The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog by Martha Freeman Page A

“Far be it from me to argue with Granny,” he said. “Going up.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

    WHEN the doors opened, Mr. Bryant said, “Second floor,” but Tessa and I were already sprinting. Luckily, Hooligan’s bed was empty—and our thieving dog was nowhere in sight.
    â€œHere’s the plan,” I said. “Piece by piece, we take the bed apart, then—”
    But Tessa had a different plan: Grab the bed and flip it. Instantly, a thick cloud of Hooligan hair surrounded us. Not to mention a thick cloud of Hooligan stink—
ewwww!
    After that came the rain of stolen Hooligan treasure—limp brown daffodil petals, hand-lettered place cards, polishing cloth, Courtney’s pink marker, a red cell phone . . .
    . . . and Colonel Michaels’s baton!
    I know the cell phone was more important, but I wanted that baton! I reached, but at the same time I heard a dreadful and familiar sound: galloping doggie toenails.
    Oh no!
I looked up, and there was Hooligan, bounding toward us at top speed.
    Tessa and I had the same thought, and we lunged at the same time—
ow!
Our heads collided, knocking us backward. Meanwhile, the sudden move was the perfect spark for an attack of Hooligan frenzy. Before you could say “Stars and Stripes Forever,” our dog had his favorite stick in his fearsome jaws and was spinning in the air.
    At least he left the red cell phone behind. I pocketed it just as Hooligan turned to face us, cocking his head. Here is what he was thinking:
Nyah, nyah, nyah
, nyah,
nyah!
    In a desperate situation with an excited animal, you should never get all dramatic and yell. Instead, you should move slowly and make soft, soothing noises.
    So what did I do?
    Got all dramatic and yelled: “
Hooligan!
This is no time to play! This is an emergency!”
    And what did Hooligan do? Lunged forward, thumped his front paws, sprang into the air and spun so fast he got blurry.
    â€œCatch him!” Tessa yelled.
    And the chase was on.
    You can probably picture a too-big dog running fast with a stick in his mouth. And you can probably picture a too-big dog running fast with a stick in his mouth being chased by two girls in party clothes.
    Now picture this happening on the second floor of the White House.
    Did I mention all the valuable and breakable historic antiques?
    We zigged here, we zagged there—and all the time Hooligan’s too-long tail was brushing, bumping and rattling anything unlucky enough to be at tail level. We had almost caught up—could almost stretch forward and touch him—when he made a sharp right into the Lincoln Bedroom.
    Big mistake, puppy dog! Now we’ve got you!
    Trapped in the farthest corner of the room, Hooligan turned to face us, wagging his tail and slobbering on Colonel Michaels’s favorite baton.
    Slowly, carefully, we crept toward him.
    â€œGood dog, clever dog,” I cooed.
    â€œWe’ll give you all the biscuits in the box,” Tessa murmured.
    I was one creep away when suddenly Hooligan thumped his paws and sprang like a jack-in-the-box onto the big four-poster bed. From there it was an easy bedspring bounce right out the door.
    Tessa scrambled up and used the bed as a lookout. “Cammie—he’s heading downstairs!”
    Oh, no.
    Downstairs were party guests, the Secret Service, Marine Band musicians, photographers and—worst of all—Aunt Jen!
    We had to stop him!
    We couldn’t stop him.
    Soon, we heard the shrieks, thumps and “
Bad dog!
” cries that told us we were too late.
    Tessa and I took the stairs two at a time, but when we got to the entrance hall, Hooligan was gone and the scene was like earthquake aftermath. You gotta hand it to Hooligan. He really knows how to make an impact!
    Aunt Jen did not look happy.
    â€œWhere did he go?” I asked.
    She pointed toward the East Room at the exact moment Hooligan ricocheted out—with all my classmates