Samantha woke early in the morning to the smell of bananas and coconut. It was a pleasant, fruity smell. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Then she looked around the room and saw bales of pink hay, a sack of candy corn, and a pair of rainbow saddles.

“Ridiculous,” said Samantha as she shook her head. She didn’t have time to spare on her sister’s mythological-livestock problems, though. She got out of bed and woke her brother, and they left the stables.

She and Nipper headed to the dining room, where Nathaniel had prepared a thick, creamy breakfast. He served it in big bowls with rubber handles. Samantha suspected they were the type of bowl used for feeding horses…or unicorns.

“I don’t want to eat a giant slimy brain!” Nipper shouted.

“It’s fruit pudding, boy,” said Nathaniel, looking irritated.

Samantha was starving—and in a hurry to explore Central Park before Buffy found them and they’d have to hear more about her big Broadway show. She ate quickly, and so did Nipper.

“Yum,” said Nipper, scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon. “That tasted better than it looked.”

“If you be a-complimentin’ me, you’re welcome,” said Nathaniel.

After breakfast, they headed back down to the stables so Samantha could grab her purse. She checked to make sure her notes—and the purple sunglasses—were inside. Then she and Nipper rode the freight elevator down to the street and crossed into Central Park.

After only four minutes, it began.

“Are you sure you know what we’re looking for?” Nipper asked. “When do I get to go see Yankee Stadium? Maybe you shouldn’t have left the umbrella at home. Do you think you fixed it enough with the tape? Maybe we should have brought Dennis. When do we go see the Yankees?”

Samantha groaned. She’d thought she had at least ten minutes before her brother would get impatient.

He wore a New York Yankees T-shirt and a cap with the team’s emblem. A Babe Ruth bobblehead stuck out of his back pocket. It was a miracle that he was willing to accompany her to Cleopatra’s Needle at all.

“Just keep walking,” she said. “We’re looking for a little plaza near the back of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We’re more than halfway there.”

She took out a page and unfolded it.

“I printed this out from Dad’s computer before we left,” she said, and handed it to Nipper.

It was an aerial photograph of the east side of the park. A cluster of shapes combined to form a rectangular building that hugged the street. To the west of the building sat patches of trees, open green spaces, and something that looked like a red octagon with a pole in the center.

“We’re headed here,” she said, pointing to the page.

He nodded. She took the paper from him, folded it up, and returned it to her pocket. They walked on. A pair of early-morning joggers passed them. Samantha and Nipper were getting close now. Excited, Samantha started to walk a little faster. She and Nipper dodged a woman pushing a baby carriage, walking three dogs, sipping coffee, and talking on a phone. They went through a brick-lined tunnel and reached a flight of wide stone steps. A monument rose high into the sky.

“Cleopatra’s Needle,” she sighed.

As they climbed the steps, Samantha squinted at the stone obelisk. Perched on a huge granite block, it towered over an octagonal red brick terrace. A black metal railing, about three feet high, surrounded the terrace. Closer in, another railing surrounded the obelisk itself.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she glanced around. It was still early on a Sunday morning. They were alone.

“Let’s get to work,” she said to Nipper.

Samantha reached into her purse for the sunglasses. She put them on, and the world turned purple.

“I’m going to look from a distance,” she told Nipper. “You search the Needle up close, and don’t miss anything.”

“You got it, Sam,” he said cheerfully, and sprang forward.

He climbed over the railing and began tapping and pressing everything. He shoved at corners and pushed in a dozen places. He poked at shapes and traced any carvings he could reach. Steadily, he worked his way around the monument.

Samantha smiled. It was satisfying to see her brother’s fidgeting, touching, and tampering skills put to good use. She took two big steps back and stared.

Cleopatra’s Needle is an ancient monument covered from top to bottom with carvings. Samantha had read that it had been moved to Central Park from Egypt more than a hundred years ago. Some of the carvings looked like birds and others like people. Most were Egyptian symbols that Samantha didn’t recognize. A few of the images were crisp and clear. Most were faint, worn away by years of wind, rain, and pollution.

She saw nothing unusual on the first side.

“Side two,” said Samantha as she walked to the next corner of the plaza.

She’d started to examine the Needle when she heard noises. She turned to see Nipper, hands flat against one corner of the huge granite base. He pushed at it, grunting as he shoved.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He stopped shoving.

“I’m trying to turn it,” he answered. “Maybe if I push hard enough the whole Needle will spin.”

Samantha looked at the massive stone monument.

“Why do you think it would do that?” she asked.

“Just a hunch,” he answered, and went back to shoving.

Samantha tuned out her noisy brother and went back to scanning the obelisk. She moved her head slowly, up and down, taking everything in. Nothing. She kept going, exploring all four sides. Still nothing.

“I give up,” she said, and stopped squinting at the obelisk.

“I’ll take a break, too,” said Nipper, sitting down on the railing.

“But only for a minute,” she added quickly.

“Sure, sure,” he said. “But we’re going to see the Yankees soon, right?”

He started kicking at a railing post with his heel.

“They need me,” he added, sounding serious.

Samantha noticed a change in her brother’s expression. He looked thoughtful for a moment. At least kid-brother thoughtful.

“They’re my team,” he said, still kicking at the post. “My mind is made up. I really, truly want them back.”

Samantha looked at Nipper, and then to the railing as he kicked, and…

“Stop!” she yelled. “Don’t move.”

Nipper froze.

Through her glasses, Samantha saw the railing by her brother’s foot blinking bright yellow.

“What do you see? Can I move?” Nipper asked.

“Yes, yes,” she answered. “Get out of the way.”

Samantha ran to the railing and crouched to inspect it. A section glowed exactly like the leg of the kitchen table at home. She reached out and pulled. It slid open—just like at home. Air rushed out.

“Whoa,” said Nipper. “These things are everywhere.”

“Maybe,” said Samantha.

Her brother reached into the railing and took out a piece of paper.

“And everyone’s writing to Uncle Paul,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Samantha said. She snatched the paper from him and read it aloud.

“ ‘Paul/Horace:

“ ‘Where are you?’ ”

“That’s my note,” she said, exasperated.

Samantha heard voices approaching. She turned and saw a cluster of people talking to one another as they walked up the steps. Seconds later, a pack of skateboarders rolled onto the terrace. Samantha sighed. Her and Nipper’s time alone at the Needle had ended and still no Uncle Paul. She took off the glasses and put them in her purse along with the note.

“All right,” she said. “I guess we can go back to Buffy’s place.”

Samantha turned to leave, but Nipper was standing still again.

“No way!” he replied, crossing his arms. “We’re going to Yankee Stadium.”

“Oh, yeah,” Samantha said. “Let’s go.”

They crossed to the steps on the other side of the terrace. The path led past the museum and toward the east edge of the park. As they walked, Samantha wondered if there were any more clues in Buffy’s apartment. It wasn’t going to be easy to find out, with her sister whining and her weird helper Nathaniel watching.

She decided she’d help Buffy with her show. She could try to be a producer or something like that. It would keep her sister busy and give Nipper time to search for clues.

And who knows? Maybe she could even save the play and stop it from turning into a big, zany circus. Samantha had never cared about show business before. But maybe she had hidden talent.

She pictured her name in the program—beneath Scarlett Hydrangea in giant letters, of course. She might turn out to be a great producer. Maybe she could write her own play, or even start acting.

She heard Nipper shouting. While she had been thinking about the play, he had walked ahead to Fifth Avenue at the edge of the park.

“Come on, Sam,” he called. “My Yankees need me.”