“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” said Uncle Paul.

The cab turned onto the West Side Highway, heading north.

“I knew you’d find a way to stop the RAIN and the SUN,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Samantha. “But you left without saying goodbye.”

She looked out the cab window, feeling hurt. She watched a few brightly lit skyscrapers pass by. Then she turned back to him.

“And why did you have to make everything so crazy mixed-up, mysterious, and confusing?” she asked.

“I knew that other people might be watching or listening,” he replied. “I had to be sure it wasn’t too easy for anyone else to figure out.”

“Who?” she asked. “Those ridiculous clowns again?”

“No, not them,” he answered. “The only danger from the SUN was that they might have spilled our secrets to someone who is really dangerous.”

“Really dangerous? Are you worried about Aunt Penny, too?”

Uncle Paul looked confused.

“Aunt Penny?” he replied. “What are you talking about?”

“Nipper thinks ‘Don’t trust N T’ meant our aunt,” Samantha said. “I didn’t think he was right, but I hid the umbrella in a trombone case just to be safe.”

“No,” said Uncle Paul. “He’s completely wrong. That message meant don’t trust—”

Bonk!

A red leather boxing glove shot from the front of the cab and punched Uncle Paul squarely in the face. He fell back against his seat, stunned.

As one, the cab doors clicked locked and tinny circus music began to play from the speakers.

“Thank you for protecting my umbrella until I was able to retrieve it, young lady,” the cabdriver said in a creepy, fake-friendly voice.

Samantha was half frozen with fear. She didn’t say anything as she glanced back and forth between the driver and Uncle Paul. She remembered wanting her uncle to get punched squarely in the face when they were in the theater. Seeing it happen definitely did not make her feel better.

They rode the rest of the way to Buffy’s apartment building in silence. Samantha noticed Uncle Paul rub his face several times. He looked dazed. That punch must have hurt a lot.

Samantha needed to come up with a new plan.

The cab screeched to a halt in front of the entrance to Buffy’s building. Without turning off the engine, the driver got out and opened Samantha’s door. He had enormous shoes and wore a red ball nose filter. It was the same horrible top hat clown that spoke to her by Buffy’s theater before the play. But now he wasn’t wearing his top hat. He was holding it pointed at her face.

“Get out, both of you,” he said.

He wasn’t using his fake-friendly voice anymore, either.

Samantha and Uncle Paul walked ahead of the clown into the building. There was no sign of Nathaniel, so they went straight to the main elevator. The clown stepped in front of them and pushed the button. The doors opened and he waved them inside, keeping his boxing-glove top hat pointed at them.

Samantha smiled. Nope. She didn’t need a new plan.

Samantha and her uncle stood with their backs against the rear elevator wall. The clown aimed his hat at Uncle Paul, then at her, and back at her uncle again.

Samantha glanced at her uncle. He still seemed stunned from the punch in the cab. His face drooped. His arms hung weakly at his sides.

He gave her a quick wink. Then his face drooped again.

Samantha smiled.

She took a half step forward.

“My sister lives up there,” she told the clown, and pointed to the penthouse button.

She waved her finger and pointed several times, making sure that she drew his attention to the top button on the panel.

“Yes, yes. I’ll handle it,” he said, stepping in front of her without taking a closer look at things. He waved his hat a few inches from her nose. “I already know where to find your sister…and now my umbrella.”

He reached for the elevator control panel with his free hand, not taking his eyes off Samantha. She watched him closely as his hand swept up the vertical panel and hovered. He pressed the top button with his index finger.

Nothing happened.

Keeping his eyes—and his hat—trained on Samantha, he pressed the button again.

But the elevator doors didn’t close.

Still not looking, he scratched at the button with his fingernail.

He stopped. His eyes began to turn red and tear up. He sniffed the air three times. A look of horror crept across his face.

He spun to face the elevator panel. His eyes darted quickly up the line of buttons. The top button was labeled “PH.” Just above it—where he had pressed twice and scratched—he saw a sticker shaped like a long, thin red fruit.

“A hot chili pepper!” he shouted.

He pried the sticker off the metal panel and turned back to Samantha.

“Did you know about this?” the clown wheezed.

With one hand, he shook the sticker at her.

“She…Nose!” said Uncle Paul as he reached out and pulled off the clown’s nose ball filter.

With his other hand, Uncle Paul snatched the sticker and stuck it on the clown’s real nose. The clown coughed twice and gasped, then fell to the floor, unconscious.

Samantha pushed the real button to Buffy’s penthouse.

Uncle Paul picked up the top hat. Using his foot, he rolled Chuckles J. Morningstar out of the elevator just before the doors closed. They started to rise.

“When did you put that sticker there?” Uncle Paul asked.

“Yesterday, as soon as we arrived,” Samantha answered.

“Impressive,” he said. “How did you know you’d need it?”

“I took a moment to reflect on the absurdity of those clowns,” she replied.

The elevator chimed.

“Good one,” said Uncle Paul.

The doors opened.

“So,” said Uncle Paul. “Where was—”

“Aye!” shouted a raspy voice.