The Case of the Bug on the Run (8 page)

Tessa and I looked at each other, then glanced sideways at Mr. Schott. I wasn't sure about my sister, but I didn't want to say anything about the investigation in front of our very last suspect!

Finally, I thought of a safe question. “Uh . . . what time did the signal disappear?”

Mr. Morgan looked at the notes in front of him. “At approximately thirteen-thirty-two today,” he said.

“That's one-thirty-two in the afternoon,” Tessa said. “We were outside in the Kitchen Garden. Maybe the signal couldn't be detected because James Madison was so far away.”

Oh, Tessa. So much for not talking about the case in front of Mr. Schott.

Mr. Morgan asked, “Has the bug returned to the White House since then?”

Tessa said, “He's been back most of the afternoon.”

“In that case,” said Mr. Morgan, “it's most likely
that something happened to break the transmitter. Is that possible?”

Tessa and I looked at each other. “Hooligan.”

Mom sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

I explained how Hooligan had had to find James Madison, then fetch him from among the zucchini. “Maybe Hooligan bit the transmitter by mistake and broke it,” I said.

“Or maybe dog slobber is toxic to technology,” said Tessa.

Mr. Schott nodded solemnly. “Either is possible.”

Tessa looked at Mr. Schott and crossed her arms over her chest. I got a bad feeling. She wouldn't try to question our last suspect right here in front of Mom and everybody, would she?

Yes, she would.

“Mr. Schott,” my sister said, “how do you know that?”

Mom said, “Tessa!”

But Mr. Schott said, “Don't worry about it, Marilee. Among other things, my company makes government sensing devices, Tessa. That's why Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb asked me here this afternoon. They needed some information, and I'm—
ahem
—an authority.”

“Write that down, Cammie. He's an authority!” said Tessa. “Then tell us this, Mr. Schott. Why is it you were in Mr. Jackson's elevator last night? Isn't it true you were sneaking James Madison back into Cammie's and my bedroom so you could spy on us?”

Mom closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. She does this sometimes instead of screaming. “Tessa, your father and I have known Kirk Schott for twenty-five years,” she said. “He has every US government security clearance there is. He is not spying on you.”

Tessa waved her arms. “Well, I am sorry to have to tell you and the United States government that you're wrong, Mama. I know because we've eliminated all the other suspects!”

Mr. Schott's laugh creaked as if he didn't use it very often. “I was in Mr. Jackson's elevator last night because I had a headache and came back early from a reception.”

Tessa said, “And do you have proof?”

Mom started to say something, but I was faster. “He's telling the truth, Tessa. He didn't do it, either.”

Tessa waved her arms. “Again?”

“Think about it,” I said. “The real spy didn't expect to get caught, right? So he must not have known that a government sensing device would detect the AV signal. Mr. Schott knows all about what government devices do. Therefore, he can't be the spy.”

Tessa slumped down in her chair. “Oh, fine.”

I was frustrated, too. But my brain kept right on working. I explained how the Hooligan alarm had sounded earlier and added, “If it was the spy who set it off, maybe he was going to our room hoping to find James Madison and fix the transmitter.”

Mr. Morgan nodded. “That's a possibility, but there's another one as well. Now that he isn't transmitting,
your pet is no longer useful to the spy. In fact, he poses a risk. If the transmitter is examined, it could be used as evidence.”

I gulped. “You mean instead of wanting to fix the transmitter, the spy might have wanted to, uh . . . eliminate James Madison?”

Mr. Morgan nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Webb and I fear your pet is in very serious danger. From now on, if you hope to keep him safe, you must take every precaution.”

A cockroach isn't cuddly.

A cockroach doesn't wag its tail.

A cockroach doesn't look up at you with love in its eyes, like Hooligan, or sing cheerful songs, like Humdinger, or lie on your feet to keep them warm at night, like the Ks.

But now that I'd known James Madison a while, I kind of liked him. His stripes were pretty. His antennae were graceful. And the spikes on his legs looked very punk.

Besides that, James Madison was our pet. If anything happened to hurt him, I'd feel terrible!

That's why, when we left Mom's office, I hurried back to warn Nate that James Madison was in danger. Meanwhile, Tessa said she'd meet the two of us at dinner. She had a stack of kitten flyers to post.

Mom and Aunt Jen both had meetings. Dad was in California building airplanes, which is his job during the
week. He comes to Washington on weekends. Anyway, since they were all busy, Tessa, Nate and I were eating dinner with Granny in the Family Kitchen.

While Tessa and I folded napkins, we told Granny about our meeting in the Oval Office. Then Nate came in and set James Madison in his mobile home on the table. Granny crossed her arms over her chest, stared down at our cockroach and shook her head.

“But he's in terrible danger!” Tessa said. “We have to keep an eye on him at all times!”

“That doesn't mean he belongs on the dinner table,” said Granny. “In fact, strange as it may seem, I prefer not to have cockroaches in the kitchen at all.”

“Don't you love our pet cockroach, Granny?” Tessa asked.

Granny eyed James Madison through her glasses.

James Madison eyed Granny back.

“I would say I feel about him the same way he feels about me,” Granny said after a moment. “But I will make you a deal. He can stay with us in the kitchen, provided he's out of sight.”

Tessa closed James Madison in the drawer with the pot holders and dish towels. Then Granny served the plates. Her spaghetti and meatballs were delicious, as usual. We talked about protecting James Madison from the spy, and Granny told us her opinion: the only way to do it once and for all was to solve the case.

I looked at Tessa and Nate. “We know that, right?”

They nodded.

“The trouble is we're down to zero suspects,” I said.

“What if you take the evening off?” Granny said. “You know how your muscles need to recover when they've worked hard. The same is true for your brain. Give it a rest, and tomorrow you'll come back smarter than ever.”

“Woot!”
Tessa surprised me by pumping her fist. “I know what we're gonna do tonight.”

“What?” Nate and I asked at the same time.

“The best brain rest ever invented, duh—TV!”

Our TV is in the Solarium, which is at the top of the White House, connected to the third floor by a ramp. Besides the TV, there's a Ping-Pong table and also tons of windows. Outside, there's a balcony with a barbecue. Because it's so high up, there's a wonderful view of the city, especially the lights at night.

While Lily's parents were at their party, Lily had a babysitter. On our way upstairs, we stopped to ask if Lily could hang out with us till bedtime. Their family was staying in the Lincoln Bedroom, which is across the hall from the Queens' Bedroom—Granny's apartment.

In spite of the name, President Abraham Lincoln didn't ever sleep there, but he did use it as an office sometimes. Today it's decorated in old-timey style from the nineteenth century. The furniture is dark curvy wood with fancy carving on it, and the drapes are gold.

Honestly? I think it's ugly. Tessa, on the other hand, thinks it's perfect for a princess—meaning perfect for Tessa.

Anyway, the babysitter was glad to lend us Lily.

“What should we watch on TV?” Tessa asked her. “You're the expert.”

“Pay-gown Smackdown!”
Lily answered.

Of course.

Playground Smackdown
is her dad's number one hit.

The idea of
Playground Smackdown
, in case you never saw it, is that grown-ups dress like little kids in shorts and T-shirts and race around an obstacle course that has teeter-totters, swing sets, monkey bars and a sandbox. To win, you have to be fast and coordinated, but you also have to use nasty tricks to stop your opponents.

Watching a lady in a Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt pour molasses on a sliding board, Tessa said, “I'm an actual kid, but I would still be embarrassed to act like that on TV.”

As you can imagine, Lily has seen every episode of
Playground Smackdown
about two hundred times. Now she pointed at the screen and giggled. “Watch dis pawt! I love dis pawt!”

I guess the camera was at sandbox level, because sneaker after gigantic sneaker pounded by, each one kicking up a dust storm that blotted out the sun. More exciting were the ants and caterpillars and
earthworms. From that angle, they seemed as big as dinosaurs and twice as strange.

“Ewwwww!”
chorused Lily and Nate.

Tessa said, “They're just misunderstood.”

I didn't say anything. I was thinking about James Madison in the Kitchen Garden with mountain-sized zucchini.

Then I thought of something else.

When he was talking to Courtney and her dad, hadn't Mr. Verity said they used hidden cameras on his shows?

Maybe the camera Mr. Verity used for his reality show was the same kind as the one attached to James Madison.

While I was thinking, I spaced out the TV until a commercial made me pay attention. It was a promotion for the news with Jan and Larry.

“. . . devil kittens at the White House,” said the announcer. “Jan and Larry have the story at ten! Stay tuned!”

“Devil kittens—what?” I looked at my sister, who had clenched her teeth to keep from smiling. “Tessa—” I said sternly, but before I could say more Mrs. Verity—still in her glamorous clothes—appeared at the top of the Solarium's ramp.

“The party was a dud,” she said. “So we're home early. And now, young lady, it's time for bed.”

“No-o-o-o!” Lily protested.

Tessa was glad of the distraction. “How about if I come and read you a story?”

This worked like a charm. “Is that okay, Mommy?” Lily asked.

“Sure, and what a nice offer.” Mrs. Verity reached for Lily's hand, and I noticed something for the first time. They were wearing matching nail polish—and it was orange.

“Piggyback!” said Lily.

“You're too big,” said Tessa.

“I can take her.” Nate bent down. “Hop on.”

Lily climbed onto Nate's back, and they all headed toward the second floor.

“Come on, Cammie!” Lily called.

“In a second,” I said.

The sight of that nail polish made me forget all about whatever it was Tessa was hiding. Wasn't nail polish an awful lot like paint? And maybe it wasn't only Mr. Schott who knew about technology.

I might be crazy.

But I might be on the brink of solving the Case of the Bug on the Run.

All I needed was one more thing: a trick question.

The next morning was Thursday, and we had to get up early. It was our California visitors' last day in Washington and—along with Mr. Amaro and Hooligan and Mr. Bryant—we were going to play tourist at the Lincoln Memorial.

Since the cats were still in not-so-solitary confinement down the hall, it was Granny who waked us. Apparently, the Bug Liberation Front protesters had taken the day off. Had they given up on freeing James Madison?

I hadn't told Tessa I had solved the mystery. I knew I might be wrong, and I didn't want to disappoint her again.

I didn't say anything to Nate, either. With him, if you're wrong, you will hear about it for the rest of your life.

So many people were going on our field trip that we had to take two vans on the mile-and-a-half drive. The Secret Service says it's a lot easier to keep us safe on
the road than on the sidewalk, not to mention that we attract less attention.

Likewise, it's easier to keep us safe if we go places before they get crowded. That's why our vans pulled up to the bus zone behind the Lincoln Memorial at eight o'clock—a time in summer when sensible kids are still in bed.

Have you ever noticed that some ideas won't let you sleep? My idea about the identity of the spy was one of those. That's why I was yawning. And that's why—when I saw what I saw out the window—my first thought was that I had to be dreaming.

Then Tessa saw it, too. “What are they doing here, Cammie?”

It was the BLF! There were about a dozen people carrying signs, banging tambourines and chanting:

“I-N-S! E-C-T!

Every insect should be free!”

For a few minutes, we waited in the van on the street behind the memorial while Secret Service agents checked to make sure the area was safe. Then our driver got the all-clear, stepped out, came around and opened the door. One by one, we piled out of the air-conditioning and into the warm, sticky sunshine.

“I wonder how the BLF even knew we'd be here today,” Nate said.

Tessa smacked her forehead. “I've got it! They're
the ones that have been listening to us! It's the Bug Liberation Front that bugged James Madison!”

Mr. Verity was standing beside us, adjusting the strap on his fanny pack. “Hey—Lily said something about a spy yesterday, right? So is that what she was talking about?”

I didn't know what to say, but Tessa never has that problem. “The First Kids have been investigating another mystery, Mr. Verity,” she explained. “Someone was spying on us. Yesterday we ran out of suspects, but over there are twelve perfectly good new ones. Now that our brains are rested, we should interview them, Cammie.”