The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief (2 page)

Here is something I learned that day: When you've got a bunch of people stuck in a hallway, a tiny, harmless bird causes almost as much freak-out as a big, galloping dog.

People jumped, they waved, they ducked—and the more they got excited, the more Humdinger fluttered and flew.

Everybody had a suggestion:

“Try birdseed!”

“A cat!”

“Who's got a net?”

Finally, reinforcements arrived, including a couple of Park Service rangers from outside. Together we ran after Humdinger as he fluttered up the stairs to the
East Room, where he found a perch above a famous portrait of George Washington.

The poor little bird's chest rose and fell like he was exhausted, and Tessa said, “Cammie, what if he has a heart attack?”

Next to me, a kid's voice spoke. “I can get him.”

I looked over and saw our friend Dalton. He's seven like Tessa, and his family was staying with us for a few days. He must've heard the excitement and come down from upstairs.

As we watched, one of the rangers placed a ladder by the fireplace below the Washington portrait. Tessa waved to get the ranger's attention. “Let me try! I'm a good climber.”

Dalton scoffed. “You get dizzy at the top of the jungle gym!”

“Do not,”
Tessa said.

“Do, too,”
Dalton said.

Oh, no. Not this again. My mom and Dalton's dad went to college together. Now Dalton's dad is some kind of money expert who helps out the government sometimes. Anyway, our two families have been friends forever, and Dalton and Tessa always compete. But we didn't have time for it now. And honestly? Dalton's a lot less of a klutz than my sister.

“Tessa,” I said, “stay right where you are. Dalton, go on. Give it a try.”

Up the ladder he went, and a couple of minutes later, Humdinger had hopped onto his finger. As Dalton
climbed down, everyone in the East Room—except Tessa—clapped and cheered.

Upstairs in the Family Kitchen, Dalton put Humdinger safely back in his cage, closed the cage door and latched it. Then Granny got three pink twisty ties from a drawer and wrapped them around the bars of the cage door.

“I always add twisties,” she said, “for extra security.”

Mr. Bryant—he's our friend and Granny's special friend—was in the kitchen with us. He had been studying the birdcage, and now he shook his head. “I don't see how the little fellow escaped.”

“Plus,” I said, “how did he get all the way down to the ground floor?”

“Don't look at me!” Dalton said.

“Of course not,” Granny said. “We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Dalton looked confused.

Tessa said, “
Duh
, Dalton—she's just using a lot of words to say ‘thank you.' ”

“Oh,” said Dalton. “I knew that.
Duh
.”

“All right, everyone, time to wash up,” Granny said.

Dalton and his family were staying in a suite on the third floor. Tessa and I share a bedroom on the second floor over the North Portico—that's the White House front door. I was soaping my hands in our bathroom when I heard an earsplitting scream.

What now?

I sighed, turned off the water, dried my hands and walked back into the bedroom. Tessa was standing in
front of her laundry hamper with her mouth open. The hamper was empty, and dirty clothes were scattered all over the floor.

“My piggy bank,”
Tessa said breathlessly. “
It's gone!”

TESSA'S piggy bank is the old-fashioned pottery kind. It doesn't have a stopper, so the idea is that when it's full, you have to break it. With Tessa, this will never be a problem. She is terrible at saving. Anyway, the bank came from Mexico, and it's pink, and it used to have red and white roses on it—but now they're kind of flaking off.

If you're wondering why she was staring at the laundry hamper, it's because that's where she hides her piggy bank.

“How much money was in it?” I asked. “Like ninety-eight cents?”

Tessa sniffed. “More than that.”

Along with Tessa's clothes on the floor were crayons and paper from some project she'd been doing yesterday. Mrs. Hedges, the maid who cleans our room, was going to have a fit if we didn't get it all picked up.

I looked at my sister and got a surprise: Her face was scrunched like she wanted to cry! This was weird. My sister is a drama queen, but not a crybaby.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I mean, it's gotta be somewhere. You probably just stuck it in a drawer or something.”

Tessa wiped her eyes, shook her head and took a breath. “Okay. You're right. It's not like there could be some piggy bank thief running around.”

There are three dining rooms in the residence part of the White House. The two on the State Floor are for fancy company, like queens and quarterbacks. The one on the second floor, where we were eating that day, is mostly for our family and friends.

Granny and Mr. Bryant were already there with Hooligan when Tessa and I walked in. It turned out Mr. Ng was taking his lunch break, and Granny had agreed that Hooligan could stay with us in the dining room.

“Sit down, you two,” Granny told Tessa and me. This caused Hooligan to sit down, too . . . under the table. “Your mom—” Granny started to say.

I finished the sentence. “—is too busy running the country to eat with us.”

Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “Well,
that's
unusual.”

Granny didn't comment, just dropped into the chair Mr. Bryant held out for her. Then Mr. Bryant took a seat where our dad would usually be. Most Saturdays Dad's here with us, but this weekend he'd stayed in California. That's where he has a job building airplanes.

Over the next few minutes, six more people came in. They were Dalton; his mom and dad; his brother,
Zach; and my aunt Jen and her son, Nate. Like Granny, Aunt Jen and Nate live here with us in the White House.

Zach sat next to me. He's twelve, two years older than I am. He's nice and everything, but kind of nerdy.

Lunch was chicken salad sandwiches with macaroni salad and cut-up celery, carrots and peppers. Everyone else in America eats potato chips with their sandwiches, but Aunt Jen has my whole family on an eat-healthy kick. Sometimes a person is lucky to get a cookie around here.

Meanwhile, Dalton—the lucky pup—is a total candy fiend, and his parents don't even care.

Mr. Patel, one of the butlers, served the lunch, while everybody talked about what they'd done that morning. Dalton and Zach's dad, Dr. Maynard, said he'd been in a meeting, and then had been practicing for the ceremony that was happening in the Rose Garden the next afternoon.

“What ceremony?” Tessa asked.

Dalton answered. “It's the whole reason we're even visiting, Tessa! Dad's giving some guy from some museum a medal. The guy was really brave or something, right?”

Mrs. Maynard pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Not exactly,” she said. “And mind your manners, Dalton. The medal is the first national award for a contribution to numismatics.”

Tessa asked, “What's numis-whatever-you-said?”

Zach made a face. “Now we'll be here all afternoon.”

“Very funny, son,” said Dr. Maynard. “It's pronounced
‘noo-miz-MAT-ics,' Tessa, and it's the study of money.”

Tessa had been about to take a bite, but now she stopped. “You mean money like coins?”

“Coins, beads, seashells—whatever people use for economic transactions,” Dr. Maynard said. “It's a fascinating subject. At least, I think so.”

Tessa put down her sandwich. “Well,
that's
interesting. So do you know . . . uh . . . a lot of stuff about coins?”

“I do, actually,” said Dr. Maynard. “And it's nice to hear some enthusiasm on the subject”—he looked at Dalton and Zach—“for a change.”

Zach said, “I like money fine.”

Dalton nodded. “But coins are boring.”

Dr. Maynard sighed. “Anyway, Tessa, you may not realize that the National Museum of American History has the biggest collection of coins and money anywhere. If you're really interested, we might be able to arrange a tour. Only, the family and I have to leave Monday, so there's not much time.”

Granny said, “I'm sure Cammie and Nate would like to see the coins, too.”

And next thing you know, the grown-ups were checking calendars and Dr. Maynard was texting his friend at the museum. Before I could even finish my sandwich, the whole thing was arranged. We were going to look at the coin collection that very same night.

“This is turning out to be quite an educational Saturday for you children,” Mr. Bryant said. “Archaeology this afternoon, the museum tonight.”

“At least the archaeology part'll be fun,” Dalton said. “I want to dig up a mummy!”

“The archeologist—his name's Professor Mudd—is looking for historic artifacts from the nineteenth century, not mummies, Dalton,” said my cousin Nate, who is ten like me and thinks he knows everything.

“Also, mummies are in Egypt, Dalton—
duh
,” said Tessa.

“I knew that—
duh
,” said Dalton.

“Bet you didn't,” said Tessa.

“Bet I did,” said Dalton.

“Bet you—”

“
Awh-roohr!”
Hooligan howled, which for once was a welcome interruption.

Tessa reached down to pet him, then made a face. “
Ewwwww
—puppy, what's the matter with your mouth? It's bloody!”

I took a look and saw colored blotches on Hooligan's tongue and the fur around his mouth. “I don't think it's blood,” I said, “I mean, unless some of Hooligan's blood is green.”

Mrs. Maynard laid her fork down and frowned.
“Dalton?”

Dalton didn't look at his mom. He looked at Granny and said, “May I be excused, please?”

“Yes, you may, young man,” Granny said, “but before you go, could you hold out your hands?”

Reluctantly, Dalton did, and we all saw the right one was colored the same as Hooligan's mouth, red and green.

Mr. Bryant chuckled. “Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase ‘caught red-handed,' doesn't it?”

Granny said, “Jelly beans?”

Zach said, “Man, she's good.”

Mrs. Maynard looked embarrassed. “Dalton did bring a few bags of jelly beans with him this trip.”

“A few?” Zach said.

“Christmas colors were on sale,” Dr. Maynard explained.

Dalton grinned. “I've got so many I'm even a little sick of 'em. But Hooligan thinks they're delicious!”

Hooligan thumped his tail in agreement.

Then Granny explained that jelly beans aren't healthy food for dogs. And Aunt Jen pointed out they're not healthy for people, either. And Mrs. Maynard, looking embarrassed, promised that if Hooligan got sick, Dalton would pay the vet bill out of his own allowance.

Finally, Dalton said he was sorry like ten times, and that he hoped he could still help with the dig out on the South Lawn.

The answer to that was yes—I think because his parents thought Dalton would get in less trouble outside than in.

AFTER lunch, Mr. Bryant took all of us kids—Tessa, me, Nate, Dalton and Zach—out to the South Lawn through the Diplomatic Reception Room. That winter in Washington had been rainy and cold, but now it was the start of spring, and for once a sunny day. We passed under the Dip Room awning, then walked past the Rose Garden and down toward the swimming pool.

Even though we were basically in our own backyard, we were protected by Secret Service people. Malik, Jeremy and Charlotte and the other officers and agents do their best to stay out of our way, though, as much as they can. That's because my parents want us to feel like normal kids.

Soon we could see the big white canopy Professor Mudd and his crew had put up yesterday. The space underneath was set up like an office, with tables, chairs and storage cupboards. As we got closer, we saw that an area of lawn had been marked off with wooden stakes and orange plastic tape.