Paperquake (15 page)

"
My nights are broken, my days unbearably long.
"

 

Violet drew a shaky breath.
We must save the little girl—

"That's it, then, isn't it?" asked Rose when Violet closed the ledger.

"That's what?" said Violet, shaking the vision of the shadow children out of her head.

"That's how V died, don't you think?" pressed Rose.

"What?" Jasmine looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"The needlepoint pillow," Rose said succincdy

Violet's eyes grew round as she stared at her sister. "You could be right. This diary writer could have smothered her with it—justasshe says she wants to!" Violet shivered as the train curved toward the bay. She shook her head. "I told you—I had a dream about needlepointing a man's face. And I've had—well, sort of a vision—about children crying for help. I've been feeling all along there's a tie to me, and now these entries prove it even more."

"What do you mean, you've had visions?" demanded Rose. "Have you turned psychic or something?" She glanced at Jasmine as if to say,
We don't believe this, do we?

"I don't know," replied Violet. "The visions came to me during the earthquakes. Maybe they're not my visions. Maybe they're V's."

"You keep hinting about some big connection," Rose went on, sounding almost angry. "I think it's only fair that you tell us everything. After all, if it wasn't for us, you'd be locked up in jail by now, probably."

"You don't still think that Hal is writing letters to you, I hope," said Jasmine. "You don't think this diary writer is writing the diary to
you,
do you?"

"No," said Violet slowly. "Not
to
me—not exactly." She saw a man looking at her—no, looking at her
hair
—and she pulled her hood up and turned her back on him. "All right," she said softly, "I'll tell you," feeling strong, feeling powerful.

Rose and Jasmine leaned close in order to hear over the tumult of voices and the hum of the train as it rushed smoothly through the tunnel under the bay.

"Do you believe in magic?"

"
I
believe in magic," said Jasmine. "At least, I want to believe."

It was after dinner that night, and the triplets sat curled up on the beds in Rose and Jasmine's pink-and-yellow bedroom.

Rose shook her head. "I'm not sure I do. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure the similarities between Vi's life and V's are just chance."

"But you have to admit there are an awful lot of parallels," said Jasmine.

"Well, yeah," conceded Rose.

Violet flashed her a smile. She couldn't blame Rose for not believing. She hardly believed it herself.

"I mean, okay," Rose was saying, "there
are
parallels. But I don't see why you jump to the conclusion that they
mean
anything." She snorted. "Am I supposed to believe that Prince Charming is going to come and elope with my baby sister?"

"I think—maybe it is a warning." Violet ignored Rose's sarcasm. "A warning to me. To beware."

"To beware of men coming through the window?" asked Rose incredulously.

"Whether it's magic or coincidence—there's still a pattern of similarities between my life and V's," reasoned Violet. "That means whatever happened to V could happen to me, too. Doesn't that make sense?"

Rose shrugged. Jasmine was looking worried.

Violet continued, her voice rising. "Maybe Hal didn't manage to elope with V because they were stopped by the earthquake. But maybe they were stopped in another way. Maybe he couldn't run off with her because she was murdered by the person who wrote the diary!"

"But you're just guessing that V was murdered," protested Rose. "Remember, the companion wrote that she was just joking about putting the pillow over V's face."

"Well, this part doesn't sound like much of a joke," said Jasmine, scanning the earlier diary entry Violet had found in the suitcase. She read aloud:"
I have done a terrible thing. She is dead and I am wracked with guilt.
"

Rose frowned. "Well, we don't have proof that any of this is connected with Vi."

Violet felt cold. She belted her lavender robe more tightly. "How much proof am I supposed to wait for," she asked, "if my life's in danger?"

"What do you mean?" snapped Rose.

Jasmine put her hands to her mouth and peered at Violet with frightened blue eyes. "Oh, you don't really think—"

"I do think," Violet said slowly. Goose bumps prickled along the back of her neck. "I think someone may try to murder me."

Saying it aloud made it sound melodramatic. But wasn't a pattern from the past already there, written out before them?

"I think all of this is stupid," snapped Rose.

Lily poked her head into the room. "All three of you together?" she asked in glad surprise. "Still awake? Really, Baby, you look very pale. You need to get to bed now. It's late and there's school tomorrow."

"We were done anyway," said Violet softly.

"Homework, I suppose?"

"More or less," Rose fibbed quickly. "About Vi's science report on earthquakes."

"Mom, wait," called Jasmine as Lily turned away. "We wanted to ask you if we can go to San Francisco to the historical society. Vi needs to do research for her earthquake report, you know, and Rosy and I don't think she ought to go alone. We could take the BART after school—"

"Oh, my, I don't like the idea of you girls out alone in San Francisco."

"Mom! We did it before," complained Rose, and Violet kicked her. "Um—I mean when we went to clean on Saturday."

"That was different. It was daylight then, and early morning. I don't want you girls going to San Francisco after school. It gets dark too early now. I'd worry."

"How about on Saturday, then?" asked Jasmine. "You wanted us to go back and work on the shop again, right? Maybe we could go to the historical society first?"

"How about just calling?" suggested Lily. "It would be easier and more efficient." She kissed them all good night". "Now get to bed, girls. Especially you, Baby."

"Why didn't we think of that?" asked Jasmine when their mother had left the room.

"That's what mothers are for," replied Rose.

Violet slid off Rose's bed and headed for the door. "Good night."

"Wait a minute," said Jasmine. "Do you want to sleep in here with us?"

"Of course she doesn't," said Rose. "She
can't
be thinking someone is going to murder her. That is just too
creepy.
"

Violet turned back in the doorway. "I'd feel safer if we had a plan," she told her sisters. "You guys help me watch out for—whomever. And we'll try really hard to find out more about V. The more we know, the more I'll know what to look out for, so that what happened to her doesn't happen to me."

"I'm still not sure about this," said Rose. "It's paranoid."

"Be sure not to mention anything to Mom and Dad," Violet added, thinking,
Maybe I
am
paranoid!
"They worry about me enough as it is."

"I'll help you," Jasmine vowed loyally. "Any way I can."

"Thanks," Violet whispered. She stepped into the hall, then looked back. "First thing in the morning we call the historical society place."

Rose saluted her. "Aye, aye, Captain!"

"And don't sleep too late," Violet instructed.

As Violet left the room, she heard Rose mutter to Jasmine, "Bossy, isn't she?"

And Jasmine answered, "Oh, I don't know. If it were me, I'd be
terrified.
I think Vi's being pretty brave about this. Maybe she's been brave all along, only we never noticed."

 

But Violet lay in bed unable to sleep. She was feeling anything but brave. She lay stiffly beneath her lavender quilt, fists clenched and aching. She was waiting, watching.

Whom
did she need to watch out for?

What person posed a danger to her? V might have been murdered by someone hired to be her companion, but Violet didn't have such a person in her own life. She lay rigid under her quilt, trying to think of anyone she knew who filled the role of V's companion in her own life. That she could think of no one should have been reassuring to her, but somehow was not.
I'm missing something,
she thought. She couldn't afford to miss anything, any warning, any sign at all.

In her dreams that night she was needlepointing again. Hal's face was coming along nicely, shaded in beige and brown thread. When she woke up she felt groggy but determined. The only way to save herself, if saving herself was possible, would be to push ahead and learn more about Hal and V and to discover the identity of the diary writer.

She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, brought the telephone directory to the counter, and sat leafing through it for several minutes before she realized the book was for the East Bay. The San Francisco directory must be up in her parents' room. Instead of going upstairs, she dialed 411—the information number. But when the operator asked her, "What city?" and she said, "San Francisco," he told her she had to dial a different number. Finally she linked up with an operator in San Francisco. She told him she wanted the historical society, and the operator asked which one. Violet sighed.
The one that has more letters from Hal,
she thought. But she said politely she didn't know which one, and if there were several historical societies, she'd take the numbers for all of them.

There were several. While Violet was writing down all the numbers, Jasmine and Rose tumbled into the kitchen.

"Hey," protested Rose. "I thought we were doing this together."

Violet finished writing down the numbers. Then she thanked the operator and hung up. "Keep your hair on," she told Rose. "I was only calling information."

"I think it's too early to call," objected Jasmine. "Most businesses don't open till nine."

Violet glanced at the kitchen clock. It was only just after seven. "But we'll be in school then," she moaned.

"Call from the cafeteria at lunchtime," suggested Rose practically, and Violet agreed that was what they'd do.

 

Waiting wasn't easy. Violet felt jumpy all morning. When Mrs. Lynch, the principal, roared at her for running in the hallway, Violet narrowed her eyes at her, wondering whether
she
could be the killer. When Casey Banks grabbed her arm on the stairs to ask her where Jasmine was, she shrieked so loudly that other kids stopped to see what was wrong. "Whoa!" howled Casey. "What did I do?"

"Sorry," muttered Violet. She hurried to her next class, embarrassed but still alive.
Do I really believe any of this?
she thought to herself. But the letters were real, and the pattern was real. The only question left to answer was what it all meant, and until she knew, it made sense to be careful.

Finally, the noon bell rang. Violet and her sisters avoided the crush in the cafeteria and hurried to the telephone in the hall. "What do I say?" asked Violet, fingering the coins in her pocket. "I mean, what should I tell them?"

"Do you want me to make the call for you?" asked Rose impatiently.

"No, she can do it," said Jasmine. "Don't panic. Just tell them the truth—that you're doing a project about the earthquake in 1906. And say that you saw the letter at the Academy of Sciences—and were told there might be more information at the historical society."

"Okay." Violet took a deep breath and dialed the first number she'd written down. The line was busy. So she hung up and tried the next. She was proud that her voice came out sounding so calm and grown-up as she explained her quest. The man who answered couldn't help them. Violet politely declined to send in an application for membership. Then she called the next number, and a woman said that yes, they did indeed accept donations of letters and documents from private homes. And yes, indeed, many of these were available to be read by the public. Did she have some to donate?

Violet gripped the phone tightly. "No, I'm sorry, I don't. But I'm trying to trace a letter that might have been donated to you." Then she told the woman about the letter she'd seen in the earthquake exhibit and how she wondered where it had come from.

"Just a moment. I'll check," said the woman.

"She's checking," Violet whispered to Jasmine and Rose. Her sisters crowded close, trying to hear.

The woman's voice was crisp. "That letter was sent in by a local woman. I remember telling her we wouldn't mind seeing any other letters she cared to donate—people sometimes have no idea that the old things they call junk are worth something to historians. But so far she hasn't sent us anything else."

Rose grabbed Violet's elbow. "Ask her the name of the person!"

"Can you tell me the name of the woman who brought you the letter?" asked Violet in her sweetest voice. "I'd like to—uh—write or call her or something. You know, to see it she can let me see the stuff. Maybe it'll help me out with my report."

There was a silence. Then an operator's voice—or was it a computerized voice?—interrupted. "Please insert sixty-five cents," it said. Violet dug into her pocket and came up with a quarter. She slipped it into the slot. "Give me some money!" she cried to her sisters, and both girls fished in their backpacks for change. "Please don't hang up," Violet called into the receiver.

Rose handed Violet two more quarters.

There were some clicks on the line. Then, "The name was Lauer," said the historical society woman. "
L-A-U-E-R.
"

"Get the phone number," hissed Jasmine, pressing close to Violet.

"Can you give me her number?" asked Violet, pushing Jasmine away. "Or address?"

"I'm sorry. I can't give you any further information."

Violet thought she probably
could,
but she thanked the woman and said good-bye. "The woman who donated the letter is named Lauer," Violet told her sisters excitedly. "We have to find her!"

"This is like being a detective," said Rose as Violet started turning the pages of the phone book attached to the phone booth by a thin chain. "One clue leading to another."