In fact, there was only one thing she could be sure of: It wasn’t fair!
She didn’t find Horace or Uncle Paul.
She didn’t find the SUN.
She didn’t get to be a producer, a writer, or a Broadway actor.
It really wasn’t fair.
In her heart, Samantha knew that if anyone ever wrote a series about her life, every book would have a chapter titled “It Wasn’t Fair.”
Section 02, Detail 1SNOS
Cleopatra’s Needle
A sixty-nine-foot solid-granite obelisk stands on a small terrace in New York City’s Central Park, just west of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
It is popularly known as “Cleopatra’s Needle,” even though it was built around 1450 BCE, more than a thousand years before the Egyptian queen was born. It’s the oldest outdoor monument in New York City.
It was transported to New York in 1880 as a gift to the people of the United States from the government of Egypt. Tourists have been marveling at its design and mysterious inscriptions ever since.
* * *
• • •
The monument rests on a heavy-duty roller bearing. Push hard to rotate the obelisk on its giant stone base. It is very heavy, however, so it may take more than one person to get it going.
Once it starts to move, turn the Needle three complete rotations in both directions. A section of the base on the north side will unlock. Push inward and you will find an opening. There is a ladder on the far wall. It is seventy-nine feet down to the start of a narrow railway tunnel.
A slingshot trolley waits to launch you under Manhattan. Depending on how the secret switch under the Hess triangle has been set, you will zoom to the west, east, or south.
Dennis sat under the kitchen table.
Where was the man with orange shoes?
He looked there and here.
He looked here and there.
Fuzzy things were everywhere.
* * *
—
They chewed on his toys.
They made squeaky noise.
It hurt his ears.
* * *
—
Dennis looked in his bowl.
His bowl was empty.
Fuzzy things stole his food!
* * *
—
Attack! Attack!
Attack! ATTACK!
It was a short, four-day school week, but it seemed to drag on forever. Samantha started out exhausted, having arrived home late Monday night, after midnight. And she hadn’t slept well. She couldn’t stop puzzling over the letters A, L, I, and M.
During lunchtime, she had used a computer in her school’s media center. She learned that alim means “All-Knowing” in Arabic and “scientist” in Azerbaijani. Ilma means “air” in Finnish. There’s a butterfly species with the Latin name Tetrarhanis ilma. None of those seemed like useful clues, however. She shuffled the Word Whammy! cards over and over again.
Mali and Lima spelled names of places. Mila and Liam spelled personal names. Mail could refer to the mailbox.
And of course, there was the very real possibility that Nipper missed some cards on the floor in their sister’s apartment.
After school on Friday, she went to her room and made a list of countries with names that included A, L, I, and M.
COLOMBIA
DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC
MALAWI
MALAYSIA
MALDIVES
MALI
MARSHALL ISLANDS
MONGOLIA
SOMALIA
Then she wrote down all the magtrain stations listed on the wall of her station.
DYNAMITE (United States)
PARIS (France)
BARABOO (United States)
DUCK (United States)
ZZYZX (United States)
EDFU (Egypt)
WAGGA WAGGA (Australia)
WAHOO (United States)
SEATTLE (United States)
The two lists had no countries in common.
“Dead end,” she muttered, and put down her pen.
She closed her notebook, covered her ears to mute the sound of squeaking chinchillas, and tried to think.
Nipper tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, Sam,” he said cheerfully. “But I’ve been thinking carefully about Uncle Paul.”
“Thinking carefully?” Samantha asked. “That’s refreshing.”
She didn’t really believe him, but it was nice to hear that he was trying to solve this mystery, too.
“He always talked about the Great Wall of China, and the Titanic, and Machu Picchu,” Nipper said, pacing around her bedroom. “That’s a WALL, a SHIP, and a CITY.”
“Go on,” said Samantha.
“I added SUN,” he continued. “You know, ‘Watch out for the SUN.’ ”
She nodded.
“I put everything in alphabetical order,” he said.
He took out a piece of paper.
“ ‘ACHIILLNPSSTUWY,’ ” he read.
Samantha couldn’t tell where this was going.
“Now, we all know that Uncle Paul loves waffles,” he continued. “And Cornelius Swartwout patented the waffle iron in 1869.”
“Cornelius Swartwout?” she asked. “How come you remember that, but you can’t keep track of—”
“Stay with me,” said Nipper. “We’ve got ACHIILLNPSSTUWY, CORNELIUS, and SWARTWOUT.”
“Nipper,” said Samantha, louder than before, but her brother couldn’t be stopped.
“Did you ever wonder what’s in a GRANOLA bar?” he continued. “Well, I checked. They’re mostly OATS, HONEY, and NUTS. I’m leaving out raisins because they’re too sticky. I added HOPE DIAMOND instead. Now take a look!”
He turned over his paper and held it out for her to read.
Samantha stared at the page.
“Dorp? Swinty?” she asked. “Gorlon?”
“Don’t you see?” he said excitedly.
Samantha stared at him.
“They’re all letters!” he continued. “And…letters come from…”
“Let me guess,” she said. “A mailbox.”
“Yes!” he shouted. “M-A-I-L! Let’s go there again.”
Samantha let out a heavy sigh.
“You could have just said that in the first place.”
“And let you do all the puzzling?” he replied. “No way!”
He turned and headed to the hall.
“Meet me at the corner in five minutes,” he said.
There was no point in arguing. She closed her notebook and left the room.
Section 09, Detail 33LS3PL
The Waffle Iron
On August 24, 1869, an American inventor named Cornelius Swartwout filed a patent for a waffle iron.
Up until then, most people cooked waffles by pouring batter into hinged plates with long wooden handles. Swartwout’s invention had a special design that allowed breakfast makers to open, close, and turn the waffle iron, spreading the batter evenly.
To commemorate this great moment in breakfast history, August 24 is celebrated in the United States as National Waffle Day.
* * *
• • •
If the waffle iron in your kitchen has been modified to include miniaturized infrared diodes, it can help you find super-secret clues. Once you get used to taking a closer look at things, you’ll find that there are messages hidden in all kinds of places—even in words that seem like gibberish!
Compare the shaded squares in these waffles with any crazy, mixed-up letters that your annoying kid brother shows you. He might not even realize it, but there’s a secret messag
e waiting for you. Whoa, Nelly!
Nipper walked far ahead of Samantha. He had a special errand to run before they visited the mailbox. He marched up the driveway of their neighbor, Missy Snoddgrass. As he hopped over smashed toys, a Hula-Hoop, and several discarded balls of yarn, he started to wonder why there was always yarn around the side of Missy’s house. Then he looked up and saw her standing on the side porch, watching him.
“Hi, Missy,” he said. “Did you know I was coming?”
“Yes and no,” she answered. “I’m keeping an eye out for all kinds of suspicious characters.”
“Um, okay,” he said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs beneath the porch.
She was double-triple super-evil, so he didn’t want to get too close.
“I’m the new captain of our neighborhood watch,” she told him.
“Watch?” he asked nervously. “Captain?”
“We’ve been getting reports of strange activity around here,” she said.
Her eyes narrowed. She looked him up and down.
“I see you’re wearing some of my team’s official licensed merchandise,” she said.
Nipper looked down at his sweatshirt. It had a big New York Yankees logo on it.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, looking back up at her. “That’s the reason I’m here.”
He reached into his front pocket.
“I want my Yankees back,” he said. “I have a new trade for you.”
“I already told you,” she snapped. “No backsies. Besides, the team isn’t doing very well these days. It would be bad luck to change ownership midseason.”
Nipper pulled out a shiny golden sculpture. It was shaped like an egg, and crisscrossed by rows of red and white gems. It glistened in the sun.
Missy’s eyes widened. She looked excited, maybe even pleased.
“See?” Nipper said. “I knew you’d be interested in this.”
Her expression returned to its natural scowl. Then, slowly, it slid into an evil sneer. She leaned forward over the edge of the porch. Nipper noticed that she was still wearing the scorpion ring he had given her. Its emerald eyes flashed briefly.
“Interesting egg,” she said, scratching her chin. “From whom was it stolen?”
“Whom? What? Stolen?” said Nipper. “It’s not stolen.”
“Then how did you get it?” Missy asked. “Do you have any documentation or paperwork?”
“Paperwork?” he asked, getting nervous. “It was from my uncle.”
“Oh. Pajama Paul,” she said slowly. “And how do you suppose he got it?”
“Well, um, gee,” said Nipper. “I’m not sure. It was a present and—”
“Okay,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m willing to pretend this whole encounter didn’t happen.”
“Didn’t happen?” said Nipper, frustrated. “What do you mean? I’m here to talk about my baseball team.”
Missy reached into the pocket of her yellow polka-dot blouse and took out a small notebook. She jerked it open with one hand, raised a red pen with the other, and stared into his eyes.
“You don’t want me to write your name on this list, Jeremy Bernard Spinner,” she said without blinking. “Once somebody gets on it, they never get off.”
Missy was one of the few people who knew Nipper’s real name, and the only person who used it.
Nipper gulped.
“No. No, Missy,” he said quickly. “I don’t want that.”
He held up both hands.
Missy snatched the egg from him and placed it on a chair, far out of reach.
“Hey!” Nipper shouted. “That’s mine and—”
“Jeremy…Bern…,” she said slowly, starting to write in her notebook.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I don’t like eggs anyways.”
“Good,” she grunted.
Missy put down the notebook and raised a hand to shade her eyes.
“The SUN is really bothering me today,” she muttered.
“What did you just say?” asked Nipper.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, dropping her hand and pointing a thumb sideways. “Your sister’s waiting for you.”
Nipper turned and saw Samantha on the sidewalk. She waved at him and pointed toward the mailbox.
“I give up,” Nipper said. “For now.”
He stomped back down the driveway to join his sister.
“Sam!” he called. “I lost my egg!”
“What was that about?” Samantha asked her brother.
“Forget it,” he answered. “Put on those specs and spot some clues.”
Samantha pulled the sunglasses from her purse, put them on, and stared. A few feet ahead, the now-familiar word glowed on the side of the magtrain mailbox in bright yellow letters.
“PSST?” Nipper asked.
Samantha nodded.
“Yep,” she answered. “But that’s all. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to it.”
She took the glasses off and wiped the purple lenses on her sleeve. She handed the glasses to Nipper. He put them on, leaned forward, and squinted.
“PSST,” he repeated, reaching for the handle of the mailbox.
Samantha caught his arm and stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve checked the station at least twenty times. This is the only message.”
Nipper ignored her. He opened and closed the metal door three times. It clicked and hummed. Then the mailbox began to rise, revealing the chamber beneath it.
“I just told you, I already checked under there,” Samantha called over the sound of grinding gears.
“Under where?” asked Nipper, watching the mailbox rise.
“Under there,” she repeated.
“Under where?” he asked again.
The rectangular structure stopped in place.
“Under— Nipper,” she said, getting annoyed. “Are you trying to be funny?”
He looked at her with a serious face.
“I never try to be funny…I just am,” he told her.
Samantha sighed.
“Wait! Under there!” he said quickly, and pointed up to the mailbox, now perched atop the entrance chamber. He handed the glasses back to Samantha and pointed again, shaking his finger at the gap between the bottom of the box and the top of the chamber.
“Take a closer look,” he said.
She put the glasses on again and squinted upward. The mailbox stood on short legs, creating a space about a foot high. On the underside of the box, a yellow arrow glowed. It pointed into Volunteer Park.
Nipper grinned at her and gave her a thumbs-up.
“Let’s explore the park,” he said.
He started to cross the street, but Samantha stepped in front of him.
“It’s almost time for dinner,” she said. “And besides, I want my umbrella before we do any more exploring.”
“Got it, Sam,” said Nipper. “You had me at ‘dinner.’ ”
He handed her the sunglasses and they waited. A minute later, the mailbox clicked and whirred and sank back into place. Then they headed back down the block.
As they passed the Snoddgrass house, Nipper slowed and gazed up the driveway. Samantha kept going, then turned and walked back to him.
“It’s okay,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re both explorers, and we’re not coming home empty-handed.”
Samantha rose early Saturday morning. She chased a pair of chinchillas out of her room, then took a quick shower and got dressed. She grabbed her umbrella and put the sunglasses in her purse. On the way down to the kitchen, she passed Dennis, who was chasing a chinchilla headed up to the second floor. She was only half awake, so the sound of rodents squeaking and plastic cone clattering was extra-irritating. She and Nipper had a new clue, though, a good one, and they
were about to check it out. That improved her mood.
She made breakfast while she waited for her brother. She filled a bowl with cereal and went to the refrigerator for milk. Before she could sit down, a chinchilla dashed across the table and scampered away with her spoon in its mouth.
Samantha watched the rodent retreat to a far corner of the kitchen. It looked up at her and opened its tiny mouth, letting the spoon drop on the floor. It began to squeak at her repeatedly.
Samantha thought it sounded like the chinchilla was laughing at her.
“You know what animals I really love?” she said to the chinchilla. “Owls, skunks, and foxes.”
“Really? Since when?” Nipper said cheerfully, walking into the room.
Before she could respond, he grabbed a bowl and two spoons. He handed one of the spoons to his sister and they both dug in, eating quickly.
“I’ve got my hand lens,” said Nipper, waving his magnifying glass at Samantha.
She nodded, then grabbed her purse and umbrella, and they headed out the front door.
“Sam, did you know that owls, skunks, and foxes are natural predators of chinchillas?” Nipper asked as they headed north on Thirteenth Avenue.
“Yes,” she replied. “An eight-year-old boy told me that several times this week.”
Nipper tilted his head sideways and stared off into space. She could tell he was replaying events of the week in his mind.
“That was me, Sam, wasn’t it?” he finally said.
Samantha noticed Missy Snoddgrass watching them through the bay window of her house. She wore the same yellow polka-dot blouse as always and pounded one fist rhythmically onto her open palm as she watched them walk by.
Samantha quickly took the purple sunglasses and put them on Nipper’s face.
“Huh?” he asked. “What are you—”
“You should try these first today,” she said.
Samantha Spinner and the Spectacular Specs Page 6