The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief (8 page)

BOOK: The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief
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GRANNY used to come with us to our church, which is near Dupont Circle. But since she and Mr. Bryant got together, she's been going to church with him. Like Mr. Bryant, most of the people who worship there are African-American. Granny says she likes the services because they're lively.

But I like our church. The stained-glass windows are pretty. We get to sing. And in the boring parts, I have time to think.

That morning, I had a lot to think about. In fact, without exactly intending to, I started adding to the list of what we knew about the case. I couldn't very well write anything down with Mom sitting next to me. So I made the list in my head and tried to be logical, thinking of each new item in the order we had found it out.

•
Old gold coin could be worth a million dollars
.

•
Hooligan dug holes at the dig site Friday afternoon (probably looking for a mole)
.

•
Wen Fei and Stephanie say they were at university Saturday afternoon checking data on supercomputer
.

•
Supercomputer also says there's gold
.

•
Wen Fei and Stephanie are starving students
.

•
Professor Mudd's project needs money?

So far, I had been thinking at the same time I was standing up and sitting down and saying responses with the rest of the congregation. When the pastor stood up to give the sermon, I could finally sit still and concentrate.

Right away I thought of what Granny had told us about how important unusual stuff could be—even if it didn't seem related.

So I added:

•
Tessa acting goofy lately
.

•
1) totally tore room apart looking for piggy bank with two dollars and 12 cents in it
.

•
2) accused Nate and me of “interrogating” her about watching Hooligan so Mr. Bryant could play tennis with Granny on Friday afternoon
.

Wait a sec—Tessa was watching Hooligan on Friday afternoon?

Hadn't Hooligan dug the holes Friday afternoon? And hadn't we figured out that the gold must have disappeared Friday afternoon, too?

I guessed Tessa hadn't been doing a very good job of watching Hooligan if she'd let him dig a bunch of holes.

Then I remembered something else that had happened on Friday afternoon. Tessa had told me she'd put some money in the piggy bank then. That was how she remembered when she'd seen her piggy bank last.

Where would Tessa have gotten money on Friday, anyway? If she had ever done any extra chores lately, I hadn't heard about them. And we get paid our allowance on Monday.

I didn't want to think what I was thinking. It was too terrible.

And right then, I didn't have to. The sermon was over. It was time to sing. The hymn was one I didn't know: “Are Ye Able?”

In hymn talk, “ye” means “you.” The point of this one, as best I can figure it out, is that you shouldn't be too hard on people for not being perfect. The second part of the hymn goes:

Are ye able to remember,
When a thief lifts up his eyes,
That his pardoned soul is worthy
Of a place in paradise?

I was quiet on the drive home, and—was I imagining it?—Tessa avoided looking at me. Then, when we got back, Tessa announced she was going to the kitchen to see if Granny needed help making lunch.

Mom looked surprised. “That's very nice of you, muffin. I guess all the church on Sunday is paying off.”

Not to be negative or anything, but I wasn't so sure.

“Will you be at lunch, too, Mom?” I asked.

Mom shook her head. “Working lunch in the Oval Office for me. I have to meet with Susan about that ceremony later.”

Susan is one of the speechwriters. What that means is, my mom tells Susan what she wants to say in her speech, and then Susan tells my mom how to say it.

I gave my mom a kiss and went to change back into my digging clothes. I was thinking how no one had told me I had to go to the ceremony, so maybe I didn't, when I noticed Tessa's crayons and paper were still on the rug by the window.

Oh, Tessa.

Mrs. Hedges was already mad about the dirt in the sink Friday. She wasn't going to like it if crayon marked up the rug, too. Tessa didn't deserve it, but I did her a favor and gathered it all up. I wasn't trying to snoop—honest—but I couldn't help seeing what Tessa had drawn: a series of splotchy yellow circles.

Huh?

I studied the circles on my way over to my sister's desk. It took a moment before I recognized a lady in a funky hat, besides some hard-to-make-out letters and numbers.

Then, all of a sudden, three things happened at once:

The circles made sense, my terrible suspicion was confirmed, and I had to sit down.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“GRANNY?” It was a few minutes later, and I was in the doorway to the Family Kitchen. “Could I borrow Tessa? It's kind of important.”

“Are you sure you need her?” Granny smiled at my sister, who was standing at the sink. “She's awfully useful when it comes to washing grapes.”

I said, “I'm sure,” and Granny nodded. I bet she wondered why I looked so serious.

Back in our bedroom, I told Tessa to sit.

“Uh . . . maybe I could just change my clothes while you're talking to me?” she tried. “Because, uh . . . after lunch we have to . . .”

I didn't say anything, just shook my head and pointed at the chair. Tessa sat down. I stayed on my feet and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Where did the dirt in your sink Friday come from, anyway?” I asked.

Tessa opened her mouth and closed it before answering: “The South Lawn.”

“Just exactly where on the South Lawn?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Over kind of by the dig site.”

“And how did the dirt get from out there to in here—our bathroom?”

“Uh . . . it was on something,” she said, “something I needed to wash off in the sink.”

“And that something was . . . ?” I asked.

Tessa looked at her feet. “I don't want to tell you.”

“Unh-hunh,” I said. “Tell me anyway.”

Tessa sighed. “A gold coin with a lady on it, a lady in a funky hat.”

“Like the one we saw at the museum?” I said. “The one that's probably worth more than a million dollars?”

“Yeah,” she said, “like that one.”

I had known the answers to my questions before I asked. But still—hearing Tessa say them out loud put my feelings in a jumble. And before I could sort them out, Tessa said, “Cammie, can I ask you something? What's a pardoned soul?”

It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about the hymn from church, the hymn that said even thieves can go to paradise so long as they're pardoned.

I could see why she might be curious.

“Pardoned is the same as forgiven,” I said.

Tessa nodded. “And do you think to be forgiven you have to confess?”

“Totally,” I said.

“Okay then,” Tessa said. “In that case, I guess I better tell you what happened. But you know what? It wasn't exactly my fault—”

“Tessa—”

“—because Hooligan dug all those holes when the big fat cat distracted me—”

“—Tessa?”

“—and if I hadn't been distracted he never would've, and then I wouldn't've found the gold in one of the holes he dug and taken it because I saw it was pretty even though there was so much dirt on it. But I didn't know it was important till later when we were out at the dig site and Wen Fei and Stephanie were telling about the gold they found with their gadget. That's when my stomach started to hurt, remember?”

“I remember, but, Tessa—”

“—So anyway, I picked it up and brought it inside and washed it off and then, because I never saw one like it, I made yellow crayon rubbings—I couldn't find a gold crayon—and after that—”

“Tessa!”

She blinked. “What?”

“I don't think it counts as confessing unless first you admit it really was your fault.”

Tessa looked surprised. “Who made that rule?”

I didn't have an answer, so I asked another question. “Why did you go and put the gold coin in your piggy bank, anyway?”

Tessa looked at me like I was crazy. “
Duh
, Cammie. Because a piggy bank is where a person keeps coins!”

“So,” I said, thinking out loud, “it wasn't the two dollars and twelve cents in the piggy bank that the thief wanted. And it wasn't an antique piggy bank with
pimples, either. It was a gold coin that might be worth a million dollars. In that case, the question is: Who besides you knew what was in the piggy bank?”

Tessa waved her arms the way she does. “If I knew
that
, I could've solved the case myself, Cammie! But that's just it. Nobody knew. Honest, I didn't tell a soul!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I had one more question for my sister. “Since all along you knew where the gold was, why did you act like you thought Wen Fei and Stephanie had it?”

Tessa turned pink. “I feel bad about that,” she said. “But I figured if you and Nate suspected them, you wouldn't suspect me. And then I thought I could get the gold back myself before anybody got in real trouble.”

“You realize now we have to tell the grown-ups?” I said.

Tessa said, “I know,” and if I'd been smart, I would have marched her to the kitchen to tell Granny right away.

Only—call me a wimp—I couldn't do that to my very own sister. So for a while she and I both sat there in our bedroom being dejected.

Then I had an idea. The piggy bank had been in Tessa's laundry hamper, right? Which meant it smelled more or less like Tessa. And since that was true . . .

It was a dumb idea, and it would probably never
work. But: (a) it wouldn't hurt to give it a try; and (b) it was an excuse to put off Tessa's execution.

I explained, and Tessa was so totally relieved not to have to confess right away that she said, “You're the best sister
ever
!” and gave me a big, clingy hug.

“But, Tessa”—I undid the hug—“if this doesn't work, we go to Granny. Deal?”

Tessa nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

Half an hour later, full of grapes and vegetable soup, we were back in our room, this time with Hooligan. We had borrowed him from Mr. Ng.

“Okay, Cammie,” Tessa said, “I'm ready! Now what do we do?”

I opened my mouth to answer . . . and realized I didn't know. I'd gotten the idea that we could use Hooligan to track a piggy bank that smelled like Tessa from books I've read. I mean, Hooligan has to be at least part bloodhound; Dad says he's part every kind of dog.

The thing is, what I remembered was the idea, not the details. I hadn't exactly been taking notes when I read those books.

Then I looked at Tessa and Hooligan, who were looking back at me with total faith. Since I couldn't let them down, I had only one choice: Fake it.

“What we do first is . . . uh, we give Hooligan something to smell that smells like the piggy bank,” I said.

Tessa looked doubtful. “Like dirty laundry, you mean?”

I tried to sound confident. “Totally.”

Tessa wrinkled her nose. “If you say so.” She went over to her laundry hamper, opened it and pulled out the sweaty leotard, holding a teeny corner with two fingers like it was the grossest thing yet.

Hooligan didn't think the leotard was gross. He thought it was delicious—so of course he lunged for it and would have taken a big bite, except Tessa yanked it away, which for Hooligan was even better because now they were playing tug-of-war, one of his all-time favorite games.

“No, Hooligan! Bad!” Tessa cried. Trying to protect her leotard, she held it up and jumped on her bed, so of course Hooligan followed with a surprisingly graceful leap, which meant that in a second Tessa was shrieking, and they were both bouncing so the springs squeaked, and we were not only a long way from Hooligan ever sniffing out the piggy bank, we were about to get in a lot of trouble because Granny would hear the noise and come in and catch Tessa and Hooligan playing trampoline in the house.

BOOK: The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief
8.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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