Clearly Uncle Paul knew all about the SNOW and their secret headquarters. He’d left the worn mitten and the salt as clues so she would follow him. But how was she supposed to find the pattern when he was wearing the plaid?
She was stuck in a brand-new mystery from Uncle Paul! What did he think she was…a master detective?
Samantha put her face in her hands for a moment. Then it hit her.
“Master detective,” she said thoughtfully.
She grabbed her journal, got up from her desk, opened the door to her room, and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and called the only master detective she knew.
“Hi, Fiona,” she said. “It’s Samantha.”
Almost everyone in Seattle—between the ages five and fourteen—knew Fiona Hill. She was brilliant, and she was a master detective. She helped people find lost pets, remember passwords, and solve puzzles of every type. She was a scavenger hunt champ, and an escape room superstar.
The last time Samantha had seen her, Fiona had helped track down Nipper in the kogelbaan. Samantha couldn’t have found her brother without Fiona’s help. It was also fun to be with someone her age who was interested in a lot of the same things, for once.
Fiona was one of the few people Samantha’s age who knew several languages, and had experience solving mysteries around the world. She even went to detective train camp, where private eye campers rolled around Europe solving mysteries. Today was a good excuse for Samantha to call her. And she really needed her help, too.
“Hello, Samantha Spinner,” said Fiona when she answered the phone.
It was hard to tell if Fiona was being formal or just organized.
“Hi,” Samantha answered. “I need a secret sequence, and I’m stuck.”
“Okay,” said “Fiona. “Can you share any more details?”
“That’s the problem,” said Samantha. “All I have are the numbers from one to one hundred fifty-three. They’re on a wall.”
“Wall?” asked Fiona.
“I’m pretty sure that wall is some kind of giant keypad-doorway for people to open,” said Samantha.
“People?” asked Fiona. “Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it,” said Samantha. “They call themselves the SNOW.”
“Interesting,” said Fiona. “Snow keeps coming up a lot lately, even though it’s the middle of summer.”
Samantha wasn’t sure just how many details she wanted to share with Fiona. She planned to tell Fiona all about the umbrella and her secret travels around the world, someday. But she wasn’t ready to do that quite yet. Uncle Paul was pretty careful about protecting super secrets. She got the sense that he wanted her to be careful, too.
“It’s amazing how many people will believe things without checking the facts,” said Fiona. “Like these fake storm alerts we’ve been getting. They’re ridiculous.”
“I agree completely,” said Samantha.
Maybe she should tell Fiona about the security guard outside the museum in Detroit.
“Do you want to come over and help me figure out the pattern?” Samantha asked.
“Oh,” said Fiona. “I’d really like to, but I’m heading out of town tonight. Some kids in Botswana are building the world’s trickiest escape room. They’re flying me there to try to break it. I have to pack this afternoon while I practice my Tswana.”
“Tswana?” asked Samantha.
“That’s the most common language in Botswana, spoken by five million people,” said Fiona.
“Oh,” said Samantha, disappointed.
“I’ll give you a call and tell you all about it when I get back,” said Fiona.
This made Samantha feel a little bit better.
“Maybe you could spend time exploring your brother’s brain on this subject,” said Fiona. “From what you’ve told me, he might be able to come up with a plan of some kind.”
“Thanks….I will,” said Samantha.
“Tsamaya sentle,” said Fiona. “That’s ‘goodbye’ in Tswana.”
Samantha said goodbye in English and hung up.
She picked up the mitten. Salt sprinkled out onto the table again.
She had ridden through a dusty salt mine. She’d explored a sewage-flooded tomb. She’d been chased though crowded noisy markets, dropped onto water slides, and squeezed through pneumatic tubes.
None of that would be as awful as exploring Nipper’s New York Yankees–filled brain.
Samantha sat at the kitchen table, studying the number grid in her journal. She heard footsteps and a scraping noise. Nipper marched past her, stopped at the side door, and called back.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Samantha stared at him. Her brother was wearing a strange helmet. It looked like an upside-down flowerpot made of leather, and he was dragging a baseball bat along the kitchen floor.
“What’s on your head?” she asked.
“I got an old football helmet from Uncle Paul,” he answered. “It’s for extra protection.”
“And what’s that you’re holding?” asked Samantha.
“I told you,” said Nipper. “We need extra protection where we’re going.”
“Going?” she asked. “Where do you think we’re going?”
“Next door,” he answered. “This is a mission to get my Yankees back.”
“Oh, come on,” she replied. “Haven’t you learned anything?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Nipper. “And time’s running out.”
He walked back and forth, dragging the bat on the kitchen floor.
“I only have three games left to break the curse,” he said.
“And how exactly are you planning to break a curse with a baseball bat and a football helmet?” Samantha asked.
“I already told you,” said Nipper. “I’m going to break the curse by getting the ring back.”
He pointed out the kitchen window with the bat.
“Do you see that green light blinking on the Snoddgrasses’ back porch?” he asked. “I think that’s the scorpion ring. Missy must take it off her finger at night.”
Samantha turned and looked out the window, squinting at their neighbors’ backyard. Something sparkled through the porch screen…maybe. She couldn’t be sure.
She looked at her brother again. He had raised the bat behind his head as if waiting to swing at a baseball.
“That’s why I’ve got this extra protection, see?” Nipper added. “I don’t want to get caught in another ball of yarn or anything like that.”
Samantha just stared at him. She didn’t say anything. She was confident this was going to end badly. There was no point in dragging out the conversation.
“So?” asked Nipper.
“So, what?” she replied.
“So are you coming with me?” he said.
“No, Nipper,” said Samantha. “I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?” Nipper asked.
“For a dozen reasons,” she answered.
“Name one,” said Nipper.
“I’m busy,” said Samantha.
“Oh, come on, Sam,” he pleaded. “Tell me one thing that is more important than saving my Yankees.”
“I just did,” she replied. “I can’t go with you right now, because I’m busy trying to figure out this math puzzle.”
“Arrrrgh,” Nipper growled. “Math keeps destroying my life….It never ends.”
“I also don’t want to be seen anywhere near you right now,” she said. “You look ridiculous.”
Nipper pulled off his football helmet and scowled.
“Fine. Why else not?” he asked.
“I’m not going with you because it will be a big waste of time,” said Samantha. “We both know that you’re going to hop over the bushes between our houses. The
n you’re not going to get what you want from Missy Snoddgrass. You’re going to make that face like your head is about to explode. Then you won’t feel like hopping over the bushes, so you’ll trudge all the way down the driveway and around to our front door…and I don’t have time to join you through all of that right now.”
Nipper waited.
“Why else?” he asked.
“Because this is completely foolish!” Samantha shouted. “I’ve already told you: There’s no such thing as a magic evil curse. It’s just an ugly bug ring. Don’t try to drag me into your silly mission.”
“Fine,” said Nipper, lowering his bat so that it clunked on the floor. “My Yankees need me, and I’m the only person in the world who cares.”
He opened the kitchen door and started to leave. Then he turned back.
“And I told you before,” he added. “It’s not a bug. It’s an arachnid. Scorpions and spiders are arachnids.”
Nipper hopped over the bushes that ran between his house and the Snoddgrass lair. He glanced left and right. The driveway was clear.
Clunk! Clunk! Clun—
He adjusted his grip on the baseball bat to keep it from knocking against the pavement.
He stepped lightly, trying to make as little noise as possible.
All the windows on both floors of the house were dark. The only light Nipper could see was a faint green flicker on the back porch.
The mission was going exactly as planned.
He glanced to his left as he walked past the Snoddgrass garage.
He stopped.
The setting summer sun bathed the sky in orange and purple light. The shifting colors…made the garage look strange.
In the light of day, the building at the end of Missy’s driveway didn’t look remarkable in any way. He had never even noticed it.
Now, with the orange-and-purple tint of the sunset, patches of shadows and colors stood out and Nipper could see things more clearly. He looked more closely at the garage and realized it was actually a huge knitted curtain.
“Camouflage?” Nipper said curiously.
He stared. With the sun low on the horizon, he could just see the outline of something big sitting behind the garage curtain.
“A ship?” said Nipper, squinting at the shape. Could Missy be hiding a giant boat in her fake garage?
“I better remember this for later,” said Nipper. “I’m sure Sam would really want to know there’s a…”
Nipper was distracted by a flash of red and blue.
“…a parrot,” he finished.
It was Sammy. Nipper’s feathered foe. His avian enemy. His nemesis.
The bird perched on the handle of a shovel stuck into the ground, blocking the path to Missy’s back porch. It didn’t move. Its eyes were closed. Was it asleep?
Nipper watched Sammy carefully as he began to tiptoe toward it.
He got closer to the bird….He was right beside it….He was starting to pass it….
Suddenly the parrot’s eyelids opened. Nipper froze.
“Annoying boy! Annoying boy!” it squawked loudly.
“Hush,” said Nipper, waggling a finger at the bird.
Snap!
The parrot pinched Nipper’s finger with the tip of its beak and, “Yow!” he shouted. The bite wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but it sure hurt!
Nipper pulled his hand back as lights turned on in all the windows of the house.
The mission was not going as planned.
Nipper started to raise the baseball bat, and bonk! The parrot sailed forward and crashed into his shoulder. Nipper lost his grip on the baseball bat and he dropped it to the ground.
“Strike one!” Sammy squawked.
Nipper bent and reached to pick up the bat.
Bonk! Sammy flew into Nipper’s chest, bumping him backward and sending him to the ground.
“Strike two!” the parrot shouted.
Nipper stood up and glared at the bird.
Suddenly it began to flap its wings furiously. It shot straight into the air.
The bird was very high…and now it was diving straight down at him!
“Strike three!” Sammy called.
Nipper faced straight ahead, gritted his teeth, and prepared for impact. He was glad he’d worn the old football helmet from Uncle Paul.
Thump!
The bird slammed into the heavily padded center of the top of the leather helmet, and…it didn’t hurt at all.
Nipper smiled.
“Extra protection,” he said.
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
The parrot began hammering away at the not-so-padded side of Nipper’s head like a mad woodpecker.
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
And that hurt a lot!
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
Nipper tried to swat the bird, but it fluttered around his head, hammering and pecking at the helmet.
“Yahhhhhh!” Nipper wailed. He flailed his free arm to try to stop the bird, but the parrot hammered away.
Nipper thought of the llama he’d met near Machu Picchu. The one that had bashed him on the shoulder, then knocked him down and dragged him across the ground and kicked rocks and pebbles at him.
This hurt two point four billion times worse than that had!
Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da!
“Yaaaaaah!” Nipper wailed.
He dropped the baseball bat and began waving both of his arms wildly around his head until the bird hopped off.
Samantha had been wrong about one thing: Nipper wasn’t going to trudge down the Snoddgrass driveway….He was going to run!
Nipper tossed the useless old helmet at the bird and began sprinting down the driveway. He raced around to the front of the Spinner residence, opened the door, and slammed it behind him before the bird could hammer him again.
“Yankees lose!” Sammy the parrot cackled. “Yankees are the worst! The worst! The worst!”
The next day Dr. Suzette Spinner spent all morning supervising deliveries. When Buffy had gone to California, she left thousands of things behind in her New York apartment. Now, box after box of accessories, artwork, and decorations streamed in from trucks. By the early afternoon, everything was stacked neatly in the Spinner garage.
Dr. Spinner headed into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. She fanned herself with a clipboard. She was exhausted.
Samantha was still at the kitchen table, staring at her journal. Had she even gone to bed last night? She seemed to be staring at a grid of numbers.
“It’s a beautiful day, dear,” said Dr. Spinner. “You should go outside and enjoy it.”
Samantha kept staring at her journal.
Clack!
Mrs. Spinner dropped the clipboard onto the counter, and Samantha looked up.
“I’m sorry,” said Samantha. “Did you say something to me, Mom?”
“Why don’t you take a little break?” asked Dr. Spinner. “It’s not raining—or snowing, for that matter—and…and…”
Samantha had gone back to staring at her journal again.
Dr. Spinner sighed and picked up a pen. She straightened the clipboard and began to review Buffy’s cargo checklist.
“Pool table…ten pinball machines…robot massage chair…,” she read down the list. “Motorized spin art wheel…exercise equipment…”
Nipper stomped into the kitchen from the living room. His hair was a mess, and he looked very angry.
“Is everything all right with you?” Dr. Spinner asked him.
Nipper crossed his arms and didn’t say a word. Then he slowly turned to face Samantha, and scowled.
“Sometimes I wish I had capybaras instead of kids,” said Dr. Spinner.
S
he waited for Samantha and Nipper to react. Neither of them did. She went back to the checklist.
“Top hat…old-fashioned movie theater popcorn popper…”
The phone rang. Nipper grabbed it.
“Spinner house,” he announced. “Home of the unhelpful sister.”
“Cease your baby talk!” Buffy’s voice barked from the phone. “I need help! Let me speak to Mother!”
Nipper flinched and held out the phone.
“It’s Buffy. I think she’s screaming for you, Mom,” he said.
Dr. Spinner looked over at the kitchen table.
“Samantha,” she said. “Be a dear and help your sister for me.”
“Does she need help traveling to Antarctica and not coming back?” Samantha replied. “Otherwise, I’d really prefer not to. And I mean really, really, really, really, really, really—”
Dr. Spinner pointed two fingers at Samantha and made eye contact. It was her professional-strength veterinarian gaze. She used it when she needed to make rodents and lizards calm down and do what she wanted them to do.
Nipper handed the phone to Samantha.
Samantha took it from Nipper.
“Hi, Buffy,” she said into the phone. “How are things in California?”
“Sammy?” Buffy’s voice screeched from the phone. “Is that you?”
Samantha didn’t reply. She really hated it when anyone called her Sammy.
She needed to find Uncle Paul.
She didn’t need to find out about her older sister’s latest ridiculousness.
She didn’t need to hear about her big-budget movie…which had gotten turned into a Broadway play…which had gotten turned into a musical nature documentary.
Samantha looked back at her mother, who was still pointing at her with two fingers, veterinarian-style.
Samantha sighed.
“Okay,” she said into the phone. “How’s the nature documentary coming?”
“Scarlett Hydrangea’s Wild, Wild Secret of the Nile is far from fabulous,” said her sister. “The makeup crew is on strike. No one wants to put foundation on the porcupines. Every time I yell Action, all the pangolins roll into balls. And when the spotlights come on, the nocturnal animals go to sleep.”
Samantha Spinner and the Perplexing Pants Page 5
