I stood up, too. “May we be excused, Granny?”
Tessa waved her arms the way she does. “I don’t get it! I haven’t finished my milk. What’s—”
Granny pushed her chair back from the table. She didn’t know what Nate and I were up to exactly, but she could see it was important. “Run along, Tessa,” she said. “I’m sure Paul has his rehearsal to return to as well.”
“Not till one thirty,” Paul said.
“I’m not busy,” Courtney said.
“I thought you had to call your dad’s friend,” I said.
“That can wait,” Courtney said.
“Splendid,” Granny said. “Courtney knows her way around the White House, don’t you, dear? Perhaps you could show Paul the solarium.”
Oh, fine. Assuming Paul Song wasn’t a bad guy, he was a heartthrob, and now he was going to spend his quality time with Courtney, who, by the way, looked perfect while I had a big fat lavender lip.
Also I was really hungry.
But there was no time to worry about it. Together, Nate and I practically yanked Tessa away from the table and into the hallway. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Is it Paul Song who’s buying the slippers? Is he buying them from Mr. Will? Would somebody please explain—?”
Nate ignored her. “Let’s go out on the balcony. Nobody will bother us there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Truman Balcony looks out over the South Lawn, and beyond that the Washington monument and the Lincoln Memorial. We sat down on the porch swing, and I told Tessa and Nate about the lady on the museum’s security video, how Mr. Will was working for the museum and that there were transmitter chips in the slippers.
“What kind of signal?” Nate wanted to know.
“RF,” I said all casual, like I’d been saying RF all my life.
Nate nodded. “It’s easy to block an RF signal, you know. Even sunscreen’ll do it.”
“Well, duh,” I said.
Nate gave me a look.
“Okay, not duh. What are you talking about?”
“Zinc oxide sunscreen—the kind lifeguards use. The flecks of zinc reflect the radio waves back on themselves. So if the thief wanted to interfere with the signal, he could just dab a little sunscreen on the RF chips.”
“But that would mean the thief had to know about the chips,” I said, “and only the Smithsonian people do.”
Tessa had another question. “Who was the lady in the video?”
For a second, I stared at my sister. Was it possible I forgot to ask Dr. Zapato that basic question? “Uh. . . .” I stalled. “She had an A on her necklace.”
Tessa waved her arms. “I knew I never should have gone to ballet!”
Nate said, “Settle down, Tessa. The museum staff might not even have known who she was. And the necklace could be a clue. Do we have any suspects whose names start with A?”
“What about Antonia Alfredo-Chin?” I said.
“Since when is she a suspect?” Tessa asked.
“She was one of the late additions to the guest list,” I said.
Just then, the door opened behind us. It was Malik. “Sorry to disturb you guys, but is Miss Lozana out here? One of the, uh . . . White House photographers sent me to find her.”
“You mean the pretty one?” Tessa asked. “The one you like?”
Nate said, “I think Courtney’s in the solarium.”
Malik said thank you and, before Tessa could say anything else embarrassing, closed the door.
“That’s interesting,” Nate said. “It looks like Malik’s friend is also the friend of Mr. Lozana who’s sending him a package today.”
Tessa’s eyes got big. “Hey, that reminds me. She was one of the people who saw Mrs. Silver put the slippers in her office safe. Remember, Cammie?”
I did, and that triggered another memory—the photograph of the empty white shoe box that Evgenia and I had seen on Mr. Lozana’s blog. The pretty photographer must have taken that picture . . . and sent it to Mr. Lozana. Mr. Lozana’s always saying mean things about my mom in his blog. Could it be he and the photographer are out to embarrass the president? Like by stealing the ruby slippers from the White House?
I said that thought out loud, and Nate nodded. “Maybe the photographer stole the slippers out of the safe for Mr. Lozana,” he said. “I mean, remember at school how he knew so much about them?”
“But that can’t be right,” I said. “Since when do photographers know about breaking into safes?”
“Just because you can’t do something, Cammie, doesn’t mean other people can’t do it, too,” said Tessa.
I shook my head. Huh?
But Nate backed her up. “If she is the thief, then we’ve been totally wrong. The slippers weren’t stolen for money at all. They were stolen for politics—to make Aunt Marilee look bad.”
I didn’t like this idea one bit. Courtney might be annoying sometimes (like now), but I didn’t want her dad to be a thief. And I didn’t want Malik’s new friend to be one either.
So, thinking and talking at the same time, I came up with a new theory. “That leaves out the lady in the security video,” I said. “What if she’s the buyer? Uh . . . , and let’s say the A on her necklace is for Antonia, like Antonia Alfredo-Chin. Her family’s practically in charge of a certain nearby nation. They must have lots of money.”
“Okay, great,” said Tessa. “We’ve solved the mystery! Antonia Alfredo-Chin is coming to the party to buy the slippers from the pretty photographer.”
“No, no, no,” I said. “From somebody else.”
“But who?” Tessa asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“Alternatively,” said Nate, “it’s just possible there’s a red pair of slippers in the package Courtney’s taking to her dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Recipe for an afternoon headache: 1) You fall on your face; 2) Your dog eats your lunch; 3) Your best friend/worst enemy gets left alone with your rock-star crush; and 4) Your brain is presented with multiple different and contradictory solutions to a mystery.
Oh, and did I mention we were running out of time? The transmitter chips’ batteries weren’t going to last much longer. Unless the tech guys at the museum figured out how to amplify the RF signal soon, we might never find those ruby slippers.
“First things first,” said Nate. “We have to get a look at that package.”
Tessa consulted her Barbie watch. “I can’t exactly get ready for a party in five minutes, you know.”
“So I’ll go get a look at the package, and you guys can get dressed and fix your hair and junk,” said Nate.
Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “No way. I mean, look what happened when we let Cammie interview Dr. Zapato by herself. From now on, we stick together.”
I already said how one weird thing about being the daughter of the president of the United States is that you can’t walk places in public. Well, here’s another one. Anytime you are going to something special you have to wear clothes picked out for you by a grown-up. Usually it’s Aunt Jen, but today it was Mrs. Silver, and she doesn’t know what we like. I had a pink dress with white flowers, and Tessa’s outfit was blue leggings and a skirt and top with blue and yellow stripes.
I pulled my dress over my head, then picked up my capris so I could put them in the hamper. What was that lump in the pocket? Oh, right, Ozzabelle’s latest present, the blue glove. I pulled it out.
Tessa was next to me, folding her T-shirt to put it away. “Where did that come from?” she asked.
I told her.
“Well, that’s weird. Is Mr. Will supposed to be some kind of dentist besides a security expert?”
“How do we even know it’s Mr. Will’s?” I asked.
“That’s where Ozzabelle gets all the stuff she brings us—duh, Cammie. I hope Aunt Jen knows he’s a total slob.”
I thought back to how messy his room had been and agreed. “But what I don’t get is why Mr. Will lied
about his own underwear,” I said.
“Because he didn’t want everyone to know about how weird it was,” said Tessa. “I mean, would you?”
I decided to drop the subject. “It’s not just dentists who wear these kinds of gloves,” I said. “Kyle at school told me burglars wear them, too—so they don’t leave fingerprints.”
Wait a sec. Burglars wear them? All of a sudden, I started to get a totally crazy new idea.
Tessa said, “Earth to Cammie?”
My idea was too unfinished to say out loud, so I said something else: “If we hurry, we can maybe take a look at Courtney’s package before we have to go downstairs.”
Also I was hoping to have time to snag a cookie from the pastry kitchen. It’s on the mezzanine floor between ours and the entrance hall. I hadn’t eaten any lunch, remember.
And this might have worked but for one thing. Tessa won’t ever go anywhere until she looks perfect. So she had to try her hair a couple of different ways, then try different barrettes and a ribbon.
By the time we emerged into the hall it was ten to three, and Jeremy was outside our door.
“Where’s Courtney Lozana—have you seen her?” Tessa asked.
Jeremy looked at his watch. “Downstairs by now, and you should be, too. Mrs. Silver wants everyone in place pronto.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When there is an event at the White House, guests come in through the east entrance on the ground floor, walk past the library and Vermeil Room then climb stairs into the entrance hall on the State Floor. When Tessa and I arrived, most of the guests were in place and—hooray!—butlers in tuxedoes were walking around with teeny cheese sandwiches on trays.
I grabbed two. I hope I didn’t look like a pig, but I didn’t get lunch, remember?
Most of the guests were dressed nice but not fancy—button shirts and khakis for the men and skirts or dresses for the women. One thing I’ve noticed about parties, though, is there are usually a few clueless people. Like today, there was this guy all by himself wearing cargo shorts, a T-shirt and a baseball cap.
What was up with that? He looked more like a tourist than an invited guest.
There were several people I wanted to talk to: Charlotte so I could ask if the gadget had buzzed, Paul Song, uh . . . because he’s Paul Song, and Courtney, so I could ask what was in the package she was taking to her dad.
Courtney was the one I spotted first. She was standing by the marble head of President Lincoln talking to a blond girl about my age. “Who’s that?” Tessa came up beside me. “And where did she get that dress?”
The dress was fancy but also pretty—orange with lace, a green belt and shoes to match. I even liked it, and I don’t care about dresses.
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I didn’t think there were other kids invited either.”
Tessa’s eyes got big. “Cool—she’s a party crasher! Come on!”
Courtney introduced us. The girl’s name was Toni. She had a foreign accent, which in Washington is pretty usual. Because Washington is the U.S. capital, a lot of other countries send their government people here to live for a while.
Courtney explained she knew Toni from horse-jumping lessons.
I couldn’t exactly be rude and say, “Are you a party crasher?”, so instead I tried to think of a more clever and polite way to ask the same question.
While I was thinking, Tessa said, “Are you a party crasher?”
Toni laughed. “No, no. I would never! In fact, your mother invited me—President Parks. I believe the invitation was meant as a goodwill gesture toward my family and my country. You see, I am from a certain nearby nation, and we have experienced many political protests recently.”
Tessa nodded. “Oh yeah, we know all about that. Actually, our dog Hooligan’s practically best friends with your president’s dog—even though they have never actually met.”
“Yes.” Toni nodded enthusiastically. “I know this story of the diamond dog collar.”
And that’s when something clicked in my brain. “Wait a sec,” I said. “Is ‘Toni’ short for something?”
Our new friend stood up straight. “My full name is Antonia Alfredo-Chin.” Then she slumped back to normal. “But that is so very many syllables.”
Tessa said, “Ah ha!” and immediately crossed her arms over her chest the way she does when she interviews a witness. “So, Toni. How come you spent all that time at the museum staring at the ruby slippers? Are you maybe interested in buying ruby slippers?”
Toni took a step back.
I tried to explain. “My sister didn’t get much sleep.” Then I looked at Tessa. “She’s not the person in the video at all!”
“Oh, wow.” Tessa’s eyes got big. “So now there are two Antonia Alfredo-Chins? How are we even supposed to tell which is which?”
I shook my head. “No, no, no—”
But Tessa kept talking. “I bet the real one is the one with the necklace, right?” She stared at Toni’s neck, which was necklace-free. “So what are you—some kind of an imposter?”
I sighed and took my sister’s elbow. “I’m really sorry,” I said to Toni and Courtney, “but I need to talk to my sister for a minute. Excuse us.”
It took some doing, but finally I managed to convince Tessa that she, Nate and I had been wrong. The woman in the video wasn’t Antonia Alfredo-Chin and never had been.
“So who is she then?” Tessa said.
We were standing in front of the portrait of President Clinton. I was facing the East Room doors, and I was feeling terrible all over again. “I forgot to ask Dr. Zapato, okay? And I am really sorry! I mean, when it comes to that lady, there’s only one thing I know for sure.”
“Yeah—what’s that?” Tessa asked.
“She’s standing right there!”
Tessa spun around and looked. “Where?”
I nodded. “Talking to Mr. Will.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Tessa said. “I’ve got some questions for him, too.”
Two seconds later, I had grabbed another sandwich from a tray, we had woven our way through the party guests, and Tessa was tugging on Mr. Will’s jacket. “Have you talked to the cops? Did the man in the black suit confess?”
“Yes, and no,” said Mr. Will. “In fact, I understand he has been released from jail.”
“Uh-oh,” said Tessa.
“Only temporary, I’m sure,” said Mr. Will. “He’ll be locked up for good as soon as they have the evidence. Meanwhile, may I introduce Miss Gigi Sawyer, great-granddaughter of the Wicked Witch of the East?”
If you’ve been paying attention, you know that while my mouth was chewing on the sandwich, my brain was chewing on the mystery. But if life in the White House has taught me anything, it’s how to be polite.
I swallowed fast. “How do you do, Miss Sawyer?”
Tessa can be polite, too, but she was sleep-deprived and dramatic and—since she is only seven and not the big sister—she can get away with anything.
So she said, “Hey, how ya doin’?”
Miss Gigi Sawyer had a scrunched face and a pointy nose. Anyone could tell she did not like the way Tessa spoke to her, but, except for that driver the other day, people are rarely rude to Tessa.
“The pleasure is mine,” said Gigi Sawyer. But she didn’t smile.
Tessa wasted no time. “So, Miss Sawyer, if your first name’s ‘Gigi’ and your last name’s ‘Sawyer,’ how come you’ve got that necklace with an A on it?”
Miss Sawyer touched her throat, but there was no necklace. She had on a purple scarf instead. “How in the world do you know about my necklace?” she asked.
Tessa looked at me with a face that said: “Oops, Cammie, get me out of this!”
I thought fast. “We knew because Mr. Will told us,” I said.
“You did?” Miss Sawyer looked at Mr. Will.
“I did?” Mr. Will looked at me.
Now my only hope was that my brain could keep up with my mouth, “Tot
ally. It was at the same time you told us Miss Sawyer collects movie memorabilia. You do collect movie memorabilia, Miss Sawyer, right?”
“I do,” said Miss Sawyer carefully. Still looking at Mr. Will, she explained that Gigi is a nickname for Angelina, her given name. At the same time, Mr. Will was stammering something about how he didn’t remember telling me either of those things.
Meanwhile, my crazy idea no longer seemed crazy. My question about movie memorabilia had been a rare case of Cammie being tricky, and Miss Sawyer had fallen for it! Now my idea was ready for prime time, and I started looking around for Nate. I wanted to corral him and Tessa and tell them what I knew.
Only that conversation never happened because from across the room, an unnaturally calm voice called out: “Cameron? Excuse me, dear, but could you come here for a moment, please?”
I looked around and saw that the voice was Charlotte’s, and she was waving for me to hurry. But she didn’t sound like herself. I mean, she never calls me “Cameron.”
What was going on?
Then all at once I figured it out. The museum’s tech guys had done it: The receiver on Charlotte’s belt had buzzed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nate and Tessa had seen Charlotte wave, and now the three of us, trying to look casual, strolled over to her post at the East Room doors. By the time we got there, Charlotte had removed the receiver from her belt, so all of us could look at the screen’s display of a pale green blur with two red flashing dots in the middle.
“Charlotte, did you remember to get directions for this thing?” Tessa asked.
Charlotte didn’t answer, but Nate said, “It’s not that complicated, Tessa. Each one of those dots is a slipper.”
“If you say so,” said Tessa. “But where are they?”
Charlotte toggled a switch on the top of the gadget, which changed the display to a 3-D grid pattern outlined by a familiar shape—the White House!
“If I’m reading it right,” Charlotte said, “the slippers are on the third floor.”
The Case of the Ruby Slippers Page 7