The Case of the Bug on the Run by Martha Freeman Page A

the staff wasn’t even allowed to use it, only the president’s family.
    Mr. Bryant used to have the elevator job before he got a new job watching Hooligan. Now the elevator operator is Mr. Jackson. He’s nice, and he usually knows all about anything going on in the White House.
    Tessa must have been thinking about Mr. Jackson while she walked silently across the South Lawn from the Kitchen Garden. In the Dip Room, she tugged my arm.
    â€œWhat about if you take the stairs, dear sister?” she asked—sounding exactly normal. “While I, instead, ascend in the elevator?”
    I almost argued. I had walked just as far as she had, hadn’t I? And if anything, I was sweatier. But then she winked about twelve times and pointed at the pocket where James Madison was—and I caught on. If she took the elevator, she could ask Mr. Jackson questions without James Madison hearing.
    I winked back and gave her a thumbs-up.
    Back in our bedroom, I put James Madison away in his tank, then went to wash my hands. Taped to the bathroom mirror was a note from Granny. It said:
Don’t forget to give away the kittens
.
    When I came out, Tessa was there, and I handed her the note.
    â€œBut I don’t want to!” she wailed.
    â€œI know, Tessa. I don’t, either. But we can’t win this fight because we can’t have Granny mad at us forever. If you get the art stuff, we can make flyers that say ‘Kittens free to good home.’ Nate will help us. Plenty of people work in the White House. If we post them, somebody nice will take the Ks.”
    Since we wanted to talk about the case while we worked, we had to get James Madison out of the way. Luckily, I had an idea. Our secret weapon is not only good at finding things, he has a built-in alarm system, too.
    So I went to find Mr. Bryant and ask if Hooligan was available.
    Ten minutes later, Hooligan was guarding James Madison in our room, and Tessa, Nate and I were seated at a round table in the West Sitting Hall. We had laid newspaper out on the table so we didn’t make a mess. In front of each of us was a stack of paper. In the middle of the table was a pile of markers. We had glue and glitter just in case we got inspired.
    â€œI am not a very good artist,” Nate said after we explained about the kitten flyers.
    â€œWait—you mean there’s something you’re not good at?” I said.
    Nate said, “Very funny.”
    My family has lived in Washington since my mom was elected senator from California seven years ago. Nate and Aunt Jen moved here from San Diego in January when Mom got to be president and our family came to live in the White House. At first, my cousin always acted
so
superior, but after being around nice, normal kids like Tessa and me, he’s improved a lot.
    â€œIf you don’t want to draw, you can read the notes from my interview with Mr. Amaro,” I told Nate.
    Tessa said, “We can skip that part. Mr. Amaro didn’t bug the bug.”
    Nate and I looked at each other. Then we looked at Tessa. Trying to act casual, she picked up a black marker and drew two kitten ears.
    â€œOh, so now who’s acting ‘so superior’?” I asked.
    Tessa giggled. “I know, right? I figured it out all by myself. Mr. Amaro was scared of the eensy teensy spider.No way could he have picked up a giant hissing cockroach!”
    â€œWhat spider?” Nate asked.
    I explained.
    Nate nodded. “Well, in that case—duh! Of course Tessa’s right. I don’t see why you didn’t figure that out, too, Cammie.”
    I ignored this comment. “I guess for now we can cross Mr. Amaro off our list. Tessa, what did Mr. Jackson say about who rode his elevator last night?”
    Tessa picked up a red marker. “Only Mr. Schott.”
    Nate said, “Of course! We should’ve thought of him sooner. He for sure has the technical knowledge. And he’s a guest, so he can go on