The Case of the Ruby Slippers (6 page)

I read once that some people race dogs like horses, and that's how it looked in the hallway—two dogs on a racetrack. Right in the middle stood Mrs. Hedges, waving her arms and making crazy hand signals. “Halt! Yield! Merge!”

For a few long minutes, the dogs paid no attention, and all the priceless and historic objects in the Center Hall seemed to be in danger. Then, at last, Ozzabelle ran out of steam and skittered under a side table. Hooligan thought he had her now and tried to follow. Unfortunately, he's about ten times her size, and crashed.
Bang—ouch!

“Poor puppy!” said Tessa, and covered him with hugs.

Meanwhile, I crawled under the table. Right away, I could see there was something white in Ozzabelle's jaws, but it was too dark to identify it. Would she snap at me to protect her prize?

Inching toward her, I cooed, “Nice doggie. Good doggie.” Finally I got close and saw she wasn't going to bite. She was wagging her tail. A second later, she dropped the white thing like a gift.

“Why, thank you, pup,” I said. “What is it?”

I scooped up both Ozzabelle and the white thing, then backed out and stood up. In the light, I saw I was holding something plastic the size of a small flashlight. From the weight, it felt like there were batteries inside. A flat-tipped piece of metal stuck out of one end, and on the top there was a button.

Dad said, “It reminds me of an electric toothbrush, only instead of a brush there's something like a skinny screwdriver on the end.”

Tessa said, “Press the button, Cammie!”

I did and the thing started to whir and shake.

Weird.

I had been holding Ozzabelle in the crook of my arm. Now she raised her head and tensed. I looked where she was looking and saw Mr. Will at the far end of the hall coming toward us.

“Ah, Mr. Will.” Dad held up the thing. “Perhaps you can shed some light. What is this? Do you know?”

Mr. Will bumped his glasses against his nose. “Never saw it before in my life.”

“Your dog had it,” Dad said.

Mr. Will reached for Ozzabelle. Same as last time, she didn't want to go, but when he got out a pink treat, she couldn't resist.

“Oh,
dogs,”
he said when she was back in his arms.
“They pick up whatever's handy, don't they? Now if you'll just excuse us.” He turned back toward the stairs.

“Strange fellow,” Dad said when Mr. Will was gone. “But your aunt likes him, which is what counts.” He looked at his watch. “I wish we could have dinner together girls, but there's that fundraiser. I'll be back in time for Monopoly.”

Friday night Monopoly is a tradition in my family. When Aunt Jen's in town, Nate doesn't play, but tonight he probably would. This is too bad because he always wins.

Dad kept the toothbrush-thing, gave us each a kiss then headed toward his bedroom to change.

Tessa looked at me. “Have you been taking notes?”

“You know it,” I told her.

“Then come on, Cammie. There're still a few minutes before dinner. I think it's time we figure this thing out.”

My cousin Nate is not only good at Monopoly, he is some kind of piano genius. While Tessa and I had been talking to the museum guys and chasing dogs, he had been practicing piano. Now he showed up in the West Sitting Hall, and we filled him in on the case of the ruby slippers—so far.

“Can I help?” he asked.

Tessa took charge. “Sit down next to Cammie. She's going to write the list.”

Tessa and I have a system for solving mysteries. First, she asks witnesses questions and I write down their answers, along with anything else we know about the mystery. Second, we read over my notes and make a list of the most important stuff. Third, we study the list, looking for anything that doesn't make sense. Stuff that doesn't make sense a lot of the time turns out to be a clue.

That's the way Granny taught us to do it. And she
should know. Before she was a judge, she was a police officer.

After Tessa and I read over my notes, I wrote:

• Real ruby slippers missing from box twice, yesterday afternoon and today.

• Fake ruby slippers appeared in box today.

• (Where did fake slippers come from?)

• Real slippers last seen in box by Mrs. Silver in her office yesterday.

• Disappeared sometime between then and now.

I had barely written that last part when Nate said, “Obviously, someone took the slippers out of the safe and replaced them with the other pair. So the question is: Who knew they were there?”

I thought back. “Mrs. Silver told everybody in the Dip Room yesterday that that's where she was taking them. Remember, Tessa?”

Tessa nodded. “Malik was there then. And the man in the black suit from the museum. Oh—plus the pretty photographer, too. I think Malik likes her.”

I wrote all that down, except for the part about Malik and the photographer, then I added:

• Hooligan tugged Mr. Bryant toward limo (why?) then spotted first slipper and snagged it.

• Second slipper flew over lawn later, also retrieved by Hooligan.

• Someone must've thrown slipper over lawn. (Why? From where?)

“Don't forget the other stuff we know about the slippers,” Tessa said, “what Mr. Lozana told you at school.”

“Why does Mr. Lozana know about ruby slippers?” Nate asked.

Tessa's eyes got big. “Cousin Nathan, you're a genius!”

Nate said, “Thank you. But why bring it up now?”

“Because that's the part that doesn't make sense!” said Tessa. “So it has to be a clue.”

“But Mr. Lozana already explained that,” I said. “It's because he's interested in politics, and in this case politics and ruby slippers intersect.”

“Right, right, right,” said Tessa, “but how did
he
know our family was borrowing the slippers at all?”

“Oh. Well. Uh . . . that's because of me, I guess. I kind of sort of mentioned it to Courtney,” I said.

“Better write that down,” said Tessa.

“You mean I'm a suspect?” I said.

“Granny says we can't rule anyone out. We have to be what's-it-called—
objective
,” Tessa said.

“But I know I didn't steal the slippers!” I said.

My sister has her own special kind of logic, Tessa logic. “That doesn't prove anything,” she said. “You're not objective.”

“But why would I want to steal the slippers?” I said.

“For money,
duh
,” Tessa said.

“And now that you've got them, you can sell them online,” Nate added.

“You stay out of this,” I said.

Nate shrugged. “It's logical.”

“Oh, yeah, right!” I said. “If I try to sell the slippers online, everybody will know I stole them and I will get arrested!”

Nate nodded thoughtfully. “That's true. So I bet you must have had a buyer all ready before you stole them. And now your problem is how to deliver them to the buyer.”

Nate and Tessa seemed so confident, I forgot I hadn't actually stolen the slippers. “Why can't I just mail them?” I asked.

Nate shook his head. “They're too valuable.”

“Oka-a-ay,” I said, “so in that case what if I invite the buyer to the White House and give them over?”

“Maybe,” Nate said, “but not that many people get invited to the White House. Wouldn't it look suspicious?”

Tessa chimed in. “Unless . . . you were inviting a whole bunch of people to the White House at the same time anyway. Like for a—” we all looked at each other—“
party?
”

For a second it was quiet. And then I wrote what we were all thinking:

• Slipper buyer coming to Aunt Jen's birthday party?

“Since you're writing anyway, Cammie,” Tessa said, “you should go ahead and write down your what's-it-called,
impression
.”

“You mean
confession
,” Nate said.

“Right,” said Tessa. “Here's how it goes: ‘I, Cammie Parks, do swear I stole the ruby slippers. Amen.'”

“That is not how confessions go, and anyway I am not going to write that,” I said. “I
didn't
steal the slippers. And I can prove it. Whoever stole the slippers must've gotten them out of Mrs. Silver's safe, right? Well, what do I know about breaking open a safe?”

Tessa sighed. “Shoot. You're right. When it comes to breaking open a safe, you don't know anything.
”

So far, logic wasn't working out so well.

I mean, honest, I did not steal the ruby slippers.

But besides that, we only had a couple of other ideas, like the thief had to be somebody who knew about breaking into a safe. And the buyer really might be someone coming to Aunt Jen's birthday party. It was six o'clock by now, and except on special occasions we always eat at six thirty. If we hurried, we would have time for one more piece of detecting.

The White House chief usher's office is next to the North Portico, the White House front door. We didn't bother with the elevator. We ran down the stairs. The door to the office was open.

“Mr. Ross,” Tessa folded her arms across her chest, “we have some questions.”

Chief usher sounds like a job in a theater, but actually Mr. Ross is in charge of the White House building and the grounds, the front yard and backyard. The job
got the name in the 1800s when the main thing that person did was usher people in to see the president.

Mr. Ross looked up from his desk. “Lemme guess. You kids're lookin' for the red shoes. Am I right?”

Mr. Ross is from Texas.

“How did you know?” Nate asked.

Mr. Ross smiled. “What besides a mystery brings y'all lookin' for me with questions? And right now the big mystery is where in heck're those shoes.”

“We wanted to see the guest list for the party tomorrow,” I said.

“Sure.” Mr. Ross nodded and tapped some keys on his computer. “But how come?”

“Oh, Mr. Ross,” said Tessa sadly. “I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid we are not at liberty to tell you.”

I looked at my sister. “Tessa, what are you talking about?”

She grinned. “I just thought I'd try out those words.”

“That's okay,” said Mr. Ross. “There's no secret about the guest list. I'll print y'all out a copy.”

A minute later, we were reading over names. The only ones I recognized were our family, Courtney Lozana, Paul Song and one more, Miss Antonia Alfredo-Chin. There can't be that many people with the last name Alfredo-Chin, can there?

Nate noticed it, too. “Hey, is this some kind of relative of the president of a certain nearby nation?”

Mr. Ross nodded. “President Manfred Alfredo-Chin's niece, I b'lieve. She lives here in Washington.”

“Is she a friend of my mom's?” Nate asked.

“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Ross.

I had a sudden idea. “Mr. Ross, do any of these guests collect movie stuff? Like old props and costumes, maybe?”

Mr. Ross shook his head. “No idea. These folks, though—” Mr. Ross made check marks by three names—“have some connection to the movie. One of them could be a collector. And now that you mention it, Miss Alfredo-Chin could be as well.”

I noticed something else about the list. “Most of the names are in alphabetical order. But not these at the bottom.”

“Those were the late additions,” Mr. Ross explained. “Miss Alfredo-Chin, Courtney, Paul Song and this woman—Gigi Sawyer. I b'lieve she's the great-great granddaughter of one of the actresses. Mr. Will added her, too.”

Something about those extra names bugged me, and I wrote them down in case they were a clue. I mean, I guess it made sense that Mr. Will had added Paul Song to the guest list; he's a singer. And of course I knew why Courtney was coming. But what about Miss Alfredo-Chin and Gigi Sawyer? The party was for Aunt Jen. Shouldn't the guests all be friends of hers?