Free The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief by Martha Freeman Page A

next stop was the second-floor kitchen for a snack. On the way, we ran into Mr. Ng and handed Hooligan over.
    â€œGood to see you, buddy,” said Mr. Ng. “You know, you’ve got a playdate at four.”
    â€œWith who?” Tessa asked.
    â€œPickles, Ms. Major’s beagle,” Mr. Ng said. “She lives over in Woodbury, and there’s that dog park nearby.”
    Hooligan wagged his tail. He likes Pickles.
    When we got to the kitchen, Nate was already there, eating a bowl of granola while Humdinger serenaded him:
“Twee-twee-twee!”
    â€œIs it just me, or does that bird really need some new material?” I asked.
    Humdinger flapped his wings against the bars of the cage.
    Tessa got up and looked in at him. “Poor birdie, she didn’t mean it!” Then she tested the door latch and itstwisty-tie reinforcement. “I still don’t see how he got out. It’s not like he can undo these with his beak.”
    â€œMaybe Mrs. Hedges opened it to give him water or something,” Nate said.
    â€œMrs. Hedges?” I repeated. “Earth to Nate—I change the paper, and Granny gives him water.”
    â€œSo you’re saying someone deliberately let him out?” Nate asked.
    â€œCrazy, right?” I shook my head. “But so’s all the other stuff going on around here lately. Tessa, can we tell Nate about your piggy bank?”
    Tessa frowned. “You mean
everything
about my piggy bank?”
    I shrugged. “He’ll find out sooner or later. Maybe he can help us.”
    Tessa hesitated, then said, “Oh, all right,” and proceeded to confess.
    This time, she didn’t bother with “It’s not my fault,” and when she was done Nate’s eyes were as round as . . . well, gold coins. For a few seconds it was quiet while he thought through all he had learned. After that, he must’ve decided he wasn’t a perfect person, either, because what he said was all about the mystery: “We know the coin was in the piggy bank. So that makes it logical that the thief smashed the bank to open it, found the coin and kept it. All that’s left to figure out is: Who’s the thief?”
    Brilliant, Nate
, I thought. And at the same moment, a voice from the doorway said, “Who’s
what
thief?”
    Uh-oh.
    It was Granny, and she was all dressed up.
    No one answered, and then something lucky happened. Granny got furious at us!
    â€œWhy on earth aren’t you children cleaned up yet? It’s almost three-fifteen!”
    â€œCleaned up for what?” Nate asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean, what? The Rose Garden ceremony honoring Mr. August!” she answered.
    Tessa whined, “Nobody told us we have to go, and I hate ceremonies.”
    Sometimes Granny is exactly like Tessa—like right then, when she waved her arms dramatically. “Well, of
course
you have to go! The medal is being presented by Dr. Maynard, and he is one of your mother’s oldest friends, not to mention a family friend. Get a move on, people! I want you outside ready for pictures in fifteen minutes!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

    TESSA usually takes forever to get ready for an event.
    But like a dose of jet fuel, Granny’s anger sped her up. Both of us were clean, dressed and buckling our shoes with five minutes to spare.
    â€œGet your notebook, Cammie,” Tessa said. “This is probably my last chance before . . .” She drew a finger across her neck, stuck her tongue out and dropped her head to one side.
    My notebook was on my desk, and I got up to retrieve it. I guess I hadn’t been exactly tidy changing my clothes earlier, because my capris were on the floor in my way. Mad at myself, I kicked them, and something fell out of the pocket.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Tessa pointed.
    I reached down and came up with . . . three pink twisty ties?
    Tessa’s mouth fell open.
“Cameron