The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog (8 page)

“Oka-a-ay,” I said. “But what does that have to do with him being down there today?”

“Maybe he was making sure it was still there—that we hadn't found it,” Tessa said. “He wasn't carrying anything when we saw him. So it's
still
down there. Come on!” Tessa jumped to her feet, but at the same time, Granny came in and said we should go wash up.

“Granny,” Tessa announced, “there is an emergency. I am afraid we will have to delay dinner.”

Granny was not impressed. “And what is this so-called emergency?”

“Nate stole Colonel Michaels's baton and hid it,” Tessa said. “And now Cammie and I must go and get it back.”

GRANNY'S answer was dead silence.

Not a good sign.

Finally, Tessa said, “Are you angry at Nate?”

“No,” Granny said.

“Are you angry at us?”

“Yes,” Granny said.

And then she let us have it. “You girls have been out to get that boy since we moved into the White House. His behavior hasn't been perfect, goodness knows. But I can hardly blame him if he feels ganged up on.”

Unlike me, Tessa is not a wimp. If someone gets mad at her, she gets mad back. “In my opinion”—she put her hands on her hips—”Nate stole that baton.”

“And in
my
opinion . . .” Granny's hands were on her hips, too. “
You
are full of prunes, Tessa Parks! Your cousin—my grandson—is not a thief. And that is the last I want to hear on the subject. Understood?” She looked at Tessa first, then me.

We looked at our shoes. “Understood,” we said meekly.

And we also understood that there would be no more detecting that night.

Dinner was not so fun. Granny didn't once crack a smile, and Tessa and I were half afraid to talk. Besides the fancy Italian noodles, the only good thing was that Nate didn't eat with us. According to Granny, he was having some kind of an extra piano lesson.

An extra piano lesson?

Here in America in the twenty-first century, I am one of two kids my age who does not have a phone.

Nate is the other.

Supposedly, we are too young. And all the excellent arguments about why we need them (like being the only person without one is ruining my social life!!!) do not convince our parents.

Nate and Aunt Jen have their own family phone upstairs. People call me on our family's phone. Usually when it rings for me, it's Courtney. But that night it wasn't.

“Cameron? This is Colonel Michaels. How are you?”

I was sitting on the floor doing homework. Picturing Colonel Michaels, I sat up straight. “Fine, sir, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you. I was just wondering whether you've had any success with the baton.”

Tessa was sitting beside me. Granny was in a chair across the room. There was a book in her lap, but I knew she was listening. If I mentioned Nate, she'd go ballistic.

“Not exactly success,” I said. “But today we interviewed witnesses and applied logic.”

“Ah,” said Colonel Michaels.

“And, tomorrow, uh . . .” I looked at Tessa for help, but she shrugged and shook her head. “Well, tomorrow . . . our plan is to find it once and for all.”

“Splendid,” said Colonel Michaels. “Then perhaps you could meet me just prior to the concert? And bring the baton with you.”

What I said was, “No problem,” but what I thought was,
I hope
.

Mom still hadn't come upstairs when we went to bed, so once again, Granny said good night. She had barely closed the door when Tessa rolled over. “It's in the Blue Room!”

I wasn't so sure. But I didn't have a better idea. “The three color rooms connect,” I reminded her. “Nate could have been in Red or Green for all we know.”

“You're right,” said Tessa. “How about this? Pretend you're Nate on the state floor on Tuesday. You need a good hiding place in a hurry. Where do you go?”

I didn't have to think, I just knew. It was something Granny had shown me, Nate and Tessa the first week we moved in. Even then, I had thought what a brilliant place it would be to hide something.

“The worktable,” I said.

I couldn't see my sister in the dark, but I could feel her smiling. “Cammie—you're a genius!”

GRANNY doesn't usually stay mad for long, and she was in a better mood at breakfast—especially after she saw us acting super nice to Nate.

Weirdly, Nate was pretty nice himself. Like in the van on the way to school, Granny gave me my last spelling quiz before the test—and he didn't show off and spell words before I could.

Did he maybe feel guilty about stealing the baton?

Then at school, something good happened.
Finally!

On everybody's desk except mine and Nate's were thick, cream-colored envelopes with the return address, “The White House,” in blue. Courtney had one. And so did Ms. Nicols.

Inside were fancy printed invitations:

President Marilee Parks, Mr. Richard Parks
and Ms. Jennifer Leone
Request the pleasure of your presence at
a performance by The Song Boys
In support of literacy
2
P.M.
on Saturday
The East Room of the White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Refreshments to follow

Score
, Aunt Jen!

Right away the girls started talking about what they were going to wear. And the boys started talking about what they were going to eat.

For a little while, I got to be the hero! And Nate didn't even spoil it by calling The Song Boys bubblegum.

But at recess, Courtney said, “When they're done singing, do we get face time?”

And Alexander said, “If there's pizza, I can't have tomatoes. I'm allergic.”

And after recess, Ms. Nicols said, “I'm sure everyone would really appreciate it if The Song Boys would take a few minutes to answer questions. Can that be arranged, Cameron?”

So much for being a hero. I told them all the same thing: “I don't know. It's up to Aunt Jen and Mrs. Silver.”

The spelling test was after lunch. I thought after Granny had quizzed me so much, I would ace it. But
I couldn't concentrate. And no matter how I arranged the letters, the words kept looking wrong.

“How did it go?” Granny asked in the van later.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said.

Tessa and I wanted to go detecting as soon as we got home. But what were we going to tell Granny? And how would we get rid of Nate?

Luckily, Nate disappeared upstairs right after our snack. And when we asked for permission to go downstairs, Granny said okay. She knew Colonel Michaels had called. And we were careful not to remind her about our number one suspect.

This time Tessa didn't bother to change clothes. She just grabbed her pink Sherlock Holmes hat, and we raced downstairs to the Green Room.

In case you're wondering, I am not normally a person who thinks furniture is interesting. You sit on it, eat on it, put a book on it. Besides that, who cares?

But the worktable in the Green Room is different. I noticed it when Granny explained it was the same design as her grandmother's sewing box—but bigger.

Tessa had asked, “Did your grandmother know she had a rare and historic antique?”

And Granny pointed out, “She thought it was the latest high-tech gadget.”

Now, Tessa and I were beside the table.

“Ready?” Tessa asked.

“Be careful,” I said. “It's historic.”

“
Duh
,” Tessa said, “like what isn't around here?”

Carefully, she removed the lamp on top and set it on the floor. Next, she lifted the tabletop, then together we unfolded all the bits and pieces to reveal . . . about a million hidden compartments! That's what makes this the superhero of furniture: mild-mannered table on the outside, secret transformer on the inside.

I wasn't disappointed when we didn't find the baton right away. Nate would have hidden it better than that. But after we one-by-one opened every lid and drawer, I had to admit I was wrong.

“Guess I'm not such a genius,” I said. “But maybe the bad guy isn't Nate? Granny says criminals are stupid, and Nate isn't.”

“But I don't know anybody stupid!” Tessa whined.

“Mom says Hooligan's not too bright,” I said.

Tessa looked around. “
Shhh!
You'll hurt his feelings! And anyway, I meant a person.”

I shrugged. “Mostly, the White House is full of smart people—unless you believe what Courtney's dad writes in his blog.”

“Maybe Courtney's dad took the baton? Or what about Courtney?”

“Why would they do that?” I said. “And besides, the baton disappeared on Tuesday. Courtney hasn't even been here since Monday.”

Tessa tapped her head. “Way to apply logic, Cammie. I know—those men in the gray suits. Who were they, anyway?”

“They weren't carrying any baton,” I said. “They weren't carrying anything.”

“That means if they did steal it—they had to have hidden it,” Tessa said. “I know—what about the fireplaces?”