The Case of the Diamond Dog Collar (5 page)

SOMETHING told me that was just too easy.

And something turned out to be right.

I didn't know what it was Hooligan had found in the trees, but it wasn't a diamond.

Dogs don't eat diamonds.

“Bad dog!” I scolded him.

But my sister scratched his ears. “Don't listen, puppy. She doesn't mean it.”

“I do, too!” I said.

“Maybe I didn't explain it to him right.” Tessa unbuckled his collar and held it up so he could see the space where the diamond used to be. “That's what you're looking for, puppy,” she said. “Okay?” She buckled the collar back on. “Ready, set—find that diamond!”

Have I mentioned Hooligan has too much energy?

First he led us over by the west fence, then we ran up past the pool, across the driveway and around the putting green twice before we cut south again. I play
midfield on the D.C. Destoyers soccer team, but even so I was out of breath. The only reason I kept up at all was that he kept pausing and gobbling junk—probably crucial pieces of evidence.

It was a warm day for March, and I was getting sweaty when Hooligan solved that problem—he ran through the fountain, so of course Tessa and I did, too. If we weren't already in trouble for riding the tractor with Mr. Golly, we for sure were in trouble now, but there was no time to worry about that. Hooligan was bee-lining for the kitchen garden—right back where we started.

“Watch out!” I yelled to Mr. Golly. He was forking up the last smelly scoop and didn't see Hooligan, who sideswiped him—
ka-bam!

“Are you all right?” I asked when we got to him.

“Are you mad?” Tessa asked.

Before Mr. Golly could answer, Jeremy and Malik appeared. Jeremy is a really big guy with a deep voice. Malik is my second-favorite Secret Service agent after Charlotte. They had seen the whole thing.

Now Malik reached out a hand to help Mr. Golly, and Jeremy asked, “You okay there?”

Mr. Golly was wiping compost from his eyes. He said, “Reckon I'll live,” and shook his head. Black bits flew out of his hair.

“I think we should escort you girls back to the house,” Malik said. “You're going to want to get out of your wet shoes and socks.”

“Mr. Ng will be here for Hooligan shortly,” said Jeremy.

Tessa had grabbed Hooligan's leash and run over to where he lay in the shade. Now she called me over, too. “Look,” she said and pointed at the fur around his snout. There was plenty of plain brown dirt. But there was something else besides—a whole lot of crumbs, bright red and bright yellow.

Only one thing leaves red and yellow crumbs.

“Canine Cookies!” I said.

“That must be what he kept stopping to eat,” Tessa said. “But who dropped them?”

“Mr. Mormora most likely,” I said. “But didn't he tell Mrs. Crowe he'd never been out here? There's no reason he'd lie about that . . . is there?”

ALL the Secret Service agents wear radio headsets so they can keep in touch. That's why, when we got to the Dip Room door, Granny was waiting with our slippers and frowning.

“Sorry, Granny,” Tessa and I chorused.

“Hmmph,” said Granny, then she held out our slippers. “Change out of your wet shoes and socks so you don't make a mess or catch pneumonia. After lunch, you'll each write an apology to Mr. Golly.”

Oh well. It could've been worse.

On weekends, we eat lunch in the family kitchen. Usually, either Granny or Dad makes it. Granny is better because she takes special orders. Like my sandwich doesn't get mustard, Tessa's doesn't get mayonnaise and Nate doesn't eat anything green, like lettuce.

Dad makes all our sandwiches the same, and if we complain, he says, “How would you like to make
my
lunch for a change?”

Today Granny put plates down for Nate, Tessa and me, then made a surprise announcement: “We're going to go see the Hope Diamond tonight!”

It turned out Mrs. Crowe had phoned the Museum of Natural History, and Saturday at seven p.m. was the best time for our visit. The museum would be closed, so keeping us safe would be easy. Plus we wouldn't be bugging the regular visitors with all the hoo-ha that happens when we go someplace.

“One of the assistant curators, a Mr. Rubio, has agreed to meet us and talk about the diamond,” Granny said. “And Ms. Kootoor is coming, too. She's always been fond of diamonds.”

“That's for sure,” Tessa said. “She's got loads of diamond jewelry, and even a diamond whistle!”

Granny raised her eyebrows. “Why on earth—?”

“Her dad gave it to her,” Tessa explained, “when she moved to New York City to get famous. If she's ever in danger, she's supposed to blow the whistle.”

“Has she ever used it?” I asked.

Tessa shook her head. “Nope. But she keeps it with her just in case.”

Granny nodded. “You know? A safety whistle might be a good idea. But I don't see the point of the diamonds.”

Tessa's mouth opened. Luckily, it was empty. “How can you say that, Granny? The diamonds are for style!”

When we had finished our sandwiches, Granny looked at her watch and pushed back her chair. “With
this warm weather, I've made a tennis date—the first of the year. Can you entertain yourselves?”

Nate said a friend of his was coming over. They were going to shoot hoops.

Lucky
, I thought. All my friends were out of town for March break.

But Tessa said we'd have no problem keeping busy.

“We won't?” I said.

“
Hello-o-o?
” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We've got a mystery to solve? Remember?”

After lunch, we sat down at our desks to write to Mr. Golly. Along with our beds and posters, the desks came with us from our old house. But the rest of the furniture in our room belongs to the White House collection. Aunt Jen helped Tessa and me pick what we wanted. When we leave someday, it will go back in storage—or maybe the new president will have kids that pick the same stuff.

I spent a long time writing. I really did feel bad that Hooligan had knocked Mr. Golly into the compost. It was going to take a lot of shampoo to get the smell out of his hair.

Tessa drew a picture of a man lying down and a brown dog with a frowny face. Over the dog it said: “Sorry!”

When we were done, we folded our notes and put them in envelopes for Granny to address.

Then it was time for detecting.

In the West Sitting Hall, where Hooligan's old wicker dog bed is, there's a comfortable stripe-y sofa that's good for thinking. By now, Mr. Ng had brought Hooligan back inside. After his busy morning, Hooligan was napping. Tessa and I sat down on the sofa, and I wrote down everything we knew about the case so far:

• Hooligan's diamond probably disappeared Thursday during helicopter incident.

• Prongs on collar broken or bent back.

• Acc. to Jan/Larry: El Brillante was missing Friday morning from museum.

• But could have been missing a month.

• Connection between El Brillante and Hooligan's missing diamond?

• Gardeners found flip-flop last week but no diamond this week.

• But did they by mistake grind up diamond?

• Or is it on South Lawn somewhere?

• Canine Cookie crumbs on Hooligan's nose.

• Used to be Canine Cookies all over South Lawn.

• Not anymore.

• Did Mr. Mormora drop them?

• But Mr. Mormora said he hadn't been on South Lawn.

By then, my hand was tired so I shook it out. Tessa had been reading over my shoulder and making suggestions.

“I don't like it if Mr. Mormora lied to us,” she said.

“He's nice though,” I said. “I like the way he talks to dogs.”

“You should write down what he said at dinner, too,” Tessa said. Then she dictated:

• Mr. Mormora has family in nearby nation.

• Mr. Mormora doesn't like Empress Pu-Chi.

• Mr. Mormora asked Mom about President Manfred Alfredo-Chin.

“I don't think Mr. Mormora likes President Alfredo-Chin either,” she said.

“So what?” I said.

Tessa waved her arms dramatically the way she does. “So I don't know what! But isn't it suspicious?”

“Isn't what suspicious?” Granny had come in from tennis. She was pink and a little sweaty. Hooligan looked up when he heard her voice.

“Do you want to help us do detecting?” Tessa asked.

Granny said sure, and together we read through the notes. We had to explain about the cookies and the diamond maybe being ground up.

“If I were the detective,” Granny said thoughtfully, “I'd say the next move was obvious. It's time to interview Mr. Mormora.”

MR. MORMORA was staying in a guest room on the third floor, down the hall from Aunt Jen and Nate. We were going up there when Charlotte came into the West Sitting Hall. Charlotte is my favorite Secret Service agent.

“Mr. Mormora?” Charlotte said when we told her what we were doing. “He's out sightseeing—one of those bus tours.”

Tessa dropped back down on the sofa. “Well,
that's
disappointing.”

Charlotte said, “Sorry,” then she held an envelope out to me. “For you, Cammie.”

Tessa and I get letters all the time—not as many as my mom or Hooligan, but too many for us to sort ourselves. First they go to the office that handles White House mail, and most get answered by volunteers. When there's a special letter, we see it after it's checked out by the Secret Service.

“Is it a good one?” I asked.

“You're going to like it,” she said and winked.

“What the . . .?” But then I looked at the address, and instantly forgot about Mr. Mormora, missing diamonds, and even Hooligan. This is what it said:

Camron Parks

The White House

1600 Pensylvania Ave
.

Washingtun, DC 20500

Tessa read over my shoulder. “Hey—somebody's as bad a speller as you! So that must mean it's from—”

I sighed. “Paul Song.” And I guess my face went moony because Tessa rolled her eyes.

“Oh, brother,” she said, “and you make fun of
me
for having crushes!”

Paul Song, in case you don't know, is part of the best band in America, The Song Boys. Not that long ago, he and his brothers played a concert at the White House, and I got to meet him. He was really nice, not stuck up at all.

And now he'd actually written me a letter!

Dear Cammie
,

You will probably think I'm a dork for writing you an old-fashon letter with a stamp and everything. But right now we were sitting here in the hotel, and I saw this writting paper and I thought it would be funny to write you
.

On TV yesterday I saw how that TV dog guy is staying with you and giving Hooligan dog lessons! That is so cool! I wish he could give my dog dog lessons, too. I miss my dog when we are on tour. Did I tell you about him? He was a puppy at the pound when we picked him, and he grew up to be funny-looking but not as funny-looking as Hooligan. (Don't let Hooligan read that part. JK.) My dog's name is Singalong because when he was a puppy he liked to howl with us
.

My brothers don't know it, but Singalong likes me best. That's because I sneek him dog biscuts. I am going to have to stop, though. Or else he will be funny-looking AND fat. Here is a picture: