The Case of the Bug on the Run (6 page)

“Not me, chickadee,” said Mr. Amaro.

“In that case,” said Tessa, “where did you go last night when you had to leave the dinner early? Were you upstairs in our room putting James Madison back in his tank?”

My sister does not fool around when she interviews a suspect.

Mr. Amaro looked puzzled. “Say what?”

I tried to help him out. “You can skip the second part if you want.”

“Awesome,” said Mr. Amaro. “As for where I went when I left the dinner—that was to the restroom. It was, uh . . . kind of an emergency.”

“Which restroom?” Tessa asked.

Mr. Amaro raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want the details?”

My little sister doesn't like to talk about burps, let alone restrooms. She shook her head. “That's okay. Forget I asked. And I guess you don't have proof?”

“Ick!” said Mr. Amaro.

“How about a new line of questioning?” I suggested.

“Good idea,” said Tessa. “Mr. Amaro, where were you yesterday after lunch?”

“Why, I was in and out of the kitchen all afternoon, helping to make dinner. There's a pile o' witnesses if you need 'em. But what's the deal, huh? Are the famous White House sleuths investigating a case? Hey”—he grinned—“and am I a suspect? How cool is that? Who is it you think I murdered?”

“We mostly investigate stolen things,” I said.

“And I only have one more question,” Tessa said. “What do you know about teeny tiny transmitters?”

Mr. Amaro shrugged. “Not much anymore. I was a radio guy in the army, but that was a long time ago, and the technology has changed.” He pulled out his phone to check the time. “Will that do ya? I've got a meeting with the ambassador from a certain nearby nation.”

“No kidding?” said Tessa. “His niece is our friend, Toni. We gave them their dog!”

“Awesome!” said Mr. Amaro. “The deal is their president wants a personal chef. Could be a good gig.” He shrugged. “I like to travel.”

Walking back around the Kitchen Garden, I was thinking Mr. Amaro was still a suspect. He hadn't been in the kitchen every minute of the afternoon. He could've been lying about the restroom. And maybe he knew more about radios than he would admit.

As for his motive, could it be something to do with a certain nearby nation? There had been political trouble there lately. And Mr. Morgan had said whoever bugged the bug might be from a foreign power.

Mr. Amaro was about to hop up on the mini-tractor when all of a sudden he shrieked and staggered back.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

Breathing fast, Mr. Amaro pointed at the tractor seat: “Sp-sp-sp-spider!”

Tessa said, “No lie?” and leaned in to get a better look. “Hey, guy!” she said, then scooped the tiny spider up in her palm. “Awww, he's just little. Look.”

Mr. Amaro shuddered and waved her away. “I can't stand creepy crawlies.”

“Wait a sec,” I said. “Didn't you say eating bugs is a good idea?”

“Only dead bugs,” he clarified. “And I know I'm a wimp, but I had a bad experience with a beetle in pre-school. Did you, uh . . . take care of that spider, Tessa?”

Tessa held up her empty hands. “I put him in the parsley.”

Mr. Amaro breathed a sigh of relief and climbed aboard the tractor. “Awesome. Good luck finding your thief, ladies!”

Tessa said, “Thanks.”

I said, “Drive carefully.”

Mr. Amaro turned the key, waved to the crowd by the fence, spun the steering wheel and sped off.

“I need to talk to the news guys for a sec,” said Tessa. “And don't ask why, 'cause you don't want to know.”

“You're right. I don't,” I said, and looked around till I found Charlotte.

“Thanks for watching James Madison,” I told her.

“You're welcome,” said Charlotte. Then she looked down at the dirt in front of her, frowned and looked back up at me. “Oops.”

Charlotte felt really terrible about losing James Madison. “I didn't know he could move that fast! They don't cover foreign cockroaches at the Secret Service academy.”

By now, Tessa had come back from her secret mission to the news guys. She waved her arms. “Well, they should!” Then she called: “James Madison! He-e-ere, James Madison!”

I thought of something and whispered in Tessa's ear.

My sister squealed. “How could you even whisper such a thing? James Madison is our pet! Of course it would be bad if he disappeared forever!”

Aargh—was Tessa ever going to learn to be careful about what she said? Just because we couldn't see the cockroach didn't mean he couldn't hear us!

“I think we need reinforcements,” said Charlotte; then she spoke into her radio. “Charlotte to base—we've got a kind of a situation here. Is the secret
weapon available? Over.” There was a pause, and then she cocked her head. “Roger that. We'll expect him in five.”

While the three of us waited, we looked for the missing bug, but all we got for our trouble was dirty hands and knees. Finally, there was a fuss behind us. Then someone yelled: “Incoming!”

We knew what that meant. Our secret weapon was about to make his entrance. As usual, it was grand. Tail and ears flying, he galloped a fast lap around the garden, then made a graceful flying leap right at me and my sister.

He only wanted to say “Glad to see you!”

He wasn't trying to knock anybody over.

Still, he knocked somebody over.

“Ouch, puppy,” said Tessa from where she lay on the grass.

Hooligan, sometimes known as our secret weapon, circled back and licked her face to apologize.

“Never mind.” Tessa sat up and wiped off the dog slobber. “Do we have anything that smells like cockroach, Cammie?”

I knelt, twisted the lid off James Madison's empty mobile home and stuck it in front of Hooligan's nose. “This is what we're looking for,” I said.

Hooligan sniffed the plastic and scarfed down the leftover banana peel. “Can you do it, puppy?” I asked.

“Of course he can!” said Tessa. “Hooligan, go find!”

You may have noticed that our secret weapon has a mind of his own.

What we expected him to do was bury his nose in the dirt and sniff.

What he actually did was raise his head, perk up his ears and listen.

Did he hear the hiss of a missing cockroach?

He definitely heard something. And whatever it was caused him to plow into the green tangle of garden, trampling everything in his path.

“My oregano!” The White House head gardener closed his eyes. “I can't watch.”

Lucky for the oregano, the doggy destruction lasted only a few moments; then Hooligan lowered his head and snatched something in his fearsome jaws.

I couldn't see what it was, but I could hear:
“Ssssss!”

Even if cockroaches like cozy spaces, the inside of a dog's mouth is not that comfortable. I know because of the desperate way James Madison wiggled his legs and antennae.

“Go-o-o-od puppy,” Tessa cooed at Hooligan. “Don't crunch. Just give him over.”

Hooligan considered obeying but then had a better idea. He pulled back, thumped his paws, threw his head from side to side and growled: Cockroach tug-o'-war! Doggy fun at its finest!

Tessa was not amused. She put her hands on her hips and did her best impression of Granny. “Drop it.”

Hooligan dropped it.

Meanwhile, I was wondering how the last few minutes had looked to the spy watching and listening to Bug TV. First there had been darkness in my pocket, then a sunny garden with an herb jungle and mountain-sized zucchini.

After that came the slobbery pink inside of Hooligan's
mouth with its border of treacherous, pointy teeth, and the lurching side-to-side fun-house-in-space while Hooligan swung his head.

Was the spy watching live right now? Or would he watch the footage recorded later? Either way, it was going to make him dizzy.

At last, Tessa got hold of James Madison, who was sticky with dog slobber and streaked with dirt. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed James Madison's . . . uh . . . face. It was hard to tell if this made him any cleaner.

Trying to sound exactly normal, I said, “Tessa, our cousin Nathan should be finished with practicing piano by now. Let us go back up to the house and have a pleasant chat with him, shall we?”

“Yeah, we gotta work on the case some more,” Tessa said. “Did you believe Mr. Amaro when he said he had to leave the dinner—Hey! That hurt! Why did you kick me?”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded at James Madison. “Remember?”

“Right!” my sister said. “And you know what, Cammie? I think I'm just going to be quiet while we walk back to the White House.”

There are three elevators in the White House.

The fanciest one is the Family Elevator. On the ground floor, it opens across the Center Hall from the Diplomatic Reception Room, also known as the Dip Room. How fancy is the Family Elevator?

So fancy it has wood paneling. So fancy there has to be an operator to make it work. So fancy that the operator always wears a tuxedo. So fancy that a First Lady a long time ago tried to make it a rule that the staff wasn't even allowed to use it, only the president's family.

Mr. Bryant used to have the elevator job before he got a new job watching Hooligan. Now the elevator operator is Mr. Jackson. He's nice, and he usually knows all about anything going on in the White House.

Tessa must have been thinking about Mr. Jackson while she walked silently across the South Lawn from the Kitchen Garden. In the Dip Room, she tugged my arm.

“What about if you take the stairs, dear sister?” she asked—sounding exactly normal. “While I, instead, ascend in the elevator?”

I almost argued. I had walked just as far as she had, hadn't I? And if anything, I was sweatier. But then she winked about twelve times and pointed at the pocket where James Madison was—and I caught on. If she took the elevator, she could ask Mr. Jackson questions without James Madison hearing.

I winked back and gave her a thumbs-up.

Back in our bedroom, I put James Madison away in his tank, then went to wash my hands. Taped to the bathroom mirror was a note from Granny. It said:
Don't forget to give away the kittens
.

When I came out, Tessa was there, and I handed her the note.

“But I don't want to!” she wailed.

“I know, Tessa. I don't, either. But we can't win this fight because we can't have Granny mad at us forever. If you get the art stuff, we can make flyers that say ‘Kittens free to good home.' Nate will help us. Plenty of people work in the White House. If we post them, somebody nice will take the Ks.”

Since we wanted to talk about the case while we worked, we had to get James Madison out of the way. Luckily, I had an idea. Our secret weapon is not only good at finding things, he has a built-in alarm system, too.

So I went to find Mr. Bryant and ask if Hooligan was available.

Ten minutes later, Hooligan was guarding James Madison in our room, and Tessa, Nate and I were seated at a round table in the West Sitting Hall. We had laid newspaper out on the table so we didn't make a mess. In front of each of us was a stack of paper. In the middle of the table was a pile of markers. We had glue and glitter just in case we got inspired.

“I am not a very good artist,” Nate said after we explained about the kitten flyers.

“Wait—you mean there's something you're not good at?” I said.

Nate said, “Very funny.”

My family has lived in Washington since my mom was elected senator from California seven years ago. Nate and Aunt Jen moved here from San Diego in January when Mom got to be president and our family came to live in the White House. At first, my cousin always acted
so
superior, but after being around nice, normal kids like Tessa and me, he's improved a lot.

“If you don't want to draw, you can read the notes from my interview with Mr. Amaro,” I told Nate.

Tessa said, “We can skip that part. Mr. Amaro didn't bug the bug.”

Nate and I looked at each other. Then we looked at Tessa. Trying to act casual, she picked up a black marker and drew two kitten ears.

“Oh, so now who's acting ‘so superior'?” I asked.

Tessa giggled. “I know, right? I figured it out all by myself. Mr. Amaro was scared of the eensy teensy spider.
No way could he have picked up a giant hissing cockroach!”

“What spider?” Nate asked.

I explained.

Nate nodded. “Well, in that case—duh! Of course Tessa's right. I don't see why you didn't figure that out, too, Cammie.”

I ignored this comment. “I guess for now we can cross Mr. Amaro off our list. Tessa, what did Mr. Jackson say about who rode his elevator last night?”

Tessa picked up a red marker. “Only Mr. Schott.”

Nate said, “Of course! We should've thought of him sooner. He for sure has the technical knowledge. And he's a guest, so he can go on the second floor without anybody questioning him.”

“He also wanted to take pictures of James Madison yesterday afternoon,” Tessa said. “But what's his motive?”

“Something to do with that drone project he's working on?” I said, and I was going to go on, but Nate shushed me. Mrs. Verity and Lily were coming down the hall. The second Lily spotted Tessa, she ran for her full-speed.

“What you doing?” Lily wanted to know.

“Making pictures,” Tessa said.

“Can I hep?” Lily asked. “Pee-eeze?”

“Sure,” Tessa said.

Lily took her mom's hand. “We go get paint.”

“Paint? We don't have any paint,” Mrs. Verity said.

“Yeah, we do, Mommy. I show you.” Lily took her mom's hand and tugged her back down the hall.