan know it had real diamonds?

  • If yes, why had he/she lied?

  • And why was someone sending Hooligan diamonds at all?

  At seven, Granny came in to wake us. You can imagine the look on her face when she saw us up and dressed. “What in the world . . .?”

  “Well it took you long enough!” Tessa jumped off the sofa. “Come on. We have something to show you.”

  Shaking her head like we were crazy, Granny followed us into Hooligan’s room. All three of us knelt down. All three of us looked in his crate.

  All three of us saw it was empty!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “DOES what you want to show me have to do with Hooligan?” Granny asked.

  “Duh!” Tessa said.

  “Mr. Bryant took him out for a romp with Cottonball before Canine Class,” Granny said.

  “But that doesn’t start for another hour!” Tessa said.

  Granny shrugged. “He said there was no traffic this morning so he got here early. Come on and eat your breakfast. What’s all the excitement anyway?”

  It seemed lame just to tell Granny the diamonds were real. We wanted to prove it. Tessa said, “If it’s okay, we’d rather tell you later.”

  “Suit yourselves,” said Granny. “But remember you’ve got church this morning—right after
Canine Class.”

  On our way to the kitchen, Tessa tried to argue: “We have to interview Mr. Mormora after class! It’s really important!”

  Granny’s look said: Mr. Mormora can wait. God can’t.

  “Oh, fine,” Tessa said.

  “Meanwhile,” Granny said brightly, “it’s time to name the canary.”

  It was Nate’s turn. And for once he had come to breakfast on time.

  “I propose ‘Serinus,’ ” he said.

  “Se-whatziss?” Tessa asked.

  “The Latin name for canary is Serinus canaria domestica,” Nate said.

  Granny cut bagels in half and put them in the toaster. “Sounds too much like sinus,” she said, “and that gives me a headache.”

  Nate didn’t seem too disappointed. “Did you know most male canaries sing all the time?”

  “Maybe this guy would sing more if he had a name,” Tessa said. “The last time he really sang out was on Friday—right before Hooligan went crazy.”

  “That reminds me of something,” I said. “When Hooligan went crazy on Thursday? Remember how those birds outside were yakking? You could hear them over the helicopters.”

  Tessa nodded. “I do remember. Only what does that have to do with anything?”

  Granny set down our toasted bagels and glasses of orange juice. We thanked her. I got out my notebook and wrote down about the singing canary and the yakking birds.

  “I have no idea what it means,” I told Tessa. “But it’s another strange coincidence.”

  By the time Nate, Tessa and I got down to the South Lawn, Mr. Mormora was already there, and the puppies were starting to arrive. From beyond the fountain, Mr. Bryant, Cottonball and Hooligan were walking toward us.

  Tessa and I still hadn’t told anyone about the diamonds on the collar. And keeping it to herself was driving Tessa crazy. Finally, she couldn’t stand it. “Nathan, can you keep a secret? Hooligan’s diamonds are real!”

  Nate’s mouth opened, like for a second he believed her. But then he started to argue: “They can’t be. . . . The letter said . . . Who would send Hooligan real diamonds?”