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talking security breach.”
    â€œSecurity what?” Tessa asked.
    â€œNow there’s no need to worry,” said Mr. Ross. “But let’s say we really had a thief in the White House. We’d have to restrict access till the problem was resolved.”
    This time Tessa looked at me. “ ‘Access’?”
    â€œPeople coming to visit,” I said.
    Tessa waved her hands the way she does.
“Like for example The Song Boys?”
    â€œNow, girls, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Mr. Ross. “It’s just that Mrs. Silver was beside herself over those place cards. And then there’s the baton. . . . But the other items are trivial, and I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm. Do you have more questions?”
    We didn’t. So Mr. Ross wished us good luck and headed for his office. We were right behind him till Tessa stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
    â€œCammie,” she said, “who would move one of those vases, anyway?”
    â€œI dunno,” I said. “Somebody dusting?”
    Tessa shook her head. “The maids are super careful. And Granny said a clue could be something out of place. Those vases are tall and they have lids. Wouldn’t a baton just fit?”
    One second later, I was reaching for a vase. When I lifted the lid, I saw there
was
something inside: a poor, dead, dried-out fly.
    Because she takes ballet, Tessa is good at standing on her tiptoes. But she is shorter than me and bobbled her vase. If it broke, Aunt Jen would kill us . . . but finally Tessa got a grip. Then she lifted the lid, looked inside, and said, “I see something, Cammie!”
    â€œThe baton?”
    Tessa reached in and . . . it was not the baton. Itwas something shorter and fatter that was wrapped in a napkin. Carefully, Tessa unfolded the napkin and revealed . . .
    . . . six cookies?
    Score
, Cammie and Tessa!
    But wait—were they green and stale?
    Tessa inspected them one by one. Then, bravely, she tried a nibble. After she swallowed, I counted to ten. When she didn’t double over or throw up, I took one and tried it, too.
    Delicious!
    It took approximately thirty seconds for us to devour all six cookies. I was wiping the last crumbs from my lips when I thought of something. “Wait a sec, Tess. If those are the missing cookies from yesterday—”
    â€œâ€”then we just ate the evidence!” Tessa said.
    But the cookies didn’t have anything to do with the baton.
    Did they?
    Before I could ponder that question, I had something new to think about—a loud buzz from outside that finally changed into
WOP-wop WOP-wop WOP-wop
.
    Helicopters! And they were coming this way!
    â€œWe’d better hurry,” I said to Tessa, and we ran for the stairs.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    HELICOPTERS can only mean one thing on Friday afternoon.
    Daddy’s home!
    The helicopter that carries the president is called Marine One. A helicopter carrying anybody else in our family is called Marine One Foxtrot.
F
for
foxtrot
,
F
for
family
. Get it?
    No matter who’s inside, the helicopters travel in a group, and nobody knows which one has passengers. This is supposed to fool bad guys.
    It also fools Tessa and me. Usually when we try to guess which one Mom or Dad is in, we are wrong.
    Granny and Malik—he’s another Secret Service agent—were at the Dip Room door when we got there.
    â€œThe one on the left?” Malik guessed.
    â€œI think the one in the middle,” I said.
    â€œI vote with Cammie,” Tessa said.
    The helicopter rotors slowed, and their whirlwinddied. Finally, the hatches opened—and Dad emerged from the one on the left.
    â€œ
Yesss!
” Malik said.
    â€œHow do you
do
that?” Tessa asked.
    Malik grinned. “The Secret Service has its secrets.”
    Dad waved to the news guys, came down the steps, stopped and