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We were the last two people in the library. As I neared the exit I saw the security sensors set up on either side of the door and stopped short. The bar code on the book in my bag would set off the alarm, and then she would catch me—or I would have to run.
I took a deep breath. If I bolted, would she chase me? Did she know my name?
“Wait a second,” Miss Oliver called from behind the counter.
“We’ll walk out together,” she said, reaching beneath her desk and flipping a few switches. All of the library lights switched off, and the red power light on the security sensors faded.
No alarm sounded as we walked through in silence, and I waited as Miss Oliver locked the front door and lowered the gate and locked that too. I had no idea that libraries were having such security issues. Maybe because of people like me, who steal rare books and microfiche slides.
“Is someone coming for you?” Miss Oliver asked, looking around.
“Um, no,” I said. “But it’s okay. I’ll just walk.”
“Walk?” she asked doubtfully. “That isn’t safe. Where do you live?”
“Whitley Street,” I said.
She looked at me like I was a stray cat who’d taken up residence on her porch. “I’ll drive you,” she said at last, unlocking the door of the only car in the lot, an old square Buick with dulling paint.
We rode in silence. When we reached Whitley Street, I pointed to my house. She slowed the car.
“This house?” she asked.
How many times had my friends’ parents asked me that question, in that tone of voice? It was so clear to me now—they really meant, “This awful house, with the horrible, violent past? You live, eat, sleep, brush your teeth in this terrible place?”
“Yep, this one,” I said. It was the same thing I’d always said.
22
I CLOSED THE DOOR QUIETLY BEHIND ME.
“Alexis, is that you?” Mom’s voice called out.
I dropped my bags on the stairs and crossed the hall to the kitchen, where Mom stood in front of the open freezer door, studying the stacks of TV di
“Sorry I didn’t call,” I said, steeling myself for a lecture.
“That’s all right,” she said. “I just got home myself. Kasey told me where you were.”
I glanced at the staircase. “She did?” “Doing research at the library, right?” “Um…yeah.”
“Your sister’s been working too. She’s totally wrapped up in some project for school.” Mom spoke quietly, like we were gossiping. “It’s not like her. I’ve never seen her so dedicated.”
“Hmm,” was all I could manage.
“I’m microwaving taquitos for Kasey. Did you eat yet?”
“No, but I’m not hungry,” I said, and then I grabbed my bag and climbed the stairs.
As I neared my bedroom door, Kasey’s door opened and she took a half step out into the hallway.
She stared at me with cold eyes, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Long night at the library?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, just walked into my room, holding my head as high as I could manage. When the door was safely locked behind me, I set my stuff down and took a few long, deep breaths.
I changed out of my jeans into a pair of sweatpants, and sat on the floor at the foot of the bed with my bag in front of me, ready to do more research.
Speaking of research, what was this mysterious project of my sister’s? Stealing the reports from school, reading up on all those families…What could any of it have to do with Shara?
After a minute, Mom’s voice called up the stairs a
But for how long?
I peered out into the hall. Voices drifted up from the kitchen—Mom’s tired chatter and Kasey’s emotionless staccato—and I figured, if this was going to happen, it had to happen now.
I stayed close to the wall for the ten feet I had to pass
to get to Kasey’s door; then I ducked inside and looked around to make sure there were no ghosts playing rent-a-cop for her.
Coast clear.
I tried to forget the feeling that had come over me when I’d been in there the previous night—the feeling that I now suspected meant I wasn’t alone. But the air seemed dry, and held only the faint aroma of dolls—a mixture of dust, plastic hair, and something like old books.
So I was alone. For now.
The room looked like a tornado had hit it, as usual. Kasey’s desk was a mess of books and loose papers. She’d been busy, all right—but why?
I went closer to the desk and saw a stack of photocopies and other papers. I grabbed the stack and flipped through it. The photocopies were pages from public records—mostly birth and death a
The other pages were hand-drawn or computer-drawn family trees. There were five of them, and at the top of each was a name and a page number. They’d been torn from her classmates’ ancestor reports.
So I guess the whole thing about returning them was a lie.
I stopped on one that culminated in MELISSA MARGARET LAIRD—Mimi. The tree went all the way back
through several generations, and Kasey had either highlighted or crossed out several of the names on the page.
Same for the rest of the reports.
Finally I set them down and tugged the red notebook out from the pile on the desk.
I opened it and skipped through pages of Kasey’s school notes. There were about ten new pages at the end, and the first few were filled in Kasey’s messy chicken scratch—not just words, but interlocking circles, a ragged tree, random chaotic doodles….
The effect was mesmerizing, and I found myself staring for several moments before I suddenly realized I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there. I had a feeling Kasey wouldn’t just leave her precious work unprotected for long. I was about to make a run for my room when I noticed the last page.
It was covered in lists, written in the smallest scrawl imaginable. The page was so full that if you blurred your eyes, it looked gray.
And she’d written everything backward, like that movie where the kid writes REDRUM all over the place.
I picked one list to try to focus on. It took forever to get my brain adjusted to reading backward.
IVYCOLEMM (RIDGE) (died 1974)— 3 children
1. SON: ??? Ridge
DAUGHTER??
2 .DAUGHTER-. Rhonda Ridge( Hutchins)( died 1983) (1 daughter)
DAUGHTER: MIRI HUTCHINS’
3. SON: John Ridge (died 1990)
(2 daughters)
DAUGHTER: Eve Ridge (Hamilton)
DAUGHTER: Delores Ridge (Oliver)
Delores Oliver?
Librarian Delores Oliver?
I didn’t recognize any of the other names.
I needed more time with the list, but Kasey was still working on it. She’d notice right away if it was gone.
I listened out in the hallway but couldn’t hear anything but TV noises from downstairs. Maybe Kasey had decided to take a load off for a while and watch some game shows.
I had an idea.
Clutching the notebook close, I darted down the hall and through the study to the darkroom.
The paper was thick, but she’d written with dark ink, so maybe it would work—if I set the exposure long enough.
Except I was out of photo paper.
Then I remembered my extra-fancy matte paper, the stuff Dad got me last Christmas. It cost, like, two dollars a page, and to make sure I didn’t accidentally use it for regular stuff, I kept it wrapped in a towel at the bottom of one of the bathroom drawers. Kasey didn’t even know it existed, so maybe…
I opened the drawer.
There it was.
I put a page down under the enlarger and then set Kasey’s list, print side down, right on top of it. I cranked the timer and let it run for ten seconds, twenty, forty-five. Finally, after a minute, the light clicked off.
This was taking way too long. I dropped the paper in the developer and ran back out to the hallway with the original.