Tessa fell asleep.
Nate asked, “Are we there yet?”
After we left the highway we drove on back roads for a while till we rounded a bend and saw a sign that read MEGA BIRD FARM.
I elbowed Tessa, who opened her eyes, looked out the window and squealed: “Are those for real?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Yes, Tessa, they were for real—a flock of about fifty ostriches jogging alongside the van as it wound its way up a steep and curving driveway. I was glad the ostriches were on the other side of a chain-link fence.
Charlotte said they looked like long-legged feather dusters, and Nate said they looked like they had snakes for necks.
I thought they for sure looked a lot more like dinosaurs than they did like Granny’s canary, or a cardinal, or any other normal bird.
At the end of the driveway was a one-story blue building with a covered porch and a sign on the door that said OPEN. Malik pulled into a parking space in front, and we all climbed out. An SUV was there already. It didn’t have writing on it or anything, but I knew it belonged to the Secret Service. Some agents would have come out ahead of us just to make sure things were okay. Now they were hanging around nearby but out of sight.
The door of the blue building opened, and a smiling woman with frizzy gray hair came out. “Welcome! I’m Nancy Aviano, and most of you I recognize from the TV. It’s Tessa I spoke to on the phone, correct?”
“Correct-amento!” said Tessa. She introduced Granny, Charlotte, Malik and me, and we all shook hands.
“I know you have some questions,” Nancy Aviano said, “but first can I show you around?”
“Yes, please!” said Tessa. “I have never in my life met a grown-up ostrich before.”
Mrs. Aviano turned out to be the same amount chatty as she was nice. Luckily, ostriches are interesting, so we didn’t mind listening . . . and listening.
First she led us over to the fence so we could look at the ostriches and they could look back at us. From my bird book, I already knew a lot of what Mrs. Aviano was saying—how ostriches are native to Africa, run forty-five miles per hour and live as long as fifty years.
But reading a book isn’t the same as seeing something close-up. Ostriches are awesome! They have huge eyes and long eyelashes, so their faces look friendly even if the rest of them looks weird. They’re bigger than NBA players, up to nine feet tall and 350 pounds. They’re super curious. One tried to peck Granny’s bracelet, and another went for Charlotte’s watch.
“They won’t hurt you,” Mrs. Aviano said, “unless you scare them. If they feel threatened, they kick, and I’m here to tell you that big toenail packs a wallop.”
Next Mrs. Aviano showed us the barn where the ostriches are fed, and the shed she uses as a nursery. Inside, there were heated boxes called incubators for the eggs, and bigger boxes called brooders for the young chicks. The older chicks had a separate room. They were clumsy and funny and covered with downy, spotted feathers that looked more like fur.
“Awww,” Tessa said. “I wish we could’ve kept Dino. I bet Hooligan would’ve loved him.”
“Hooligan probably would have tried to beat up on Dino when he was a chick,” Nate said. “Then what a surprise when Dino grew up and wanted revenge!”
Mrs. Aviano asked who Dino was, and how was Hooligan, anyway? Like everyone else in America, she had seen our dog on TV plenty of times. As we walked back to the office, we explained how Hooligan really is good—he just has too much energy.
Then Tessa said, “And Dino is the reason we’re here. Cammie, do you have your notebook?”
I held it up. “I’m ready.”
Inside, Mrs. Aviano settled into her desk chair, and Tessa crossed her arms over her chest like she always does when she’s going to ask questions.
Only, the way it turned out, she didn’t even have to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“You know,” Mrs. Aviano began before Tessa had said a word, “you’re not the only ones who want to know about that egg. A black-haired lady came out earlier in the week with the same question, and I told her what I’m going to tell you, namely that I never got the fellow’s name because he paid cash.
“He showed up last Thursday without phoning ahead. He wanted an egg that had already been incubated, he said. It was an unusual request, but he assured me he’d be able to take care of the chick.”
Tessa said, “Do you remember—”
“What he looked like? Average height. Average face. Average age. Now, if he’d been an ostrich, then I’d’ve paid more attention to details.”
Tessa tried again. “What about—”
“The black-haired lady?” Mrs. Aviano shrugged. “She was out here the day before yesterday—Wednesday—and I would call her average-looking. Oh—but she had an accent. A foreign accent. And she told me her name—”
“Yes?” said Tessa.
“—but I forgot it.”
By now, our visit to Mega Bird Farm was reminding me of our visit to the museum with Hooligan—interesting but a detecting dead end.
And Tessa was frustrated enough that she actually asked for help. “Can you guys think of anything?” She looked at me and Nate.
I shrugged, but Nate said, “Mrs. Aviano, you don’t happen to have security cameras, do you? Video cameras?”
“Are you kidding?” said Mrs. Aviano. “A breeding pair of ostriches is worth a hundred thousand dollars! Of course we’ve got security cameras! You wanna see video of those visitors? Heck—why didn’t you say so?”
The video playback was on the computer, so Tessa, Nate and I gathered around Mrs. Aviano’s desk to watch. Setting everything up, Mrs. Aviano explained that the cameras only turn on when something moves near them. Because of that, there isn’t that much video, and it only took about two seconds to find what we wanted.
The video shot Wednesday morning showed a lady with black hair standing at the counter in the office. When Mrs. Aviano paused the video, Tessa said, “Zoom in so we can see her face.”
“Please,” I added.
Mrs. Aviano tapped a key, and the lady’s face filled the screen. It was a little blurry, but you could tell she was probably older than my mom or Aunt Jen, and she had pale skin, a straight nose and small eyes. Her black hair was short. She was frowning.
None of us had ever seen her before, and neither— when we called her over to look—had Charlotte.
Next Mrs. Aviano pulled up the video from the day the average-looking man bought the egg. There was footage of him at the counter in the office, too, but the best picture was one in the incubator room. When Mrs. Aviano zoomed in, we all gasped, and Mrs. Aviano said, “Now that I look at him again, he does seem kind of familiar.”
“Yeah, he does,” said Tessa. “He’s been on TV approximately one zillion times since Hooligan knocked him over in the Rose Garden on Monday. His name is Mr. Valenteen, and he’s a foreign dignitary from a certain nearby nation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In the van on the way back to the White House, Tessa waved her arms and announced: “The case is solved. Mr. Valenteen did it!”
Granny said, “Hmmm,” and the way she said “Hmmm,” you could tell it meant “or not.”
Tessa scowled. “What?”
“You’re right that Mr. Valenteen must have delivered the ostrich egg to the museum,” Granny said. “In fact, I think you may also have solved the mystery of why Hooligan knocked him over in the Rose Garden. Either the egg smelled like Mr. Valenteen—or Mr. Valenteen smelled like the egg.”
“Oh, so that’s why Hooligan expected a reward!” I said.
“And I thought of something, too,” said Nate. “The name of the delivery company was Red Heart, right? Like Valentine’s Day?”
Tessa smacked her forehead. “Duh! So Mr. Valenteen’s the one who invented the delivery company that doesn’t exist!”
Granny nodded. “You’ve done a solid job on the ostrich egg. But you still don’t know what happened to the egg
that matters, the dinosaur egg.”
Shoot. As usual, Granny was right.
“We know Professor Rexington and Professor Bohn found it in a certain nearby nation,” I said. “And we know their colleagues there shipped it to the United States. Then, according to Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb, it arrived at the airport here. . . . And after that, it disappeared.”
“Right,” said Granny. “So where is it?”
Tessa, Nate and I looked at each other. We had no idea.
“Besides that,” Granny said, “as far as we know, Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb are still convinced the real thief is Professor Bohn.”
“Maybe there’s a connection we don’t know about between Professor Bohn and Mr. Valenteen,” Nate said.
“And what about the lady with black hair?” Granny asked. “How is she connected?”
“She must not know Mr. Valenteen, anyway,” I said. “Because if she did, she would’ve known he bought the ostrich egg, and she wouldn’t have gone to Mega Bird Farm to ask.”
Granny said, “I have another thought. There are two sides to the political troubles in a certain nearby nation— the prodemocracy side that wants new elections, and President Alfredo-Chin’s side that doesn’t. What if the lady and Mr. Valenteen are on opposite sides?”
“Which side is Mr. Valenteen on?” Tessa asked.
“President Manfred Alfredo-Chin’s—duh,” said Nate, “because he works for President Chin’s embassy here in Washington.”
Malik piped up from the driver’s seat: “I know someone on the prodemocracy side.”
Charlotte was riding shotgun. “Who’s that?”
Instead of answering, Malik pressed some buttons on the dashboard music player, and a song came on. It had a good beat but lame, lovey-dovey lyrics. Nate stuck a finger down his throat, but then—to my horror— Granny started singing along:
Lina is gone,
The woman is gone.
Left a note on my door,
Couldn’t take any more. . . .
We kids all looked at each other. This had to stop. Granny was totally embarrassing herself in front of Charlotte and Malik!
I opened my mouth to say something—but before I could, Charlotte and Malik solved the problem. They started singing, too!
Lina is gone,
The woman is gone.
A fool always fails
And ends in love’s jail. . . .
I tried hard to pretend I was somewhere else. Then I realized I recognized the song. It was one my dad used to play when I was little.
“Hey—isn’t that Eb Ghanamamma?” I said.
Malik grinned at me in the rearview mirror, then— still singing—nudged Charlotte and nodded at the glove compartment. Charlotte opened it and pulled out an old, beat-up CD case, which she handed back to Tessa and me.
The title was Lina and Other Loves, and on the front was a picture of Eb Ghanamamma himself—curly black hair, dark eyes, a crooked nose and a skinny face. His expression was what Mom would call “pouty.”
Eb Ghanamamma, in case you don’t know, is a famous folk singer from a certain nearby nation. Like Malik said, he is also one of the protesters against the government of President Manfred Alfredo-Chin. I know that because—even though we have never actually met—Eb Ghanamamma helped Tessa, Nate and me solve the Case of the Diamond Dog Collar.
Malik was turning the van into the White House’s East Gate when Granny looked over her shoulder at us and said, “So by now it should be obvious what your next move is.”
Tessa nodded. “Totally obvious! Go ahead, Cammie. Tell her.”
“Uh . . . I would if I knew. Nate?”
My cousin shook his head. “For once, there is something I don’t know. What’s our next move, Granny?”
“You’re going to visit Toni Alfredo-Chin at the embassy on Sunday anyway,” Granny said. “What if we make an appointment for you to interview Mr. Valenteen at the same time?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Granny made a phone call.
The appointment was set for three o’clock Sunday at the embassy.
After that it was time for dinner. And guess what— something unusual and amazing happened: Tessa and I got to eat with both our parents! More amazing yet, after dinner, we all watched a movie together.
It was a lot like being a normal family . . . except the food was cooked by the White House chef and served by a butler. And the movie was a brand-new Disney one screened in the private White House theater.
Before bed, we played Monopoly in the solarium. Monopoly is a family tradition on Friday nights, but a lot of times Mom is too busy.
In case you’re wondering, the whole time, we hardly talked about the missing dinosaur egg. Nate was with his mom, and Tessa’s and my brains needed a break.
What we talked about instead were relaxing topics—like world peace and pollution and whether the old Disney movies are better than the new ones.
Mom won at Monopoly, which was good because she is a grumpy loser. The rule is loser puts the game away, which is what Tessa and I were doing when Mom’s phone rang. She listened, frowned, shrugged and said, “Okay, then. We’ll find out more tomorrow, I guess.”
When she hung up, she looked at Tessa and me.
“What?” we asked at the same time.
“I am sorry to report that your interview with Mr. Valenteen has been canceled. It seems President Alfredo-Chin has asked him to return home. About an hour ago, he left on a plane bound for the capital of a certain nearby nation.”
Can I tell you a secret?
I wasn’t that upset that the interview was canceled. With Easter on Sunday and the egg roll on Monday, my family had a lot going on.
Maybe Tessa, Nate and I could just chill until Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb came back from Pittsburgh. Didn’t we already have enough to report?
After we got into bed and turned the lights out, I confessed this to Tessa.
She said, “You’re right, Cammie. Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb probably got the rest of the evidence they need in Pittsburgh, anyway. And now they’ll be able to prove it was Professor Bohn all along.”
“Wait!” I rolled over. “No! Not Professor Bohn—Mr. Valenteen! Or maybe Professor Rexington.”
“Okay, fine,” Tessa said, “but you know what Aunt Jen says: ‘If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’”
I sighed. “So you’re saying we don’t get the weekend off?”
It was dark in our room, but from the way her sheets rustled, I knew my sister was getting all dramatic the way she does. “What I’m saying is: Don’t worry about a thing because—lucky for you—I am about to hatch a foolproof plan!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There was no time to talk about plans on Saturday morning. As usual, Granny took Tessa to ballet, and Dad went with me to my soccer game. I play for the D.C. Destroyers, and that day we got D.C. Destroyed.
Luckily, unlike some people I could mention, I am not a grumpy loser.
Granny made us sandwiches for lunch. We ate in the Family Kitchen. This was the first chance Tessa and I had had to tell Nate that the interview with Mr. Valenteen had been canceled.
“No worries, though,” said Tessa. “I have a foolproof plan!”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Tessa said. “Right now, it still needs time to incubate.”
“Very funny,” said Nate.
Tessa giggled. “I know. Sometimes I crack myself up. Get it?”
When lunch was over, Nate went upstairs to meet his math tutor. Aunt Jen says Nate’s not challenged by fifth-grade math, so he’s learning trigonometry. Did I mention how it’s lucky Aunt Jen isn’t my mom? Meanwhile, I was thinking I might invite my friend Courtney to come over and go bowling—the White House has its own bowling alley—but before I could, Mom came in.
“Mama!” Tessa hopped up and hugged her around the waist. “Are you taking the afternoon off to play with us?”
“I wish I coul
d,” Mom said. “But actually, I’m here because Ms. Ann Major has a project, and she needs your help.”
Ms. Ann Major is a deputy assistant press secretary on my mom’s staff. We know her because her beagle, Pickles, went to obedience school with Hooligan.
“What project?” I asked.
“Ms. Major wants to help us make sure the news guys cover your visit to Toni’s house tomorrow,” Mom said. “If they do, it will be good for the friendship between our government and President Alfredo-Chin’s.”
“I’m confused, Mama,” Tessa said. “Eb Ghanamamma doesn’t like President Alfredo-Chin, right? And Eb Ghanamamma wants democracy. Don’t we want democracy, too?”
“Of course we do,” Mom said, “but not just yet.”
“So what does Ms. Major want us to do?” Tessa asked.
Mom looked at her watch. “Meet her at her desk in ten minutes, and she’ll tell you.”
Ms. Major’s desk is in a maze of cubicles in the West Wing—which is a building next to the house part of the White House. You get there through a special kind of hallway called a colonnade. Charlotte came, too, and the three of us scrunched into chairs.
The project turned out to be a short video about Tessa’s and my friendship with Toni. Right now, Ms. Major wanted us to talk about how great Toni is in front of a camera. Tomorrow at the embassy, somebody would record more footage. Then Ms. Major would edit the clips together for the Web and TV.
If we were lucky, Jan and Larry might even show it.
Tessa said, “Yes!” and I said, “Do I have to?”
Ms. Major laughed at me. “It will be painless, I promise.”
“Only”—Tessa frowned down at her clothes—“I look like a wreck!”
“You both look fine,” Ms. Major said. “Come on outside.”
The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg Page 5