The Case of the Bug on the Run by Martha Freeman Read Free Book Online Page A

done, I reached for the notebook in my pocket and touched something round and smooth—James Madison’s mobile home.
    That’s when—duh—I realized something you probably figured out a mile ago.
    Tessa and I had a big problem!
    How were we supposed to interview a suspect about a bugged bug when the bugged bug could hear every one of our questions?
    â€œTessa, wait!” I pulled James Madison out of my pocket and showed her.
    â€œUh-oh,” said Tessa.
    Meanwhile, Ms. Major, the photographer and the news guys also caught sight of James Madison, and there was a general chorus of
“Ewwwww!”
    The protesters must’ve known
“Ewwwww”
referred to the cockroach because they started chanting again:
    â€œTwo, four, six, eight
,
    Who ya gonna liberate?
    Cockroach! Cockroach! Yeah!”
    The slogan gave me an idea. “James Madison,” I said, “how would you like to romp in the dirt and sunshine for a few minutes? And meanwhile maybe Charlotte could bug-sit?”
    Charlotte blinked. “I’m pretty sure bug-sitting is not part of my job description.”
    Tessa flashed one of her world-famous smiles. “Pretty please?”
    Charlotte sniffed. “Oh, all right. As long as I don’t have to touch him.”
    I twisted the lid off James Madison’s box and dumped him—gently—out. Preceded by his curious antennae, he ambled off toward the basil, zucchini and bush beans.
    â€œNow, Mr. Amaro,” said Tessa. “If you’ll step this way? I have just a few questions.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    Mr. Amaro, Tessa and I walked to the other side of the Kitchen Garden, where James Madison couldn’t hear us. Tessa crossed her arms over her chest, getting ready to ask questions. But before she did, I wanted to say something: “We’re really sorry about our pets last night at the dinner, Mr. Amaro. They don’t mean to be bad. They just have too much energy.”
    Mr. Amaro laughed. “Are you kidding? They were awesome! I never got so much publicity for a gig in all my years as a celebrity chef.”
    â€œSo you’re not mad?” Tessa said.
    â€œNot me, chickadee,” said Mr. Amaro.
    â€œIn that case,” said Tessa, “where did you go last night when you had to leave the dinner early? Were you upstairs in our room putting James Madison back in his tank?”
    My sister does not fool around when she interviews a suspect.
    Mr. Amaro looked puzzled. “Say what?”
    I tried to help him out. “You can skip the second part if you want.”
    â€œAwesome,” said Mr. Amaro. “As for where I went when I left the dinner—that was to the restroom. It was, uh . . . kind of an emergency.”
    â€œWhich restroom?” Tessa asked.
    Mr. Amaro raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want the details?”
    My little sister doesn’t like to talk about burps, let alone restrooms. She shook her head. “That’s okay. Forget I asked. And I guess you don’t have proof?”
    â€œIck!” said Mr. Amaro.
    â€œHow about a new line of questioning?” I suggested.
    â€œGood idea,” said Tessa. “Mr. Amaro, where were you yesterday after lunch?”
    â€œWhy, I was in and out of the kitchen all afternoon, helping to make dinner. There’s a pile o’ witnesses if you need ’em. But what’s the deal, huh? Are the famous White House sleuths investigating a case? Hey”—he grinned—“and am I a suspect? How cool is that? Who is it you think I murdered?”
    â€œWe mostly investigate stolen things,” I said.
    â€œAnd I only have one more question,” Tessa said. “What do you know about teeny tiny transmitters?”
    Mr. Amaro shrugged. “Not much anymore. I was a radio guy in the army, but that was a long time ago, and the technology has changed.” He pulled out his phone to check the time. “Will