The Case of the Diamond Dog Collar (8 page)

“So how do you think Hooligan is getting on in class?” Dad asked Mr. Mormora.

Mr. Mormora dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Ah, you can see for yourself! He is an excellent student. He wants so much to make Cameron, his Canine Buddy, proud.” He flashed me a smile, and I felt myself blush.

“There is, though, one thing that puzzles me,” Mr. Mormora continued. “Hooligan is a little, uh . . . fleshier
than I would like. And yet he is on an excellent diet with no opportunity for snacking. Can you explain that?” He looked at us each for an answer.

“Too many Canine Cookies?” said Tessa.

“No, no, no!” said Mr. Mormora. “Canine Cookies are specially formulated for good taste
and
good health.”

I thought of Paul Song's dog. “Maybe someone's feeding him treats,” I said.

Mr. Mormora nodded. “I have thought of this. It was the case with the dog I mentioned previously, Empress Pu-Chi. Her caregiver spoiled her with ginger snaps and liverwurst.”

“
Ewww
!” said Tessa.

“What about this Mr. Ng?” said Mr. Mormora. “He is new, I believe. How well do you know him?”

Dad explained that anyone working in the White House has to be interviewed a bunch of times, then checked by the Secret Service.

“This tells us he is neither criminal nor spy,” said Mr. Mormora. “But what is in his heart? Perhaps he is the kind that gives unhealthy treats to dogs to win their friendship.”

And if that was true, I thought, could he also be the kind that stole diamond dog collars?

We finished our sandwiches and talked about the other dogs in Canine Class. As we were getting up, Mr. Mormora asked where we should meet.

“How about Mrs. Kennedy's Garden?” Tessa said. “There are chairs and a table out there.”

“Perfect,” said Mr. Mormora. “In half an hour?”

Back in our bedroom, Tessa and I changed out of
our church clothes. Then I got my notebook, and she put on her pink detecting hat. We were ready to go when Tessa asked me to bring the letter from Empress Pu-Chi. I found it in my top desk drawer and handed it over.

“But remember,” I said, “Mr. Mormora is a witness, not a suspect. And we aren't gonna tell him the diamonds are real, right? It's a bad idea to blab that to everybody.”

“Okay, okay. Don't give me a lecture,” Tessa said. “Sheesh, you'd think I never interviewed a suspect before.”

“
Witness
,” I said.

“Right,” Tessa said.

But I did not have a good feeling.

UP till my aunt Jen, Jacqueline Kennedy was probably the prettiest First Lady ever. Her garden is outside the East Colonnade, which is the corridor that goes from the ground floor of the White House to the East Wing.

Malik came downstairs with Tessa and me, and he even offered to help us interview Mr. Mormora. “I'm a trained law enforcement professional, you know,” he said.

“Thanks, Malik, but we've got this,” Tessa said.

I looked at my sister. “We do?”

Tessa shrugged. “Sure. We have all the rest of March break to solve it, don't we? And not even any homework.”

The Jacqueline Kennedy Garden has a lawn, hedges and flowerbeds. At one end is a pergola, sort of a stick house covered with vines. Mr. Mormora was waiting for us there. Granny said the vines would be leafy in the summer, but now they were just starting to show a little green.

Malik walked across the lawn and sat down in the shade on the other side. Tessa and I sat down on white metal chairs across from Mr. Mormora. Before I could even say hi, Tessa crossed her arms over her chest.

“Mr. Mormora,” she said, “may I direct your attention to Exhibit A?”

I said, “Huh?”

Mr. Mormora said, “Huh?”

Tessa said, “
Duh
!” and waved the empress's letter in his face.

“May I see that please?” Mr. Mormora took the letter.

“Cammie and I know dogs can't write,” Tessa said—like it proved we were unusually smart. “So do you know who wrote it for real?”

Mr. Mormora nodded. “I recognize the signature. It was written by the man who is responsible for the empress's personal correspondence. He is President Alfredo-Chin's chief of protocol, Mr. Eb Ghanamamma.”

I was so surprised I stopped writing. “Eb Ghanamamma, the singer?”

Mr. Mormora smiled. “You have heard of him? It was very long ago that he gave up singing to become involved with politics.”

“How come
I
never heard of him?” Tessa wanted to know.

“I was really little when Dad used to listen to him,” I said. “He sang about people who were poor and a girl who was pretty.”

Mr. Mormora nodded. “A folksinger, yes. His most famous song was a song of lost love called ‘Lina.' ”

“Did he ever sing about diamonds?” Tessa asked.

“Never,” said Mr. Mormora.

Tessa looked disappointed. “So why would he want to send a zillion dollars worth to Hooligan then lie about it?”

If I was the kind of person who kicks her little sister, I would have kicked my little sister. “
Tessa!
” said.

“Oops,” Tessa said.

But Mr. Mormora didn't look shocked . . . or guilty. “I do not know,” he said. “And while I did not like Empress Pu-Chi, I found Mr. Ghanamamma very nice. I believe he sincerely wants to help the people. Perhaps you should ask him this question yourself? In fact . . .”

Mr. Mormora unhooked his phone from his belt then leaned over to show us the screen. He scrolled through pictures of dogs, tons of them, including the empress herself. She had a pouty face and a red bow tied between her ears. Then he scrolled through his contacts and found Eb Ghanamamma.

“Will this help you?” he asked.

Tessa said, “Write that down, Cammie,” and jumped up from her chair. “We can phone right now! Thanks, Mr. Mormora.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” I said.

“Nope,” said Tessa. “Let's go.”

“The Canine Cookies?” I said. “That Hooligan found on the South Lawn?”

“Right!” Tessa recrossed her arms. “Mr. Mormora, if you were never out on the South Lawn before the first Canine Class, how come there were Canine Cookies
everywhere for Hooligan to find? Did you lie to us on purpose, or what?”

Mr. Mormora looked confused.

I sighed. “You have to forgive my sister. She is very sleepy. What she's trying to say is Hooligan found a whole bunch of Canine Cookies on the South Lawn yesterday. Do you have any idea how they got there?”

“Now that I find interesting,” said Mr. Mormora. “I did not drop the cookies, if that is what you mean. But we have been keeping the cookie supply in one of the outdoor sheds. Yesterday before class, a box disappeared. I thought I had miscounted, but perhaps . . .?” He shrugged.

I scribbled this down and stood up. “Come on, Tessa. Now we can call. Thanks, Mr. Mormora!”

He had been a big help—that is, if he was telling the truth. But if he was a diamond thief, wouldn't he have lied to throw us off the track?

OTHER than Nate, Tessa and I are the only kids in America who don't have cell phones. Because of that, we would have to call Mr. Ghanamamma from a White House phone. Malik came upstairs with us, but he didn't have to stick around once we were safe on the second floor. Since we needed privacy, we decided to use the phone on the desk in the Treaty Room.

On our way, I thought of something. “What time is it in a certain nearby nation?”

Tessa consulted Barbie. “Four o'clock.”

“It might be a different time zone there,” I said. “We might call Mr. Ghanamamma and wake him in the middle of the night.”

“Well,
that
would be embarrassing,” said Tessa.

Since Nate has a computer in his bedroom, we went upstairs to ask him. “I'll go online and check,” he said. And the way it turned out, Tessa was right—four o'clock in the nearby nation, too.

“But why do you need to know?” Nate asked.

Explaining took a while.

“So you're really going to call him?” Nate said. “You don't think you'll get in trouble?”

Tessa and I looked at each other. Mom had told us not to phone presidents. But she never said not to phone a chief of protocol. Right?

“We're detecting,” Tessa said finally. “Someone has to do it.”

“Can I come?” said Nate.

Tessa and I looked at each other. We didn't necessarily get along all the time with Nate. But Tessa shrugged okay, so I said, “I guess. It could be helpful, having someone who knows everything.”

The Treaty Room is at the top of the grand stairway and next to the Lincoln Bedroom on the second floor. Sometimes Mom works there, but today she was working in the Oval Office. It's in the West Wing, which is supposedly part of the White House but really more like a separate building next door.

We took the elevator down from the third floor. When we walked out, we saw that Hooligan was in his old bed by the fireplace in the West Sitting Hall, and Mr. Ng was sitting on the comfy sofa, reading the newspaper. I had a sudden idea.

“Can we borrow Hooligan? We need a guard dog.”

Mr. Ng thought for a moment. “It
should
be fine,” he finally said. “I believe he is too tired to get himself in any trouble.”

In the Treaty Room, I closed the door and ordered Hooligan to sit and stay.

“Your job is to guard the door,” I told him. “If you hear anybody coming, bark!”

Hooligan smiled an agreeable doggy smile. Then he lay down and closed his eyes. A minute later, he was chasing rabbits in his sleep. Some guard dog.

Next, we decided Tessa would do the talking. I didn't want to say it, but I was worried about having to speak a foreign language. In school, my worst subject is spelling but my second worst is Spanish. And anyway, none of us was totally sure what language they spoke in the nearby nation.

Tessa said it didn't matter. “I'll just talk loud. Ready, Nate?”

He dialed. It was a lot of numbers. But somebody must have picked up fast because Tessa tilted her head to listen. Then she smiled and said, “WHATEVER YOU SAID, BACK AT YOU. I AM TESSA PARKS FROM THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. CAN I TALK TO EB GHANAMAMMA?”

There was a pause. “WARM AND SUNNY, THANK YOU. IS THE WEATHER NICE IN YOUR NATION?” Another pause. “YES. EB GHANAMAMMA. DON'T ASK ME TO SPELL IT. I CAN HARDLY SAY IT.”

After a moment, she spoke to Nate and me. “I'm on hold.”

“I don't get it,” Nate said, “did they speak English?”

Tessa shook her head. “Of course not—
duh
. It's a foreign country.”

“Then what was that stuff about the weather?”

Tessa shrugged. “Grown-ups always talk about
the weather.” She tilted her head again. “MR. GHANAMAMMA?” Pause. “WELL,
THAT'S
DISAPPOINTING. WHERE?” Pause. Then she repeated her name, gave the White House phone number, said GOOD-BYE and hung up.

“What happened?” Nate and I asked at the same time.

“HE'S IN THE JUNGLE,” Tessa said.

“STOP SHOUTING!” I said.

“What jungle?” Nate said

“Whatever jungle's in a certain nearby nation. Anyway, there's no cell service there. So he can't be reached.”

“Wait a sec,” said Nate. “How did you know the word for jungle in a foreign language?”

Tessa thought for a second. “I don't know. I just did. Or maybe it was
beach
. Anyway, he definitely wasn't there and could not be reached.”

“So when will he be back?” I asked.

“Earth to Cammie?” said Tessa. “How do I know? They weren't speaking English!”