The Case of the Bug on the Run by Martha Freeman

to see you!”
    He wasn’t trying to knock anybody over.
    Still, he knocked somebody over.
    â€œOuch, puppy,” said Tessa from where she lay on the grass.
    Hooligan, sometimes known as our secret weapon, circled back and licked her face to apologize.
    â€œNever mind.” Tessa sat up and wiped off the dog slobber. “Do we have anything that smells like cockroach, Cammie?”
    I knelt, twisted the lid off James Madison’s empty mobile home and stuck it in front of Hooligan’s nose. “This is what we’re looking for,” I said.
    Hooligan sniffed the plastic and scarfed down the leftover banana peel. “Can you do it, puppy?” I asked.
    â€œOf course he can!” said Tessa. “Hooligan, go find!”
    You may have noticed that our secret weapon has a mind of his own.
    What we expected him to do was bury his nose in the dirt and sniff.
    What he actually did was raise his head, perk up his ears and listen.
    Did he hear the hiss of a missing cockroach?
    He definitely heard something. And whatever it was caused him to plow into the green tangle of garden, trampling everything in his path.
    â€œMy oregano!” The White House head gardener closed his eyes. “I can’t watch.”
    Lucky for the oregano, the doggy destruction lasted only a few moments; then Hooligan lowered his head and snatched something in his fearsome jaws.
    I couldn’t see what it was, but I could hear:
“Ssssss!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    Even if cockroaches like cozy spaces, the inside of a dog’s mouth is not that comfortable. I know because of the desperate way James Madison wiggled his legs and antennae.
    â€œGo-o-o-od puppy,” Tessa cooed at Hooligan. “Don’t crunch. Just give him over.”
    Hooligan considered obeying but then had a better idea. He pulled back, thumped his paws, threw his head from side to side and growled: Cockroach tug-o’-war! Doggy fun at its finest!
    Tessa was not amused. She put her hands on her hips and did her best impression of Granny. “Drop it.”
    Hooligan dropped it.
    Meanwhile, I was wondering how the last few minutes had looked to the spy watching and listening to Bug TV. First there had been darkness in my pocket, then a sunny garden with an herb jungle and mountain-sized zucchini.
    After that came the slobbery pink inside of Hooligan’smouth with its border of treacherous, pointy teeth, and the lurching side-to-side fun-house-in-space while Hooligan swung his head.
    Was the spy watching live right now? Or would he watch the footage recorded later? Either way, it was going to make him dizzy.
    At last, Tessa got hold of James Madison, who was sticky with dog slobber and streaked with dirt. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed James Madison’s . . . uh . . . face. It was hard to tell if this made him any cleaner.
    Trying to sound exactly normal, I said, “Tessa, our cousin Nathan should be finished with practicing piano by now. Let us go back up to the house and have a pleasant chat with him, shall we?”
    â€œYeah, we gotta work on the case some more,” Tessa said. “Did you believe Mr. Amaro when he said he had to leave the dinner—Hey! That hurt! Why did you kick me?”
    I raised my eyebrows and nodded at James Madison. “Remember?”
    â€œRight!” my sister said. “And you know what, Cammie? I think I’m just going to be quiet while we walk back to the White House.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
    There are three elevators in the White House.
    The fanciest one is the Family Elevator. On the ground floor, it opens across the Center Hall from the Diplomatic Reception Room, also known as the Dip Room. How fancy is the Family Elevator?
    So fancy it has wood paneling. So fancy there has to be an operator to make it work. So fancy that the operator always wears a tuxedo. So fancy that a First Lady a long time ago tried to make it a rule that