The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog (6 page)

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!

“Hey!” I waved. “I want to talk to you!”

Kyle is the kind of kid who stirs up trouble but doesn't stick around. He said, “I have to finish my homework,” and left.

Courtney could see I was mad. She pointed at herself like,
Moi?

I skipped explanations and got to the point. “Hooligan isn't vicious, and you know it, and it's not like you were bleeding or broke your arm or something.”

Courtney seemed to know what I was talking about. “He knocked me down!” she said.

“Because you were too big of a klutz to get out of the way!”

“Klutz?!” Courtney said. “I'm the most graceful one in my tap class!”

“Who do you tap with? Elephants?”

After all that nice to Nate, I must've had meanness left over.

And besides, I was
mad
.

But Courtney gave it right back.

“You know what, Cameron? And I am only telling you this for your own good. Ever since your mom got elected president, you are so totally stuck up. You used to be a normal kid, but now you act like . . . I dunno, you're some kind of
princess
.”

“That is
so not
—” I started to say, but Charlotte interrupted.

“Uh, Cameron? Courtney? Everything all right?”

Most of the time, the Secret Service agents stay out of the way. But there aren't a lot of teachers around before school.

I was embarrassed. “We're fine,” I mumbled.

Courtney was not embarrassed. She pointed at Charlotte. “
See?
That proves it. You're such a princess someone has to protect you—even from your friends!”

Friends
, I thought. Right.

Courtney and I stayed miles apart the rest of the day, and nothing especially horrible happened—except I had a lot to worry about.

Was Courtney right? Was I a princess?

And would Aunt Jen come through with Song Boys invitations?

And then there was Nate. How would I ever survive six more days of being nice?

After lunch, it was time to work on our bean sprout project. Evgenia was my partner, and our bean sprouts were growing nicely on their damp paper towel. While I measured them, she drew their picture.

“Ev,” I said after a while. “Do you think I'm different since my mom got elected?”

Evgenia didn't look up. “Your mom?” she said. “Elected?”

I stared at her. Was it possible there was someone who didn't know . . . ?

But then she cracked up. “Just kidding,” she said. “And no one could deny you're different, Cammie.
Wa-a-a-ay
different.”

“Not that kind of different,” I said. “Stuck-up different.” I looked over at Courtney. “Do I act like I'm some kind of, like,
princess?
”

Evgenia saw me looking at Courtney. Then she looked back at her paper and drew a yellow circle outside the window. “The sun is what makes the sprouts grow,” she explained.

“You're not answering my question,” I said.

Evgenia stopped drawing. “You are better than some kids,” she said. “Like at arithmetic and handwriting. And you're worse than anybody at spelling. You're pretty friendly, and you don't insult people on
purpose.” She shrugged. “But I never met a princess, so I don't know if that's what they're like.”

I finished writing down sprout data. Evgenia drew the rays on her sun. Then she looked over at Courtney and back again. “I don't think you should worry about what some people say, Cammie. It isn't your fault your mom's the president. I mean, my parents didn't even vote for her.”

AFTER school, I couldn't wait to start detecting.

But I had to.

It took Tessa forever to pick an outfit.

Our school doesn't make us wear uniforms. And usually when Tessa and I get home we don't bother to change. But Tessa loves clothes. For detecting, she claimed she needed something perfect.

“What do you think?” Standing in front of her closet, she struck a pose. She was wearing lime green cargo pants and a matching vest. Her T-shirt was black with a ladybug print, and her sneakers were yellow. “I thought a lot of pockets would be good,” she added, “in case we have to collect evidence.”

“Looks great,” I said. “Can we go now? There's that dinner, and—”

“You don't sound sure,” Tessa said. “What do detectives wear, anyway?”

“How should I know? Police uniforms probably.”

Tessa turned back to her closet like maybe she'd find a police uniform.

“Would you
please
hurry up?” I said. “I know—Sherlock Holmes had a hat. Do you have a hat?”

Tessa grabbed a pink spangled baseball cap. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Let's go.”

Tessa tugged the hat on. I grabbed my notebook.

“Who do we question first?” she asked.

“Mr. Bryant's on today. Let's take the elevator.”

“But he wasn't in the East Room,” Tessa said.

“It'll be like a warm-up.”

If you're on the state or the ground floors, you have to have a key to call the presidential elevator. But on the upper floors, there are regular buttons.

“Good afternoon, young ladies,” Mr. Bryant said when the doors opened. “You two are looking mighty serious this afternoon. Too much homework?”

“It's more important than homework, Mr. Bryant,” said Tessa. “We are going to solve a mystery. And
you
are our first suspect.”

“Mercy!” said Mr. Bryant.

“Not
suspect
, Tessa.
Witness
,” I said.

“Oops.” Tessa looked at Mr. Bryant again. “
You
are our first witness.”

Mr. Bryant wiped pretend sweat from his forehead. “
Phew
.”

“Are you ready, Cammie?” Tessa asked.

“Ready.”

Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “Mr. Bryant,
where were you on the night of—what night was it, Cammie?”

“It wasn't night, it was afternoon. How about if we just explain what we're doing? Then after that we ask him what he knows.”

Tessa explained, and Mr. Bryant shook his head. “Oh dear, oh dear—and that's not all that's disappeared. Mrs. Silver's all wrought up about the place cards for the mayors' dinner tonight. Hand-lettered, you know. They were bundled in a rubber band, she set them down, and . . .”—he snapped his fingers—“like that, they were gone!”

I didn't think missing place cards were too tragic, but I said, “That's too bad.”

And Tessa asked, “Where were they before they disappeared?”

“I believe it was the State Dining Room,” Mr. Bryant said.

“Colonel Michaels's baton disappeared from the East Room on Tuesday,” Tessa told Mr. Bryant. “So have you seen any baton thieves since Tuesday, Mr. Bryant? Stupid baton thieves, I mean, because Granny told us most criminals are stupid.”

Mr. Bryant rubbed his cheek. “I can't say that I have,” he said. “Not that I'd exactly know what a stupid baton thief looks like . . . unless the thief were to be
carrying
the baton. Now, that would be a definite clue. Or—what about this?—a person carrying something in which a baton might be hidden.”

I was writing all this down.

“Something long and skinny,” Tessa said.

Mr. Bryant nodded. “You might also be looking,” he went on, “in the places where a thief could hide something long and skinny.”

The elevator had been going up and down for a while. Now it arrived back at the state floor. Mr. Bryant opened the doors. Tessa was saying thanks when I spotted something yellow on the floor and picked it up.

“What've you got there?” Mr. Bryant squinted.

“Looks like flower petals,” I said. “Kind of mangled.”

“Our first clue!” Tessa said. “I'll put them in a pocket.”

I handed them over.

“Thanks again, Mr. Bryant,” I said.

“You're quite welcome. And at the first sign of a stupid baton thief, I'll know where to report.”

STEPPING out of the elevator, we saw we were in luck. In the foyer was the White House's big old grand piano, and one of our witnesses, Mrs. Hedges, was dusting it.

“Go ahead and ask your questions,” Mrs. Hedges said after Tessa explained. “Only I'll keep working if you don't mind. They'll be moving the piano to the East Room for the concert, and it has to look good.”