“Courtney—look at this.” I pointed it out.
Courtney squinted. “Those slippers come from a long time ago. Maybe they just weren’t that good at shoemaking back then.”
By now, Elena’s dad was talking to Kyle, and Mr. Lozana was listening to us. “It wasn’t that long ago,” he said. “And you’re right, Cameron. The two slippers don’t match. Many people think they come from two different pairs, and the mates are missing.”
It turned out Mr. Lozana knew a lot about the ruby slippers. Like, lots of pairs were made for the movie, and they’re even different sizes. No one who remembers is around anymore, but it could be that some were made for close-ups and still photographs, some for the dancing scenes and some to be worn by the stand-in for Judy Garland, the star.
“If there’re so many pairs, where’re the rest?” I asked.
“That’s a good question,” said Mr. Lozana. “In 1970, the movie company MGM cleaned out an old warehouse. It was full of costumes and props, including four pairs of ruby slippers. Today the the National Museum of American History has the pair that seems to be mismatched, and collectors have two others. The fourth pair was stolen a few years ago and has never been recovered.”
While I had been talking to Mr. Lozana, Granny arrived. Now, she and Nate were looking at Courtney’s poster. “Who would want some old pair of shoes?” Nate asked.
Mr. Lozana laughed. “Movie memorabilia is like art—valuable to collectors. The last time a pair of ruby slippers sold, they brought more than half a million dollars. You’d know that, Courtney, if you ever read my blog.”
“I didn’t know you ever wrote about movie stuff on your blog,” Courtney said. “I thought you only wrote about politics, and that’s boring.”
“In this case, movie stuff and politics intersect,” said Mr. Lozana. “Apparently there are elements in this administration who mistake our democracy for a monarchy.”
Nate is good at translating grown-up talk. “He means your mom is acting like she thinks she’s a queen,” he explained.
I had no idea what Mr. Lozana meant, but the way he said it sounded like an insult. “You take that back!” I said.
Granny put her hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps Mr. Lozana could explain.”
Mr. Lozana said he’d be glad to. “The ruby slippers are under the care of the museum, but they belong to the people of the United States. Is it appropriate for President Parks to use them for a private family event?”
“My mom can do whatever she wants!” I snapped, but as soon as the words were out, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“Precisely my point, Cameron,” said Mr. Lozana. “No, your mom can’t. She works for the American people, and they don’t want their valuable property risked for no good reason. In fact, look what happened—the property disappeared. There’s a photo of the empty box on my website.”
Granny shifted her feet. “Since you know the slippers disappeared, you must also know they were found and are now secure.”
Mr. Lozana nodded. “And my recommendation is that the slippers be returned to their rightful location at the museum immediately.”
“Thanks a lot, Dad!” Courtney said. “Now I’ll never get invited to the birthday party.”
Granny smiled. “Do want an invitation, dear? I think it can be arranged . . . if your father doesn’t mind.”
“Can I, Daddy?” Courtney asked.
Mr. Lozana frowned but gave in. “If the judge can be generous, so can I.”
The judge, by the way, is Granny. Judge was her job in California before she retired and moved to the White House to be with us.
Courtney pumped her fist. “Yes! I’m going to the party!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
At lunch I remembered to tell Courtney who else was coming to my aunt’s party—Paul Song—and Courtney choked on her sandwich, and Jeremy, one of the Secret Service agents, had to come over to see if her life needed saving or anything.
Courtney waved Jeremy away and croaked, “I’m okay,” but after that she had a coughing fit, and her eyes bulged out.
Paul Song is that adorable.
By then, I had decided to forgive Courtney for finding a sneaky way to get invited to the party. If things were the other way around—if Courtney lived in the White House—I would have wanted to go, too, right? Maybe I wouldn’t have been brave enough to plain old ask either.
And Courtney’s dad? Well, I guess he isn’t her fault.
After lunch, our class went to the computer lab so Mr. Brackbill could give us a research assignment. We do that every Friday afternoon. Today’s was to find three facts about Niagara Falls. The finding part is fun, but then we have to cite our sources, which means write down in a special order exactly where we found everything. I get that this is important, but doing it is kind of a pain.
Evgenia was my partner. I’m a fast looker, and she’s a fast typer, so right away we learned how many gallons of water flow over the falls every second (750,000) and how tall they are (American falls 176 feet, and Canadian falls 167 feet).
“Those are the same facts everybody’s going to find,” Evgenia said. “We should look for something different.”
“I know,” I said, and told her that Niagara Falls is one of the pictures on the fancy antique wallpaper in the Dip Room.
Evgenia typed “White House Diplomatic Reception Room” into the search box, and the first result was a link to Mr. Lozana’s blog.
Huh?
We clicked on it and saw his entry about the ruby slippers, which had a photo of Mrs. Silver with the empty box. The photo was taken in the Diplomatic Reception Room, which is why it came up. Behind Mrs. Silver was the man in the black suit, the one we figured was from the museum.
Something about the picture bothered me. How had Mr. Lozana gotten a copy of it? But before I could think about that, Mr. Brackbill said, “Five minutes, everybody,” and Evgenia and I had to hurry.
I scrolled down and learned that the wallpaper was made in 1834 by a French guy, and all the pictures on it are famous American scenery.
Evgenia typed all that, plus “White House Museum,” which is the name of the website, and we finished just in time. High five, Evgenia!
Tessa’s and my meeting with the museum security people wasn’t till four thirty in Mrs. Silver’s office, so we had time to eat our after-school snack first. As usual, it was Nate, Tessa and me along with Granny, Mr. Bryant and Hooligan in the second-floor kitchen. When there are cookies, Hooligan stays wide awake, hoping treats will fall. Today, though, it was all healthy stuff—cut up vegetables and apples—so Hooligan dozed off.
While we ate, I told Tessa how Courtney had gotten herself invited to Aunt Jen’s party, what Mr. Lozana told us about all the pairs of ruby slippers, plus how he said Mom was acting like a queen.
Tessa’s eyes got big. “Mom would make a great queen! And then I’d be a princess!”
Nate said, “I think you’re missing the point, Tessa.”
I nodded. “Me, too, Tessa. I mean, what if Mr. Lozana’s right? It’s true that the ruby slippers don’t belong to our family. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “There’s the real problem, Cammie. You think too much.”
CHAPTER NINE
It was twenty-five past four when Mr. Jackson took Mr. Bryant, Tessa and me in the elevator down to the ground floor. Hooligan came, too.
Tessa was still wearing her school clothes, but now she also had on her pink baseball cap with the sparkles, the one she always wears for detecting.
“Why did you put that on?” I asked.
“Same reason you put your notebook in your pocket.” Tessa grinned. “Just in case.”
Mrs. Silver’s office is in the East Wing. When the president is a man, this part of the White House is for his wife, the First Lady. Since my mom’s a girl and my dad would never make it as First Lady, the East Wing is for Aunt Jen and her staff.
When we got there, two men in gray suits were stand
ing on either side of Mrs. Silver, who was sitting at her desk. Mrs. Silver introduced everybody, and we all shook hands except for Hooligan. He woofed.
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.”
CHAPTER TEN
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!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
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.
The Case of the Ruby Slippers Page 3