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questions.”
    â€œIt could be that someone else left the dinner early as well,” said Mr. Bryant. “But not everyone has access to the second floor, as Mr. Amaro does.”
    Tessa said, “Plus, he likes bugs. Woo-hoo! A for-real suspect! I think we’re going to have to ask that gentleman just a few simple questions.”
    In case you can’t tell, my sister’s favorite part of detecting is asking suspects questions.
    â€œBut why would a chef want to spy on the White House?” I asked. “Mr. Amaro doesn’t have a motive.”
    â€œWell, if you’re looking for a motive,” Tessa said, “I know who has one: Mr. Lozana! His blog would be a lot more interesting if he had a secret spy in the White House.”
    â€œIt’s true that Mr. Lozana knew about the cockroach. He was also upstairs yesterday afternoon,” Granny said.
    â€œBut Courtney has been my best friend forever!” I said. “And Mr. Lozana wasn’t ever in the White House last night.”
    â€œNot as far as we know,” said Nate.
    Tessa shrugged. “Write down Mr. Lozana as a maybe suspect, Cammie. It can’t hurt to ask Courtney some questions, right?”
    Reluctantly, I wrote Mr. Lozana’s name.
    Meanwhile, our plates began to rattle. Hooligan, awake and scrabbling to his feet, had caused a table quake! It took a few seconds for him to sort out his paws and tail; then he seated himself by my chair andlooked up with heartbreak in his eyes. He had just realized the banana pancakes were gone.
    â€œCome on, old man.” Mr. Bryant scratched behind Hooligan’s ears. “Let’s the two of us go for a little walk. Would anyone like to join us?”
    Nate said, “I have to practice piano.”
    My cousin is some kind of piano genius, so—except when he’s studying a kind of arithmetic I can’t even pronounce—he usually has to practice piano.
    â€œWhy don’t you girls go put on your sneakers and head out, too?” Granny said. “I understand Mr. Amaro is supposed to be in the Kitchen Garden this morning. Something about tomatoes. If you want to ask him some questions, you can probably catch up with him there.”
    Tessa and I got up to go. Then I remembered something. “Granny—James Madison needs breakfast, too. Have you got anything he might like?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    Back in our room, Mrs. Hedges was changing the sheets on our beds.
    â€œMore laundry. More work for me. And all those houseguests, too,” she muttered.
    Tessa and I read each other’s thoughts. James Madison’s microphone was hearing Mrs. Hedges’s complaints. What if the spy who was watching Bug TV told the world our family was mean to people who work in the White House? This could make our mom look bad!
    Tessa said, “Mrs. Hedges, are you working too hard?”
    Mrs. Hedges hadn’t heard us come in. Now she jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”
    I said, “Maybe you’d like to sit down and take a break.”
    â€œI could get you a cup of tea,” Tessa said. “Or how about lemonade?”
    Mrs. Hedges frowned. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
    â€œWe’re always nice!” I said.
    Mrs. Hedges put her hands over her ears. “Well, you don’t need to shout about it.” Then she softened up. “I said good morning to James Madison when I came in. I’m not sure, but I think he waved an antenna back.”
    â€œWould you like to feed him?” I held up the breakfast Granny had given me.
    â€œHe likes banana peels?” Mrs. Hedges said.
    â€œCockroaches have many fine qualities,” I said. “And one is that they’re not picky eaters.”
    Mrs. Hedges opened the lid of James Madison’s tank and laid the peel on the dirt. Then we put the lid back on and hooked it closed. Soon James Madison ambled over and stood on top of his