The afternoon was nearly over by the time the L.O.S.T. and FOUND team sped through the lair’s channel in Lorelei’s red speedboat. A push of the remote control opened the gate, and the boat roared out onto City Lake. Dog sat at the helm, his ears billowing in the wind, as Lorelei thrust the boat into its highest gear. The wake tore across the lake, upsetting a canoe, a paddleboat, and a flock of geese.

They moored the boat at a public dock, then headed for their destination. Dog pranced down the sidewalk, his loose skin undulating with each step. Surely no one could have guessed that he’d recently been swallowed by a whale shark. There was a happy rhythm to his stride. Maybe he was relieved to be out of the lair. Maybe he was simply looking forward to all the fire hydrants. Maybe he was happy because, after rolling all over Rumpold’s map, he’d covered himself with the scent of treasure.

The only member of the team not in attendance was Daisy, who’d stayed back at the lair to work on a nest. “It’s best that way,” Lorelei said. “Rats aren’t very popular around here. City people leave out traps and try to kill them.” Homer didn’t tell her that country people did the same thing.

They turned onto the Boulevard of Destinations. “There it is,” Hercules said as he tucked the spiral notebook under his arm. It would be difficult to miss the Map of the Month Club, for it had a singular unique feature. A giant world globe perched on the roof, providing a vibrant splash of color amid the other, drab buildings.

Fortunately, the map club had no revolving door, just a regular door with a regular knob that opened into a regular sort of lobby—except that entire continents were painted on the floor and a giant compass stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. A lady with cat-eye glasses sat behind an information desk.

“May I help you?” she asked as she chewed the end of a pen.

“Go on,” Lorelei whispered, shoving Homer toward the desk.

Homer stuck his hands in his pockets because he thought that would hide his nervousness, even though jitters ran up and down his legs. Because he didn’t want the true identity of the map to be revealed, this was going to be tricky. “Uh, hello. I have a map, and I was wondering if I could get some help reading it. It’s for a… a… a school paper.”

“A school paper?” The lady frowned. “Today is not school-visit day.”

As Homer pondered his next move, Hercules wandered over to a bank of elevators. A brass plaque on the wall listed the names of the various offices and which floors they called home. “There’s an office of celestial navigation,” he called. “It’s on the topmost floor.”

“Could we go to the topmost floor?” Homer asked the lady. “To have our map read by someone who reads celestial maps?”

“That office is closed to the public. No one’s allowed up there. Besides, we don’t offer a reading service here. We publish maps and send them in the mail to our subscribers.”

“I’m a subscriber,” Homer explained. “I love your maps.”

The lady looked over the rims of her cat-eye glasses. “Then perhaps you’d like to buy one. We have maps of the known world, maps of imaginary worlds, maps of the heavens, maps of the human body, land maps, ocean maps, river maps”—her sentences ran together as if she didn’t need to breathe—“maps from the ancient times, maps from medieval times, maps from yesterday, maps from the future—”

“The future? How is that possible?” Lorelei interrupted.

“I’m not at liberty to answer that question.” The lady tucked the pen behind her ear and continued. “Maps drawn by sailors, maps drawn by mountain climbers, maps of the subway, the freeway, the Milky Way, maps of circuses, maps of zoos, maps of—”

“Excuse me,” Homer interrupted. “But I don’t want to buy a map. I already have a map.” He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “I’m usually really good when it comes to reading maps, but this one is… odd.” Then he remembered and pulled his invitation from his pocket. “I got this,” he explained, hoping she wouldn’t realize it was a fake. “From Mr. Dimknob for a VIP tour.”

“Mr. Dimknob is very busy.” She glanced at the invitation. “Besides, the tour was at noon precisely. Tough break.” A bell rang. “Closing time,” she announced loudly, a grin breaking across her bored face. “Closing! Time!”

Two elevators opened simultaneously, and out marched a bunch of people with briefcases. They hurried across the lobby, pushing one another to get to the door. Because only a few could fit through at a time, a huge traffic jam ensued. Those closest to the door flattened themselves and squeezed through like paste through a tube.

The lady with the cat-eye glasses grabbed her purse and pulled out a lipstick. “You’ll have to leave now. I don’t want to be late for my dinner date.” She spread hot pink all over her lips.

Two more elevators opened, and more people hurried out, joining the writhing group at the front door. These people either hated their jobs or they had really important places to go. The lady tossed her lipstick into her purse, then said, “Follow me so you won’t get locked in.” And she marched around the desk and elbowed her way into the crowd.

As the last elevator opened, Homer and Lorelei shared a look of frustration. Someone bonked Homer with a briefcase. Someone else tripped over Dog. The lady had disappeared amid a sea of gray flannel suits.

“Psssst,” Hercules called. With his foot, he held an elevator door open. Without any discussion, Lorelei pushed Homer forward.

Since their death-defying experience in an elevator on their first visit to The City, neither Dog nor Homer was a fan of the contraption. Dog was about to turn his body into concrete, but Homer was fast. “Oh no, you don’t.” Luckily the floor had just been waxed, so one push was all it took. Dog slid on his tummy like an ice-skater, bumping gently into Hercules’s sneakers. The elevator doors closed.

Lorelei stared at the panel of buttons. “What floor?”

“The directory said the topmost floor,” Hercules replied.

With a shrug, she pushed the highest floor, which happened to be the thirtieth.

Ding. The second-floor button lit up, and the elevator slowed.

“Uh-oh,” Homer said. “Someone’s still in the building.” They didn’t have time to come up with a plan, because the doors swooshed open.

“Oh, it’s just a cleaning lady,” Lorelei said with a sigh of relief. Hercules’s shoulders relaxed. Homer, however, stiffened like an overstarched shirt.

The Unpolluter pressed her hand against the elevator door, keeping it open as she stood on the threshold. Her gray hair was plastered beneath her shower cap. Her athletic socks peeked over the tops of a pair of black rubber boots. She said nothing, her gaze traveling from Homer to Hercules to Dog, then resting on Lorelei. “You kids lost?” she asked.

“No,” Lorelei said.

She kept her hand on the elevator door. “The building’s closed. You got business here?”

Homer followed The Unpolluter’s gaze as it landed on the word FOUND, emblazoned on Lorelei’s pink jumpsuit. “Yes, we have business here,” Lorelei said.

“What kind of business?” The Unpolluter asked.

“The kind of business that’s none of your business,” Lorelei replied snippily.

The Unpolluter frowned. “I saw you on television. How’s the treasure hunt going?”

Lorelei folded her arms. “Fine, thank you very much.”

The Unpolluter set a bucket of sudsy water into the elevator. A mop handle poked out of the bucket. She stepped inside and pressed the fourth-floor button. The doors swooshed closed, and the elevator rose.

Dog, who couldn’t ignore a bucket of water, be it sudsy or not, stuck his nose inside and managed a few gulps before Homer pulled him away. Homer didn’t fret or scold. It wasn’t the first bucket of soapy water Dog had helped himself to. Soapy water would simply clean out his insides—maybe make his farts smell better. What worried Homer, at that very moment, was the old woman’s threat to “get rid” of Lorelei. He slid in front of Lorelei, blocking her body with his own.

“Hey,” she grumbled. “You’re squishing me against the wall.”

Hercules cleared his throat, then peered around The Unpolluter’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice that rather large mole on your nose. Antibacterial ointment might help reduce the inflammation.”

The Unpolluter ignored him and instead turned to Homer. “Do you need my help cleaning up any messes?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t need your help.”

Lorelei jabbed Homer with her elbow. “You’re squishing me. Move!” But Homer didn’t move. If he’d learned one thing from Dog, it was the “I’m-not-budging-and-you-can’t-make-me” technique. He wasn’t going to give The Unpolluter a clear view of Lorelei.

“You’re certain you don’t need help cleaning up the situation?” The Unpolluter asked.

“I’m certain,” Homer said through clenched teeth as Lorelei pounded on his back. “I can clean up the mess myself.”

“Very well.” The Unpolluter pulled a pair of yellow rubber gloves from her apron pocket and slid them onto her hands.

Ding. The elevator doors slid open. The Unpolluter clutched the bucket’s handle and stepped out onto the fourth floor. But before the doors closed, she spun around and pointed at Homer. “Remember—I offered my help, but you said you didn’t need it.” The doors closed.

“What was that about?” Lorelei asked as Homer stepped aside.

“I don’t know,” Homer lied as the elevator rose. He exhaled, but his breath was ragged with worry. Had this meeting been a coincidence or had The Unpolluter followed them to the Map of the Month Club?

“She was creepy,” Lorelei said. “She smelled like bleach. And that thing on her nose was practically glowing.”

“Bleach aggravates my mucus membranes,” Hercules said as he took a hit of his inhaler.

Ding. The elevator stopped on the thirtieth floor, but the doors did not open. Lorelei pushed the open button, but nothing happened. She pushed it again. “What’s the problem?” She jabbed it, then punched it.

“Urrrr?” Dog pressed his nose to the crack between the doors.

“If we’re trapped in this elevator, I may develop an acute case of claustrophobia, which is the fear of getting stuck in small spaces,” Hercules said. “I’m warning you because if I start to get claustrophobic, I might hyperventilate, and then I might faint, and I don’t have my helmet.”

“We’re not stuck,” Lorelei said. She kicked both doors. “Open!”

“Don’t panic,” Homer said, even though his chest had begun to tighten. He stepped close to the panel and looked at the buttons. There was something different about the one to floor thirty. Right next to it was a little slot. He ran his finger over the slot. “What’s this for?”

“A key?” Hercules asked.

“Maybe. But it would have to be a round key. It looks like a coin slot.” He took a quarter from his pocket and shoved it into the slot. The quarter disappeared, but popped right back out. He found a nickel and a penny, but they were too small. “The quarter seems to be the right size.”

“We don’t have any other coins in this country that are the same size as a quarter,” Hercules said.

“Maybe we do.” Homer reached under his shirt. He had a hunch, and his late uncle Drake had often said, “Never ignore lunch or a hunch. One can fuel the body while the other can fuel a discovery.” So, without consulting his companions, Homer pulled the chain from under his shirt and stuck the membership coin into the slot. The coin did not pop back out. A mechanical whirr sounded, and the elevator rose a bit higher. Then the doors whooshed open.

“How did you know to do that?” Lorelei asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Homer shrugged. He had no idea why a L.O.S.T. membership coin would allow them entrance to the topmost floor of the Map of the Month Club, but he guessed he was about to find out. He retrieved the coin. Then, with a tug on the leash, he led Dog from the elevator.