The Case of the Ruby Slippers (5 page)

Afterward, I wrote down the men's names in my notebook, Mr. Webb and Mr. Morgan.

“We understand it was you two girls who recovered the slippers yesterday,” said Mr. Morgan. “On behalf of the museum, we thank you very much.”

“Mr. Bryant helped,” I said.

“And so did Hooligan,” said Tessa.

“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” Mr. Morgan asked.

We all started to talk at once, and Mr. Webb interrupted: “Mr. Bryant? Perhaps you should go first.”

“Hooligan was not on his best behavior yesterday,” Mr. Bryant explained. “In fact, he seemed to be very interested in the limousine, or perhaps its contents. Before the girls came outside, he even tried to jump up on the car and look inside.”

“This was before he picked up the shoe?” Mr. Morgan said.

“That's correct,” said Mr. Bryant.

“And you didn't see him actually retrieve it?”

Mr. Bryant shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. My eyesight's not what it used to be, and he had tugged the leash out to its full length.”

Next Tessa explained how Hooligan ran into the Dip Room with the ruby slipper, then I told about retracing Mr. Bryant's steps and the second shoe flying over the lawn. Mr. Morgan wanted to know what direction the shoe had come from, and I said I thought from the White House, but it all happened fast, and I couldn't be sure.

“Was there anyone else outside at that time? Anyone who could have thrown the shoe?” asked Mr. Morgan.

I thought for a second. “Well . . . there're grounds-keepers and Secret Service and marines around all the time.”

“We'll be talking to as many potential witnesses as we can identify,” said Mr. Morgan.

“Besides that, there was the driver of the limo, the one that brought the ruby slippers,” I said.

“He was rude,” Tessa added, and Mr. Bryant nodded.

“Did you get a good look at him?” Mr. Morgan asked.

“He was wearing sunglasses and a cap,” I said. “So I don't think any of us really did.”

“Where was
he
when the shoe flew over the lawn?” Mr. Morgan asked.

“I'm not sure,” I admitted. “I didn't see him.”

Tessa said she didn't either. “What about you, Hooligan?” she asked. “Did you get a good look?” Hooligan cocked his head and woofed.

Mr. Webb mumbled, “Too bad we don't speak dog.” He was kidding, but I wondered if maybe Hooligan really was trying to tell us something.

“So Hooligan pulled you toward the limousine, and what did he do after that?” Mr. Morgan wanted to know.

“I guess that's when the shoe distracted him,” I said, “and he ran after it.”

Mr. Webb had been taking notes, and now he finished up. I didn't think we had been much help, but Mr. Morgan still thanked us. Then he turned to Mrs. Silver. “We'd like to see the shoes now, if you don't mind.”

Mrs. Silver said of course, went to the cabinet behind her desk and opened it. Inside was a safe with a combination lock and a silver handle. Mrs. Silver dialed the combination, twisted the handle and pulled open the door. There was the familiar white box.

Just like yesterday, Mrs. Silver removed the lid and the layers of tissue paper.

Unlike yesterday, she found a pair of sequin-covered red slippers.

“They're so beautiful!” Tessa said, and Mrs. Silver sighed.

“They are,” I agreed. “Only there's a problem. They're not the right ruby slippers.”

At first, everyone in the room looked at me like I was crazy.

But then Mr. Morgan removed the slippers from the box, and he and Mr. Webb took turns examining them.

“She may be right,” Mr. Morgan finally announced. “As you know, there were several pairs made for the movie, and the Smithsonian pair is distinctive. Mrs. Silver, when did you last see the shoes?”

“At about four thirty yesterday right here in my office,” Mrs. Silver answered. “But now I'm wondering how we can be sure that was actually the Smithsonian pair.”

“I know how,” said Tessa. “The pretty photographer took a picture, remember? In the Dip Room?”

“Ah yes, Tessa, you're right.” Mrs. Silver swiveled to face her computer. “We post only a few of our photos on the public website, but all of them are archived. Let's take a look.”

It only took Mrs. Silver a few seconds to find the right picture. In it, Tessa was holding the ruby slippers and grinning. Sure enough, the pair was different than the one we had in front of us now. The shoes in the picture were worn. The bows were placed unevenly. The heels were lower.

Mr. Morgan sighed and shook his head. “We'll have to have Dr. Zapato the curator take a look, but the pair in the photo does appear to be the museum's. Was anyone with you, Mrs. Silver, when you put them in the safe?”

Mrs. Silver said Malik had been there as well as the pretty photographer. She had come with them from the Dip Room because she was new and wanted to see the East Wing.

Mr. Morgan sighed, and Mr. Webb put away his notebook.

“I think that's all for now. We'll be in touch,” Mr. Morgan said. After that, everybody thanked everybody else the way grown-ups do. And we all said good-bye.

Tessa, Mr. Bryant and I were on our way back to the elevator when we heard a familiar noise:
WOP-wop WOP-wop WOP-wop
.

“What time is it anyway?” I asked.

Tessa consulted her pink Barbie watch, the one she's too old for, then grinned a big grin: “It's Daddy time!”

Hooligan knew what that meant and lunged toward the Dip Room, but Mr. Bryant pulled him back. After an unfortunate incident a few weeks ago, our dog is
not allowed to meet helicopters. “I'll take the canine upstairs,” Mr. Bryant said. “You girls go on.”

Out on the South Lawn, Marine One Foxtrot, the helicopter carrying my dad to the White House from Andrews Air Force Base, was just touching down. After the blades stopped spinning, the hatch opened, then Dad stepped out, waved to the news guys and looked toward the Rose Garden. Beyond it is my mom's office, the Oval Office. Right on schedule, she came out and waved.

The two of them met each other on the lawn then kissed, and walked toward the White House holding hands while the news guys' cameras flashed and whirred.

That's how it is most Fridays. My dad's job in California is building airplanes, and he's only here in Washington on weekends.

“
Daddy!”
Tessa grabbed him around the waist, and I kissed his cheek. We walked into the Dip Room as a family. Once inside, Tessa tugged Mom's sleeve. “There's something I want to ask you,” she said.

But at the same time: “Madam President?”
“Madam President!”
“Excuse me, Madam President . . . ?” Three people from Mom's staff had come from their offices in the West Wing to meet us in the Dip Room.

Mom sighed. “Muffin, can it wait?”

“Or maybe I can handle it?” Dad asked.

Tessa snorted. “I guess.”

“Gotta go,” Mom said to us. Then she spoke to her staff. “One at a time, please.”

The four of them started walking down the West Colonnade toward the Oval Office. After a few steps, Mom spun around to face us and walked backward. With her staff still talking, she said, “Sweetheart, we've got that dinner thing, remember? And, muffins, I'll see you for Monopoly.” Then she turned to walk forward, held up her hand and called back, “Love you!”

Of course, Dad wanted an update on the latest mystery, so he, Tessa and I took the elevator to the second floor and sat down in the West Sitting Hall. It's kind of like our family's living room.

“Considering what you've told me, I think it would be best if we keep the ruby slippers' disappearance to ourselves for now,” Dad said after we had finished explaining.

Tessa waved her arms the way she does. “You mean like a secret? But everybody in the whole world is going to know when the slippers don't show up at Aunt Jen's party.”

“Unless,” I said, “we display the fake pair at the party—the ones that were in Aunt Jen's safe.”

Tessa shook her head. “Won't work. Some of the people coming to the party are ruby slipper experts. They'd recognize the wrong pair just like you did.”

By now, Dad had closed his eyes and was leaning
back against the sofa. “Some weeks I think it would be easier to stay in California.”

Tessa said, “
No-o-o-o!”
then climbed across the coffee table and jumped into his lap.

“
Ooof
,” Dad said, and opened his eyes. “I love you, too, honey.”

At the same time, we heard something from the Center Hall—something coming this way and moving fast.

Hooligan.

I guess he had heard Dad's voice. And he likes Dad. Now he saw Tessa in Dad's lap and decided it was a party. He leaped and—
thud!
—added to the fun with lots of doggie smooches.

“
Ewww
—Hooligan, no!” Dad stood up to push him away, and for a second it looked like they were dancing.

Tessa applauded. “Rock on!” And Hooligan howled, “
Aw-roohr!”
And from the kitchen Granny's canary joined in:
Twee-twee-twee!

“Could somebody please—?” Dad was out of breath.

“—get Hooligan off you? Sure, Dad.” I tackled Hooligan, who thought this was the best party game yet.

At that moment, Mr. Bryant came in. When he saw all of us, he beamed. “Awww, isn't this a happy family scene? Only there appears to be a bit of dog drool on your face, sir. Can I offer you a handkerchief?”

Dad took the handkerchief and wiped his face. Meanwhile, Tessa and I wrestled Hooligan into the wicker dog bed we keep by the fireplace for naps. At night, Hooligan sleeps in a crate in his very own room.

At last it was quiet, and Tessa said, “Dad?” Then
she crossed her arms the way she does when she's talking to a witness. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

By now Dad was back on the sofa with his eyes closed. “Is this what you wanted to talk to your mom about?”

“That's right,” Tessa said.

“Shoot,” Dad said.

“Since when does the president get to act like she's some kind of a queen or something?”

Dad opened his eyes. “And since when do
you
read Alan Lozana's blog?”

“Now is my turn to ask questions, Dad,” Tessa said. “You may have your turn later.”

Dad sighed. “Fair enough. And I guess, to be honest, Mr. Lozana is, uh . . . not entirely crazy for once.”

“Write that down, Cammie,” Tessa said.

I got out my notebook.

“But at the same time,” Dad went on, “there are certain things about the ruby slippers that I am not at liberty to discuss.”

Tessa frowned. “What do you mean?”

Dad started to define “not at liberty,” but Tessa cut him off. “Everybody knows that—
duh
,” she said. “I mean what things?”

Dad sighed. “It's complicated. But I sure wish we knew where the real ruby slippers are. Your mom's in the middle of delicate negotiations with the protesters in a certain nearby nation. She doesn't need bad publicity right now.”

“Well, I know one way to stop bad publicity,” Tessa said. “Cammie and I solve the mystery and get the real slippers back.”

Hooligan shifted and grunted. I thought he was agreeing with Tessa in his sleep, but then all of a sudden he sat up, stood up and—I never would've believed it—kangaroo-hopped over the stripey sofa.

What the heck?!

A second passed before I heard what Hooligan had heard, the faint but unmistakable sound of galloping doggie toenails. It was coming from the Center Hall.

“Uh-oh,” Tessa jumped up, too. “I hope Ozzabelle's faster than she looks.”