The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog Page 8

  Paul took the program. “Who should I make it out to?”

  “Um . . . could you just write, ‘To my best most gorgeous friend, Courtney Lozana, all my love forever, Paul Song’?” she asked.

  “That’s kind of a lot,” he said, and what he actually wrote was, “To Cortney, Best—Paul Song.”

  Maybe it was mean, but when I saw he misspelled C-o-u-r-t-n-e-y, I grinned. Wanting real life back isn’t all Paul Song and I have in common. We’re both bad spellers, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  PARTIES are exhausting, aren’t they? Especially when you have to chase a rock’n’roll dog.

  After all the guests had left, my family—Mom, Dad, Nate, Granny, Tessa and I—crashed in the solarium. Hooligan was there, too, lying on the rug and woofing in his sleep.

  Aunt Jen, meanwhile, had gone back to her office for a meeting with Mr. Ross.

  The local TV news guys we like best are the ones named Jan and Larry. At 5:30, Dad switched on the TV, and the first thing we saw was Hooligan being chased around the state floor today while Larry’s voice said: “. . . in other news, the presidential dog was up to his old tricks, as a White House performance by popular boy band ‘The Song Boys’ almost had to be canceled.”

  Then they showed blonde Jan in the studio, shaking her head and looking concerned. “Oh dear, Larry, what did that dog do this time?”

  The camera switched to gray-haired Larry. “In fact, Jan, the incident initially appeared to be serious. It seems the presidential pooch had made off with a phone belonging to the leader of a certain nearby nation. Until the phone could be located, all White House access was curtailed.”

  Now the TV showed a tall man in a gray suit standing in front of a hotel. A caption in white letters identified him: President Manfred Alfredo-Chin.

  “I am a dog lover myself,” he told the camera, “so when it was explained to me that the thief was the dog of the president’s children, then I understood, and an international incident was averted.”

  Back to Larry, now smiling. “The foreign leader went on to state that he’s pleased to be taking back to his country not only a pledge of support for farms, roads and hospitals but also a unique souvenir of his visit to the United States, a cell phone imprinted with the toothmarks of the presidential dog.”

  Tessa started whining as soon as Dad hit mute. “They didn’t mention Cammie and me at all!”

  “Sorry, muffin, but we didn’t release that part of the story,” Mom said.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Because they would make a big deal, and you’d be hounded everywhere you went,” Dad said. Then he laughed. “Hounded—get it?”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. Anyway, the cell phone part I understand. But I do still have some questions.”

  “So do I.” Tessa crossed her arms over her chest, “Madam President, who were those guys in gray suits on the state floor Thursday—the ones who looked like stupid baton thieves?”

  “Gray suits?” Mom was thinking. “Oh—you must mean President Alfredo-Chin’s aides. They were doing reconnaissance before his visit.” Then—before Tessa could ask—she added, “Reconnaissance means checking the place out. Now is it my turn?”

  Tessa said to go ahead, and Mom asked if we could explain how the baton got into Hooligan’s bed.

  “Hooligan must’ve found it in one of the East Room fireplaces on Wednesday,” I said. “When he did, he dropped the Astronaut Barbie he was carrying and took the baton in trade.”

  “After that, he brought it to Mr. Bryant in the elevator,” Tessa said. “Mr. Bryant’s peepers aren’t what they used to be—so he thought it was any old stick and let Hooligan keep it.”

  “Then Hooligan stuck it in his bed—same as he did that time with Tessa’s ballet shoe, not to mention the cell phone, the daffodil petals, and all that other stuff,” I concluded.

  Tessa tapped her head and looked at Granny. “It was all logic, just the way you taught us.”

  Granny smiled. “You’re fast learners. But I’m still confused about one thing. How did the baton get to the East Room fireplace? We already know Hooligan didn’t put it there.”

  Nate had been fidgeting since we started talking. Now I didn’t want to look at him. This was it. Time to tell the truth about our so superior cousin. Time to send him back to San Diego!

  But then I thought how heartbroken he looked when he told us he stole the baton.

  And how he gave Tessa and me credit when he returned it to Colonel Michaels.

  And didn’t he introduce me to his “close personal friend,” Paul Song?

  Tessa and I looked at each other and, without a word, we came to an agreement.

  “Who cares how it got there?” Tessa said. “The point is we found it!”

  Nate’s jaw dropped he was so astonished. “Wow . . . I didn’t expect . . . I mean. . . . Thanks,” he finally blurted. But then he shrugged, “The thing is, I already confessed everything to Mom.”

  “Confessed what?” Dad asked.

  “Never mind,” Mom said.

  “To your mom?” Tessa said. “That was brave.”

  “He’s grounded for a month,” Aunt Jen said. She was standing at the top of the ramp. She must’ve just gotten there. “And he has to be extra nice to the two of you, as well.”

  “Woot!” Tessa and I high-fived.

  “But right now,” Aunt Jen went on, “I need to tell you about my meeting with Mr. Ross. I think it’s obvious we can’t go on the way we are with this dog. Stealing the odd daffodil is one thing, but what happened today could have been serious. Drastic measures must be taken.”

  Drastic?

  “First of all,” Aunt Jen continued, “we have decided to relieve Mr. Bryant of his post in the elevator.”

  Everybody started to protest: What happened wasn’t Mr. Bryant’s fault! Plus he had worked in the White House such a long time!

  Aunt Jen held up her hand. “We are reassigning him,” she said, “to the full-time job of keeping Hooligan out of trouble.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Mom said.

  “An excellent solution,” Dad said.

  “Will Mr. Bryant be cleaning the dog bed, too?” Tessa asked.

  “That would be a negative,” Dad said. “In fact . . . girls? I believe you promised.”

  “It’s Nate’s turn,” Tessa said.

  “Me!?” said Nate.

  “Aren’t you forgetting nice?” said Tessa.

  “Oh, fine,” said Nate. “Where’s the stuff I need?”

  “We’ll show you,” Tessa said.

  “We’ll even help,” I said, “but only this once.”

  Like I said, Hooligan had been dozing. But now, for mysterious doggie reasons, his eyes blinked open.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “Don’t anybody make a sudden—”

  But it was already too late.

  AFTERWORD:

  JOHN Philip Sousa is known as “the March King” because he composed so many famous marches, including America’s official national march, “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

  Sousa’s family lived in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Washington, D.C., and his father played trombone in the Marine Band. Sousa’s first instrument was violin, and he became an apprentice member of the band in 1868 when he was thirteen years old. As a young man, he moved to Philadelphia, but in 1880 he returned to the Marine Band to take over as its director. He had the job for twelve years.

  The Marine Band had been founded in 1798, but under Sousa’s direction it became more professional and more popular than ever before. When Sousa retired from it in 1892, the baton was presented to him at a farewell concert at the White House. It is embellished with the eagle, globe and anchor emblem of the United States Marine Corps, and engraved with the words: John Philip Sousa. Presented by Members of the U.S. Marine Band as a token of their respect and esteem.

  John Philip Sousa’s successful musical career continued until he died in 1932. Later, his daughters, Jane and
Helen, donated the Sousa baton back to the Marine Band. As the fictional Colonel Michaels explains, it is kept in the band’s library and used only for special occasions like the change of command ceremony when a new director takes over.

  For more on The President’s Own United States Marine Corps Band, visit the band online at, www.marineband.usmc.mil.

  For more on the White House, including floor plans, photographs and historical information, visit www.whitehousemuseum.org.

  I am indebted to Master Gunnery Sergeant D. Michael Ressler, historian of the U.S. Marine Band, for generously sharing his “Historical Perspective on The President’s Own U.S. Marine Band, Playing America’s Music Since 1798,” for showing me the Sousa baton and for his patience in answering my questions. I am also grateful to my friend Elizabeth Bryant Ottarson for giving me a tour of Washington, D.C., providing further details and reading this manuscript. Any errors are, of course, my own.

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