Samantha sighed and took the phone from her mother.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. “I’m really busy right now. Would you mind calling back after I get a chance to hear about the—”

But her father started talking, and she couldn’t get a word in. He rattled on about lightbulbs, the Space Needle, Nipper, calculus camp, his super-quiet electric car, and not-Nipper.

“Stop,” she interrupted. “What’s not-Nipper?”

“Exactly,” said her father. “Your brother is gone.”

“It happens all the time, Dad,” said Samantha. “You know that.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “But I’ve searched everywhere.”

“Been there, done that,” said Samantha.

She really had been everywhere with Nipper. And losing and finding and losing and finding him had been a big part of that whole experience.

“I believe you,” said Mr. Spinner. “But he’s been gone for a long time now, and I’m really getting worried.”

“Okay, okay,” said Samantha.

Her father definitely sounded more worried than she had ever heard.

“I’ll ask Mom to help figure out what we can all do about it.”

“No-no-no!” her father said quickly. “Don’t do that. I need your special talent.”

Samantha looked at her mother, smiling and waiting patiently. Then she looked over at her uncle. He still had his storytelling hands in the air.

“Can I bring Uncle Paul with me?” Samantha asked.

“Yes. That would be good,” said her father, sounding happier. “Extra help would be useful—just not your mother.”

Samantha smiled. This was her opportunity to spend time alone with Uncle Paul—without these constant interruptions.

“Okay,” she told her father. “We’re on our way.”

Samantha clicked the call off and handed her mom’s phone back. “We’ve got to go back to Seattle immediately,” she said.

“Immediately?” asked her mother, clearly surprised. “What about Buffy’s play?”

“You’ve seen one theater full of clowns, you’ve seen ’em all,” said Samantha.

Uncle Paul nodded approvingly.

Dr. Spinner shot both of them annoyed glances.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go change your plane tickets…again.”

Samantha watched her mother march out of the room. Then she turned to Uncle Paul.

“I’ll grab my purse and my suitcase,” she told him. “And the Plans.”

“I’ll wait right here,” he said, standing up from the piano bench.

Samantha eyed him carefully: rubber boots, green plaid pajama pants, tuxedo T-shirt.

“Don’t you have anything you need to pack?” she asked.

“Not really,” he answered.

Samantha smiled. She liked her uncle just the way he was.

“I could bring the top hat I took from that angry clown,” said Uncle Paul. “It had a boxing glove inside, remember?”

Samantha nodded.

“But…no,” he added. “It doesn’t go with my pajamas. Too formal.”

“Okay,” said Samantha. “I’ll be right back.”

She took the escalator down to the “guest room” two floors below. Buffy had put Nipper and her in a stable built for the rainbow unicorns she planned to buy someday. Samantha scrounged through the pile of shredded newspapers her sister had provided as a bed.

“Gotcha,” she said, lifting an old trombone case from the mound.

She found her purse and looped it over her shoulder. Then she grabbed her suitcase, which she’d never unpacked, and a minute later, she was back in the living room with a case in each hand.

“A musical instrument?” said Uncle Paul, eyeing the trombone case. “You’re full of surprises, too, Samantha.”

She set down her suitcase, unsnapped the trombone case, and opened it just enough to show the red umbrella inside.

“Aha! Now you’re getting it,” he said. “Super secrets survive concealed in commonplace containers.”

“Thanks. Wait…what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Samantha heard her mother coming back. She closed the case quickly.

“I changed the plane tickets for you,” Dr. Spinner announced.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Samantha.

“And, Paul,” Dr. Spinner said. “George called again while I was on the phone with the airline. He wanted me to let you know that he has the dog clogs ready.”

Uncle Paul froze. “What?” he asked quickly.

“I’m pretty sure he said ‘dog clogs,’ ” her mother replied.

Samantha thought she saw Uncle Paul’s hands tremble slightly.

“Dog…clogs,” he said slowly.

Samantha couldn’t figure out what had come over him so suddenly. He’d gone silent and was standing completely still. Finally, she clapped her hands twice to get his attention.

Uncle Paul didn’t respond. He continued to stare off into space. Then, he slowly tilted his head and stared up at the gold-plated ceiling.

“Button,” he whispered.