Mystery at the Washington Monument Read online

  Suddenly the monkey shrieked and began struggling to get out of Marshall’s arms.

  The tourists looked up. “Look, a monkey!” one of them cried.

  “Why is there a monkey in the Washington Monument?” another tourist asked.

  “Please step into the elevator,” Opal said.

  They stepped in, the door closed, and KC heard the whirring sound as the elevator rose.

  Marshall stroked the monkeys back. “He’s trembling,” Marshall said. “I guess he doesn’t like tourists.”

  “Come on,” KC said. “Let’s take him home. And we have to name him. We can’t just call him Monkey!”

  “Any ideas?” Marshall asked.

  “Yeah. Let’s call him Marshall,” KC teased.

  “Very funny,” Marshall said. “But I think we should name him Washington.”

  KC smiled. “Excellent!” she said.

  4

  Too Many Mysteries

  KC and Marshall walked back to the White House.

  “Come on, Marsh, let’s go online and find out what kind of monkey Washington is,” KC said when they were inside.

  “He’s a spider monkey,” Marshall said.

  KC laughed. “Of course you’d think that,” she said. Marshall loved anything with more than four legs—bugs, spiders, you name it.

  “No, really! They’re called spider monkeys because they have long, skinny legs like spiders,” he told KC. “They eat fruit and insects.”

  The kids went to KC’s room. Marshall put the monkey on the bed. Right away Washington hopped off and began exploring. He picked up things, tasted them, shook them, smacked them together.

  KC sat down and turned on the computer. Over her desk was a framed map of Washington, D.C. Marshall pulled up a second chair. “Should I search for all monkeys?” she asked Marshall.

  “Naw, there are too many different kinds,” he said. “Why not type in spider monkey and see what you get?”

  In a few seconds, they were looking at a Web site about spider monkeys. There was a picture of a monkey that looked exactly like Washington.

  “You were right, Marsh,” KC said.

  “Told you so,” Marshall said with a grin.

  Both kids read the page silently. “It says spider monkeys can even grab things with their tails!” KC said.

  Marshall pointed to the screen. “Look, if you click on that button, we can hear what spider monkeys sound like,” he said.

  “Cool!” KC clicked the mouse, and the room filled with chirping and squeaking noises. Washington leaped through the air and landed on the desk. He put his tiny hands on the computer and listened. His eyes were wide. He began to make his own squeaky noises.

  KC clicked again, and the monkey sounds went away. “I don’t want him to get sad,” she told Marshall. “He probably thought he was back home again.”

  Washington stood on his back legs and rested his front paws on the framed map. He put his nose against the glass where the word WASHINGTON was printed in block letters.

  “Look! He can read his name!” KC joked.

  “Ha-ha,” Marshall said. “Why—”

  SMASH!

  Marshall and KC whipped around.

  Washington was holding a paperweight in both hands. He had smacked it against the map. The glass had cracked.

  “Washington, no!” KC said. She took the paperweight away from him. “Bad monkey!”

  “Gee, maybe he doesn’t like his name after all,” Marshall said.

  Washington tapped on the glass with his paws, over and over.

  Marshall picked up Washington and carried him to the bed. The monkey jumped right off and leaped back onto KC’s desk. He again began tapping on the map of Washington, D.C.

  “Maybe he really can read his name,” KC said. She wasn’t joking anymore.

  She and Marshall stared at each other for a minute. Could this monkey read?

  “I know how we can test him,” Marshall said slowly. “Come on!”

  Marshall carried Washington to a hallway where there was no furniture. A red carpet ran the length of the hall. The only objects were pictures on the walls and a long row of statues of past presidents. Each marble statue sat on a pedestal. The president’s name was carved into the base of the statue.

  “Okay, I’m going to put him down and see what he does,” Marshall said. He set Washington on the floor.

  Washington scampered around for a few minutes. Every time he came close to the statue of George Washington, KC and Marshall held their breath. But every time, the monkey ran right past the statue.

  “Oh well,” Marshall said, “I guess we were wrong.”

  “Wait!” KC shouted. “Look!”

  Washington had leaped onto the statue of George Washington. The base had WASHINGTON written in large letters. The monkey started tapping it.

  Marshall scooped Washington off the pedestal and set him on his shoulder.

  “Marsh, put him down again,” KC said.

  Marshall bent to set Washington on the floor.

  “No, not there, take him way down at the end, next to the statue of Thomas Jefferson,” KC said.

  Marshall carried Washington about thirty feet down the hall. When he set him on the carpet, Washington ran back to the George Washington statue. Again he climbed up on the pedestal. Again he started slapping his paws against the president’s name.

  Marshall plucked Washington from the pedestal. “Maybe he’s trying to tell us that he doesn’t like George Washington,” he said. “Or Washington, D.C.,” he added, remembering the map.

  “No, Marshall, I think he likes Washington just fine,” KC said. “And I think I’ve just figured out one of our mysteries!”

  5

  Monkey See, Monkey Do

  Marshall sat on the floor with the monkey in his lap. “I don’t get it,” he said.

  KC dropped down next to Marshall. “In my room a few minutes ago, he hit the map on the word Washington, right?” she asked.

  Marshall nodded.

  “And just now, he tapped the name Washington on the statue,” KC went on. “With all these other presidents standing around, he picked Washington.”

  Marshall just looked at KC. “So what does that have to do with our mystery?” he asked.

  “Marsh, back in the Monument, which memorial stone had a hole in it?” KC asked.

  “The one from Washington State,” he said. “Oh my gosh!”

  “Here’s what I think,” KC said, petting Washington. “I think someone snuck this monkey into the Monument last night. The light we saw must have been from a flashlight.”

  “Okay, I’m with you,” Marshall said.

  “That person had trained Washington to climb up to that state of Washington memorial stone and hit on the o” KC continued. “When he smacked the o, he broke through it. That’s what made the broken plaster that Butch showed us.”

  “Holy moly!” Marshall said. “But why would someone do that?”

  “There must have been something hidden in that hole!” KC said. “Something important enough to sneak in with a trained monkey to get it.”

  “Like what? Gold? Money? Jewels?” Marshall’s eyes lit up.

  KC shrugged. She had no idea what was hidden in the hole.

  “I wonder who trained him to do that,” KC went on.

  “I’ll bet it’s hard to train a monkey,” Marshall said. He stroked Washington’s thin arms. The monkey pulled his right arm away.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Marshall asked the monkey. “Does something hurt?”

  When KC and Marshall tried to examine the arm, Washington pulled away again. He began to tremble.

  “Maybe he hurt it banging against the statue,” KC suggested.

  “Should we take him to a vet?” Marshall asked.

  “I guess so,” KC said. “But where can we find a vet who treats monkeys?”

  “Easy,” Marshall said. He slung one arm around KC’s shoulders. “At the National Zoo, right here in D.C.”

/>   KC grinned at Marshall. “Sometimes you’re brilliant!” she said.

  “You mean sometimes I’m not brilliant?” Marshall teased.

  KC and Marshall took Washington back to KC’s room. KC called the National Zoo and asked for a monkey vet.

  She told someone she had a spider monkey with a hurt arm.

  “My name is KC Corcoran,” she added. “My stepfather is President Thornton.”

  A minute later, she hung up. She had a big smile on her face. “Dr. Tutu is going to meet us at the main gate,” she said.

  “How will we get Washington there?” Marshall asked. “I don’t know if they allow monkeys on the Metro trains.”

  “I know,” KC said. She grabbed her backpack and unzipped the top compartment. She lined it with an old sweatshirt and set Washington down inside.

  The monkey curled into a ball and closed its eyes.

  “He likes it in there!” KC said.

  “Maybe it reminds him of the nest where he was born,” Marshall suggested.

  The kids took the Metro train. They got off at the zoo stop. It was a ten-minute walk to the zoo.

  Even outside the gate, the sweet smell of wild animals and exotic plants told them they were getting close.

  A tall man wearing shorts and a tropical shirt waited under a tree. Around his neck was a thick necklace of colored beads. The necklace shone against his dark skin.

  KC and Marshall approached the man. “Hi, I’m KC, and this is Marshall,” KC said.

  “And I am Dr. Tutu,” the man said. “Where is your little friend?”

  KC opened her backpack. Washington was sound asleep on her sweatshirt.

  “Delightful,” Dr. Tutu said. “Follow me to my office, please.”

  They passed the elephant enclosure. Marshall laughed when he saw a long trunk appear over the wall.

  Dr. Tutu’s office was in a small white building near the monkey house. Flowers lined a short path to the front steps. Two rocking chairs sat on the porch, nestled among potted plants.

  Dr. Tutu held the door open, and the kids trooped inside. “Please put your backpack on the examining table,” Dr. Tutu said.

  He opened the pack and gently set Washington on the table. The monkey blinked his eyes and yawned.

  “These are charming little monkeys, but they are thieves,” Dr. Tutu said. “They steal birds’ eggs right out of the nests. They also take shiny objects, so tell the president to hide his jewelry!”

  Dr. Tutu looked in Washington’s eyes and mouth. He examined his ears, fingers, toes, and even his long tail. He took his temperature and listened to his heart with a stethoscope.

  “This fellow seems very healthy,” Dr. Tutu said. “Which arm did you say was bothering him?”

  “The right one,” Marshall said.

  Dr. Tutu touched the arm, and Washington pulled it away.

  “I’ll need some X-rays,” Dr. Tutu said.

  He set Washington on an X-ray table and took the pictures. Soon he was studying the X-rays. He pointed to a thin line crossing one of the bones.

  “This is the ulna bone, and it has a fracture,” Dr. Tutu said. “The bone was set, but it hasn’t quite healed. Some vet has done a fine job with it. Has he been banging against anything with this arm?”

  The kids quickly told him the story of how they found Washington inside the Washington Monument. They filled him in on how the monkey liked to bang against pictures and statues.

  “Fascinating,” Dr. Tutu said. “I hope you solve your mystery, but keep this little fellow quiet until his arm is completely healed.”

  KC had an idea. “Can we find out who the other vet is, the one who set Washington’s arm?” she asked.

  Dr. Tutu looked at her. “Is this important?” he asked.

  KC told him they were trying to figure out who trained Washington to find the hidden hole in the memorial stone.

  “I love mysteries!” Dr. Tutu said, walking over to his desk. He turned on his computer as KC and Marshall watched.

  “It would most likely be a local vet,” he mumbled as he typed in a few commands. “We all keep records on the exotic animals that we treat, like monkeys, parrots, and snakes.”

  After a few minutes, he sat back. “Yes, the vet is Dr. Leslie Warren. I know her well.”

  “She fixed Washington’s arm?” asked Marshall.

  Dr. Tutu nodded his head. “About ten weeks ago. Shall I call her?”

  “That would be excellent!” KC said.

  Dr. Tutu reached for his telephone and dialed a number. “Hello, Leslie? Phillip Tutu here. Do you remember setting the right ulna in a spider monkey a few months back? You do? Any chance you have the owners name?” Dr. Tutu winked at KC and Marshall. “Thank you, Leslie,” he said, then hung up.

  “Your monkey was owned by a D. Dimm,” Dr. Tutu said. “At least Dimm is the name Dr. Warren has in her book. She didn’t meet the owner herself.”

  The kids thanked Dr. Tutu. KC put Washington into her backpack, and they headed back toward the zoo exit.

  “Well, now what?” Marshall asked. “We still don’t know who this Dimm person is, except that he or she probably trained Washington and brought him into the Monument.”

  “We don’t know a lot of things,” KC said. “Like how someone could drill a hole in that stone. Or what they hid in it. Or when, for that matter.”

  “I wonder when the stone was put into the Washington Monument,” Marshall said.

  “They were put in after the Monument was built,” KC said. She remembered what she’d read in the pamphlet.

  “Why would someone drill a hole in the stone, cover it over with plaster, then train a monkey to break it open again?” Marshall asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes sense if the person who drilled the hole isn’t the same person who trained the monkey,” KC said. “Maybe the person who drilled the hole hid something for the other person to find. Like Dimm.”

  “Yeah, but when did the hole get drilled?” Marshall asked. “Was it a long time ago? Or a little while ago? It would help if we knew exactly when the stone was set into the wall.”

  “I know how to find out,” KC said. “We can go to the Library of Congress. They keep all that Washington history there.”

  6

  Uncovering a Secret

  KC and Marshall ran to the closest Metro station and got aboard a train.

  “Um, do you know where we’re going?” Marshall asked.

  “Sure,” KC said. “The Library of Congress is near the Capitol building. We get off at the stop that says CAPITOL.”

  Soon they were standing in front of the massive building. A large fountain sat near the marble steps. Water poured down over a bronze man with a long beard.

  “Who’s that guy?” Marshall asked.

  KC read a sign in front of the statue. “He’s Neptune, the Roman god of the sea,” she said. “Marsh, Dr. Tutu gave me an idea when he said that spider monkeys steal things. What if someone stole something valuable, then hid it in that drilled hole?”

  “Then a second person—the one who trained Washington—took it out of the hole?” Marshall said.

  KC nodded. “Maybe it was Dimm.”

  The kids ran up the steps. They found themselves in the Great Hall. It had a high, domed ceiling made of stained glass. KC peeked into her backpack. Washington was still asleep.

  Light shone through the dome onto sculptures, paintings, and wall murals. A few people walked about. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous room.

  “This place is awesome!” Marshall whispered. His voice sounded as if he were speaking in a cave.

  “It’s the worlds largest library,” KC said. “Come on, I see an information desk.”

  The woman behind the desk was tall with very short white hair, like a crew cut. She wore a black suit with a red rose in her lapel. A name plate on her desk said MS. MANN.

  “Can I help you?” she asked KC and Marshall.

  “We’re studying the memorial
stones in the Washington Monument,” KC said. “Is there a book that tells when each stone was placed in the Monument’s walls?”

  “That should be easy,” Ms. Mann said. “Give me a moment.” She turned to a computer and typed in a few commands.

  While they waited, KC read a small sign on a post near the desk. It gave the history of the building, which was built in 1897 and housed more than 17 million books.

  “If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Babcock will bring you a book,” Ms. Mann said. She pointed to a row of desks and chairs.

  “Where could we get information about unsolved crimes in Washington?” Marshall asked Ms. Mann.

  “What sort of crimes?” the woman asked. “Murders? Kidnappings?”

  “No, something that got stolen,” said Marshall. “Like documents or money or jewels.”

  Ms. Mann tapped a pencil against her front teeth. “There is a Web site,” she said after a moment. “Use one of our computers and type in www.stillmissing.com. The list will be long.”

  The kids hurried to a computer, and Marshall typed in the Web site’s address. Ms. Mann was right—the list had hundreds of dates and thefts. They were all in articles taken from the Washington Post over the years.

  KC and Marshall skipped around, reading whatever appeared on the screen. Someone stole a goat in 1901. Sheets and towels were stolen off clotheslines in 1982. One hundred bicycles were stolen in 1957.

  “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a goat or a bike hidden in that memorial stone,” Marshall said. He giggled.

  As the kids read the list, a man came over to them. He was carrying a large book. “Are you the one interested in the memorial stones?” he asked KC.

  “Yes, thank you,” KC said. “Are you Mr. Babcock?”

  The man grinned. “Yes, indeed. I’ve been Jeremiah Babcock for seventy years.” He placed the book on the desk in front of her. “I’ll come fetch the book later.”

  Marshall pulled his chair closer to KC. The title of the book was Carved into History: The Story of the Memorial Stones.

  KC turned to the index and found the state of Washington stone listed. When she turned to that page, she found a large picture.