The Case of the Ruby Slippers (3 page)

Granny said it was no trouble. “But we wish we had known about your dog,” she added. “We could have made better preparations for her.”

“Ozzabelle always travels with her own crate,” Mr. Will said. “It's familiar, so she's comfortable wherever she goes.”

“She looks like Toto,” I said.

“Yes, she's a cairn terrier, same breed as Toto,” Mr. Will said.

I noticed he was acting friendlier than he had before when Tessa and I met him in the hall. Meanwhile, my cousin Nate was acting grumpy, chewing and frowning in silence. Was he worried Mr. Will might actually marry his mom? What would that be like?

“I have some more news about the party, too,” Mr. Will said. “We've invited some special guests. One is the great-great granddaughter of one of the stars of
The Wizard of Oz
!”

Mr. Bryant tried to guess which star. Dorothy? The Scarecrow? A Munchkin?

Nope, none of those. Finally Mr. Will announced that the star was the Wicked Witch of the East!

“Don't you mean ‘West'?” asked Mr. Bryant.

Mr. Will shook his head. “It's true the Witch of the
East's screen time is short, but her role is important. Remember, the slippers belonged to her in the first place.”

“Dorothy's house lands on her when it blows to Oz,” Tessa remembered. “But the Wicked Witch of the East doesn't talk, and all you see are her feet.”

“Very important feet,” said Mr. Will.

“Who's the other guest?” I asked.

“This one's especially good news for you, Cammie.” Mr. Will grinned. “You see, I found quite a well-known vocalist to sing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow' with the Marine Band. His name is Paul Song. I believe you know him?”

I had been eating salad, and now I dropped a lettuce leaf in my lap.

Meanwhile, Tessa said, “He's Cammie's
boyfriend,”
and Nate broke his silence to say, “
Gross!
”

The Song Boys, in case you don't know, are three brothers, not to mention the best boy band in America. When they played a concert at our house earlier this year, I got to meet them, but even before that I had a crush on Paul. He's the middle brother, the serious one. Anyway, after we met, he and I sort of got to be friends.

“Cammie's got a boyfriend!” Tessa sang.

I could feel my face turn red, and I snapped at her: “Paul Song wrote me
one
letter
one
time. So can you please just shut up about it?”

At our house, you don't say “shut up,” so, figuring I was about to be excused from the table, I wiped my mouth, folded my napkin and waited. Sure enough,
Granny spoke up. “Not
can
, Cameron.
Will
. The correct form is,
will
you please just shut up about it?”

Everybody laughed, and I couldn't believe I was getting a second chance. “Sorry, Tessa,” I said.

“Sorry back,” Tessa said. “But Paul Song is still your
boy
friend.
”

There are four kitchens in the White House: the big one downstairs where the chef and his staff cook, a pastry kitchen tucked into the stairway between the first and second floors, a tiny one on the third floor that Aunt Jen and Nate use and kind of a normal one for our family on the second floor. After dinner, Tessa went to finish her subtraction, and I went to see Granny in our kitchen. I still had to get one more object for the Movie-Story assignment, and I needed an idea.

Granny was putting water in the feeder for Humdinger, the canary Mr. Bryant gave her. “Snow White had to clean house for the seven dwarfs,” Granny said. “Why don't you see if Mrs. Hedges has something? She'll be upstairs making sure everything's shipshape for Mr. Will.”

Mrs. Hedges is the grumpiest maid in the whole White House. “Do I have to?” I asked.

“Next time,” Granny said, “don't leave things till the last minute, Cameron.”

At the top of the east staircase, I called, “Mrs. Hedges?” and heard
grumble-grumble
in reply. I followed the sound down the hallway and found Mrs. Hedges outside one of the guest bedrooms. She was holding a stack of sheets and towels, and she was glad for a chance to complain. “The nerve of some people,” she said. “You'd think I had nothing better to do tonight than make a bed.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Uh . . . can I help you?”

“I doubt it,” said Mrs. Hedges. “But come on.”

Mrs. Hedges opened the bedroom door. The room was a mess—clothes, papers and stuff scattered everywhere. There was even a pair of boxer shorts with purple palm trees printed on them hanging over the back of a chair.

I tried to ignore them.

Mrs. Hedges frowned. “I see he didn't waste any time settling in.”

Mr. Will's suitcase lay open in the corner with Ozzabelle's dog crate beside it. It was smaller and a lot more beat up than Hooligan's but the same kind, with a black wire door so you could see in. Now, as Mrs. Hedges and I entered the room, it began to bounce, bark and snarl.

Mrs. Hedges shrieked, dropped the sheets, shoved me out of the way and retreated to the hallway.

I was startled, but didn't run. It was just Ozzabelle in the crate, right? And Ozzabelle is tiny, not to mention she likes me. “Ozzie, what's the matter?” I knelt and saw she had been gnawing the latch on the door with her sharp little teeth. I reached toward her, and she
snarled. “Okay, okay,” I backed off. “What's with you, anyway?”

From the hallway, I heard voices, first Mrs. Hedges's telling me to get away from the lunatic dog, then a man's. A second later Mr. Will burst through the door. “What are you doing in my room?”

Mr. Will was a guest, not to mention a special friend of my aunt's. But I was annoyed. “Mrs. Hedges came in to make up your bed, and I came in to talk to Mrs. Hedges,” I said. “I can't help it if your dog is crazy.”

“She's not crazy, she's a well-trained guard dog,” said Mr. Will.

“That puny thing?” said Mrs. Hedges from the hallway.

“She scared
you
, didn't she?” said Mr. Will.

The pile of folded sheets was on the floor where Mrs. Hedges had dropped it. I picked them up and held them out to Mr. Will. “Mrs. Hedges and I are sorry that we bothered you. And we hope you don't mind making your own bed.”

Out in the hallway, Mrs. Hedges greeted me with a high five and a smile—the first one I ever saw on her face. Since we were now practically best pals, it was easy to ask her for a favor.

“How about a feather duster for your project?” she said. “I can get you a brand-new one from the supply closet.”

If she's in town, Mom always comes in and kisses Tessa and me goodnight. That night, I was telling Tessa
about what happened in Mr. Will's room when our bedroom door opened.

“Mama-a-a-a!” Tessa cried, and held out her arms. “I haven't seen you
all
day.”

Tessa's bed is closer to the door, so Mom gave her the first kiss and snuggle. “I know, muffin. I'm sorry. But gas prices are up, honey bees are in danger and it looks like flu season will last through spring.”

“Does the president have to fix everything?” I asked.

“She at least has to pay attention,” Mom said. “Oh—and I forgot those protests in a certain nearby nation. I might have to send the vice president. Anyway—” Mom gave Tessa another kiss and came around to my bed. “Tell me about your day, Cammie. Is that project done for school?”

Before I could answer, Tessa said, “I got an A on an arithmetic test, and Eric R. picked me for kickball, but I ended up on Oliver's team because he didn't have enough players. Oliver's weird, Mom.”

Mom looked from Tessa to me and back. “I guess I'm under even more stress than I thought because I thought this one—” she pointed at me—“was Cammie and this one”—she pointed at Tessa—“was Tessa.”

“You funny, Mama,” Tessa said. “And did you hear Paul Song is coming to sing at Aunt Jen's party? Plus the ruby slippers disappeared for a while, but now they're back.”

Mom nodded and said, “I have been briefed,” which is president talk meaning one of her advisers, like Granny for example, had already told her. “In fact, I
understand two museum security people are coming over to interview Mrs. Silver tomorrow, and to take a look at the shoes.”

“Why?” I asked.

“The ruby slippers are a very popular exhibit,” Mom said. “So naturally the museum wants to make sure all's well.”

Tessa sighed dramatically. “Oh, dear. Then it looks like Cammie and I will have to stay home from school. The museum people are
definitely
going to want to talk to us.”

“You're right, they do,” Mom said. “And they want to talk to Mr. Bryant as well.”

“
Yippe-e-e-e!
” Tessa said.

Mom shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, muffin, but the museum security people aren't coming till after school.”

Tessa pouted, but I was glad. I had worked hard on my Movie-Story project. Tomorrow the posters would be displayed for the parents in the library, and—sorry for being a dork—I was looking forward to showing mine off.

“The security people know it was Hooligan who brought the shoes back, right?” I said. “It wasn't us.”

Mom had moved to the doorway by now. “Yes,” she said, “but there are . . . uh, a few things I'm not currently at liberty to discuss.” She smiled. “Sleep tight, muffins. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow.”

The door had barely closed when Tessa asked, “What's that mean, Cammie—‘not at liberty'?”

“Not allowed,” I explained.

“How can it be not allowed? She's the
president
!” Tessa said.

“I know,” I said. “So I think what it really means is doesn't want to . . . but I can't figure out why not.”

In the Secret Service van on the way to school the next morning, Nate asked Granny if Mr. Ross could move Mr. Will to a different room.

“How come?” Granny said. Either she or Aunt Jen usually rides along with us.

Nate yawned. “Because his dog—what's-its-name—woke me up in the middle of the night whining. And then I couldn't fall back to sleep.”

“
I
didn't hear anything,” Tessa said.

“That's because your room's about a mile away,” Nate said. “Mine and Mom's apartment is right down the hall.”

Granny shook her head. “That little dog is starting to make Hooligan look good. But they'll only be here a couple of nights, Nathan. And if they move him now, we'll never hear the end of it from Mrs. Hedges.”

Malik was driving the van that morning. He pulled up to the curb by our school, and we waited a few seconds
as usual. That's because the agents already there waiting have to make sure it's safe for us.

Now Malik cocked his head, listening to something on the radio in his ear. “Copy that,” he said. Then he looked over his shoulder and smiled at us. “Have a good day, you guys.”

“You, too!” we said.

“And don't forget the Movie-Story displays,” Nate reminded Granny.

“In the library at ten thirty,” Granny said. “I'll be there.”

It was a normal Friday morning. We had the flag salute and announcements and turned in our homework. After that, Nate's and my teacher, Ms. Nicols, told us to collect what we needed for our displays. Then it was time to go to the library.

Courtney Lozana and I walked down the hall together. My tri-fold poster board bumped against my shins.

“Is your mom coming later?” I asked Courtney.

“She has to work, so Dad is,” Courtney said.

Uh-oh. Courtney's dad used to be a newspaper reporter, and now he has this blog about politics. Since he and my mom disagree about pretty much everything, it can get awkward.

In the library, Mr. Brackbill, the librarian, welcomed us and said we should set up three to a table. Courtney and I went with Kyle, who is a total expert on history. For his movie-story, he had picked something called
All the President's Men
.