The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief (11 page)

CONFRONTING a looming canine threat, the few people remaining in the Rose Garden scattered like rabbits. Screaming rabbits.

But not Mr. August. He just sat staring at the gold disk in his palm.

I started toward him, but someone else got there first. It was the only other person in the world who knew it made perfect sense for Mr. August to be in shock. I mean, wouldn't you be in shock if a historic gold coin worth a million dollars appeared out of nowhere and fell into your hand?

The person shook Mr. August's shoulder, and said something, and finally Mr. August went with him to shelter under the cover of the walkway outside the West Wing.

At the same time, Jeremy and Malik ran up to Tessa and me with umbrellas.

We both ducked under and said, “Thanks.” Then Tessa shook her sodden hair the way a dog does.

“Hey, I already took a shower today,” said Jeremy. “Honestly, don't you two know enough to get out of the rain?”

“Sorry,” Tessa said meekly.

“We'll explain later,” I said, “but now we've got to find the dogs! Pickles is afraid of thunder.”

“We noticed,” said Malik.

“But where did they go?” I asked.

Jeremy and Malik didn't know, and neither did Mr. Ng when we found him pacing on the walkway. He told us the doggy playdate had moved here from the dog park because Ms. Major had been called in at the last minute to set up an interview. Then, with the storm so sudden, there hadn't been time to corral Pickles and close him in his crate.

“That poor dog!” Mr. Ng shook his head. “He just about went psycho on me!”

Secret Service people are posted all over the White House grounds, so Malik got on his radio to ask if anyone had seen either Hooligan or his psycho beagle friend.

There was a burst of static; then a voice reported that the dogs had been spotted near the hedge between the Rose Garden and the dig site. Did we want someone to investigate?

Tessa yelled so Malik's radio would hear: “That's a negative!” And then she turned to me. “Come on, Cammie! Fireball and Fussbudget to the rescue!”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“We have to!” she urged. “Ms. Major's busy, and
anybody he doesn't know will scare poor Pickles even more!”

Tessa didn't wait for me to answer. She just took off running, and what was I supposed to do? I ran after her. Behind me came Malik and Jeremy, still trying to protect us with umbrellas.

THE dogs were easy to find. All we did was follow the path of destruction: toppled chairs, trampled plants and finally—in the same hedge the fat cat used for a hideout—twigs and broken branches scattered everywhere.

By now we were so wet it didn't matter, so we got down on our hands and knees to peer into the green darkness. Right away we saw the dogs and smelled their stinky wetness—
ewwwww
. Hooligan wore his usual nice-to-see-you grin, but Pickles was trembling and panting.

The two of them were wedged into a tiny space, their bright eyes peering back at us. It was a second before we realized there was something else back there, too—something making unhappy little “I'm wet!” squeaky sounds.

Kittens!

One, two, three, four, five . . . and their mama, the fat cat, who wasn't quite as fat as before.

Now we knew why Hooligan had been so interested in this part of the grounds. It was more than mole guts he wanted.

“
Awwww
, Cammie, look!” Tessa said. “But won't the dogs hurt them?”

“Guess not,” I said. “Hooligan seems to think they're little buddies.”

“
Woot!
Then we can keep them!” Tessa said.

“We gotta talk to Granny, not to mention Mom and Dad,” I said. “But we can't leave them here. It's too wet. They'll get sick.”

By now the rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through a hole in the clouds. While Malik radioed for someone to come and retrieve the cats, Tessa and I coaxed the dogs. Hooligan came out wagging his tail and grinning. Pickles was right behind him. I think he was embarrassed. After he shook the rain off, he tried to act cool, like all the time he'd thought thunder was no big deal.

The reception for Mr. August had been moved from the Rose Garden to the Blue Room. The snacks were going to be good, but the Blue Room is the fanciest room in the White House, and Tessa and I were too wet and muddy to go straight there.

Also, we needed to have a serious talk with one of our houseguests. So we took a detour to the third floor. We were pretty sure we'd find him there, hiding out.

Tessa knocked on the door to the guest suite. “You have to let us in, you know.”

“Do not,” said a voice.

“Do,
too
,” said Tessa.

“Do not!”
said the voice.

I said, “Don't you guys ever give it a rest?” and opened the door. Inside, Dalton sat on one of the two beds. He was wearing earbuds and playing a game.

I closed the door behind us, and Tessa folded her arms across her chest. “We only have one question.”

Dalton took out his earbuds. “Wait . . . what?”

“We know you let Humdinger out so you could steal the piggy bank,” Tessa said. “And we know you tried to hide the evidence by burying the piggy bank pieces at the dig site. But how did the gold coin get into the box with the medal?”

Dalton must not have been surprised we knew he was the thief. “I'm sorry about your piggy bank,” he said. “And I'll pay you back the two dollars and twelve cents.”

“Just answer the question,” Tessa said.

Dalton sighed. “After I found out that old gold coin was worth a million dollars and everything, I didn't want it, and I thought the best place for it would be the museum where all the other coins are. I knew Dad was giving that medal to Mr. August, and I knew Mr. August works at the museum, so . . .” He shrugged. “Then I saw the coin and the medal were close to the same size, so I taped them together.”

The scary thing was that when Dalton said this, it kind of made sense. “And you didn't think he'd find the gold coin right away?” I said.

Dalton nodded. “I thought we'd be safe back home by the time he did. I guess Scotch tape doesn't work that good in the rain.”

Tessa said, “You know you have to tell the grownups,” which was pretty funny coming from her. I mean, she still hadn't told anybody except me and Nate how she'd taken the coin in the first place.

But Dalton surprised us both. “I already did. When Mr. August was sitting out in the storm? I felt so bad for him, I explained.”

Tessa turned pale. “Wait a sec. You told him how you found the coin in my piggy bank?”

Dalton shook his head. “I just told him I found the coin. He was still kind of in shock, and everybody was hurrying him so much . . . he didn't ask where. Then I told Mom I didn't feel good and came up here.”

Tessa was surprised. “Thank you,” she said. “It was nice of you to protect me. But it won't matter in the end. They're gonna find out, and then . . .” She drew her finger across her throat.

“Yeah.” Dalton did the same thing. “Me, too.”

The knock on the door made us all jump. But it was only Nate. “You guys, everybody's looking for you. They've called a press conference. Everybody knows how you found a historic gold coin out at the dig site, and now you're gonna be some kind of national heroes!”

I was not any kind of national hero.

Only Tessa and Dalton were . . . oh, yeah, and Hooligan because he was the one who dug up the coin.

It turned out that while Tessa and I were chasing the dogs, a couple of the TV guys were reviewing their video footage from the ceremony. On it, they saw the medal self-destructing. When they asked Ms. Major what was up with that, Ms. Major asked Aunt Jen, and Aunt Jen asked a bunch of people what they knew, including Mr. August and Nate.

From what everybody told her, she put together for herself pretty much what must have happened with the coin and the piggy bank and the medal.

Aunt Jen is smart.

After that, she told Mom, and Mom said they had to call a press conference right away to explain. Otherwise, the reporters would make guesses about what had happened, and with the coin being worth so much money, that might look bad.

The press conference was in the White House Briefing Room, which is in the West Wing. Ms. Major spoke first, and said that a valuable and potentially significant archeological relic had been found on the White House grounds. Then she introduced Professor Maynard and Professor Mudd, who displayed the 1796 no stars quarter eagle and explained about its potential value and historical importance.

On TV was the first time I got to see the coin close-up, and it was beautiful. I was glad that one day soon I'd be able to visit it at the museum.

After that, Ms. Major said it was Hooligan who dug the coin up in the first place, Tessa who cleaned and identified it and Dalton who came up with a “charming and distinctive means” of donating it to the Smithsonian collection by putting it in the box with the medal.

“The children will not be taking questions,” she said. “We will issue a more detailed statement tomorrow.”

All the cameras turned to Tessa, who waved and smiled, and Dalton, who looked scared. It was Hooligan—as usual—who stole the show. He sat straight, showed his handsome profile, wore a noble expression and uttered a single, dignified
“Woof.”

Tessa and Dalton might have been national heroes, but at home they were in big trouble. Dalton's parents took away candy for a month. And Tessa had a new chore—an especially yucky one.

“It's gonna be so worth it, though,” she told me
that night as we got ready for bed. “Because they're so adorable!”

I agreed they were adorable. Not to mention furry. “But I hope you still think your new chore is worth it when they start growing up,” I said. “Six cats use a lot of kitty litter.”

I had one last thing to do before Mom came in to say good night. The oyster shell I had found at the dig site was still in its box. I took it out and set it on my dresser where I could admire it. I remembered how Dr. Maynard had told us shells used to be used as money sometimes. So in a way, I had found my own old coin at the dig site—one I was going to get to keep.

“Maybe I'll be an archeologist when I grow up,” I told Tessa.

“I thought you were going to be a lawyer,” she said, “like Mom and Granny.”

I climbed into bed. “I'm not sure,” I said. “Now I think being an archeologist would be okay. I'm patient, and I don't mind dirt. Plus, the work an archeologist does is a little like solving mysteries. And solving mysteries is something I'm good at.”