apartment, a siren whined. Romps scrambled to his feet and barked. Beth grabbed Violet's arm. "Hide!" she whispered. "I'll tell them I'm alone here."
Violet jumped to her feet. The closet? Under the bed? But wouldn't the hair dye drip on Beth's white rug?
The siren vanished into the distance. The girls looked at each other and laughed shakily. "I guess I'd better return the letter," mumbled Violet. "And fast."
"But how?"
Violet sank back onto the bed. Her knees felt like tafiy. Too much was happening all at once. As if diary entries from murderers and letters that foretold the future weren't enough to deal withânow she had to worry about breaking the law as well. What happened to people who stole things from museum exhibits? Would pleading momentary insanity help her case?
Â
Would madness provide the excuse I need if ever I am brought to task ?
Â
Would she go to jail? Reform school? "Maybeâmaybe I can just mail it back to them?"
"Anonymously," stressed Beth. "And maybe you should send the diary page to the police at the same time, so that they can get busy trying to track down the murderer."
"But we don't know who wrote it or who was murdered or anything! And it's so old I don't see how the police could solve the crime anyway, I found these things, and I want to solve the mystery myself. And don't you go telling people about any of this," she added. "Please."
"I won't," Beth promised. "As long as you send the letter back to the museum."
"I will, I will. First thing tomorrow." Violet took a deep breath of relief. She would send it back on the way to school.
But not until I photocopy it,
she decided, looking guiltily over at her friend.
It will be as I promised. I will come for you at midnight.
The words echoed in her head across the decades. Would she still be here tomorrow morning? She glanced down at the letter in her hand. A drop of reddish dye plopped onto the inkblot and she mopped it up hastily with the corner of her towel. "Hasn't it been twenty minutes yet?" she asked in a plaintive voice.
"Close enough," answered Beth with a quick glance at her watch. "Come on."
They left the letters on Beth's bed and returned to the bathroom. Violet knelt over the bathtub again while Beth rinsed her hair. Rivers of muddy dye streamed from Violet's head and swirled down the drain. Beth shoved Violet's head directly beneath the tap for a final rinse. When the pounding water finally ran clear, she wrapped "Violet's head in a clean towel.
Violet hurried to the mirror, trying to push all thoughts of letters and crime from her soon-to-be-revealed golden head. Both girls leaned toward the mirror above the sink. "
Tadah!
" Beth cried, and the towel fell away
Violet started into the mirror. A bubble of disappointment rose into her throat. As far as she could tell, her hair looked the same as always. Wet, but the same dark brown, nearly black frizz. "Nothing happened, Beth!"
"Wait," said Beth, and reached under the sink for her mother's hair dryer. "Let's see what happens when we dry it."
Violet stood still, trying not to cry, while Beth blew hot air on her hair.
"I think there are highlights," Beth said encouragingly. "Golden highlights, coming through. Hang on. They're just like Jazzy's and Rosy's."
Violet tilted her head. Golden? In the fluorescent bathroom light her hair now seemed to have an odd-colored cast, like the skin of an overripe plum. "They look like
purple
highlights to me, Beth." And now tears coursed down her cheeks. "Now I don't look like Jazzy and Rosy, and I don't even look like
me
anymore."
Beth consulted the package insert. "It wears off in four to six weeks, anyway. That won't be so bad."
But Violet could only stare in the mirror, shaking her head.
Your raven hair!
Oh, Hal,
Violet thought sadly.
Ton would have liked me better just the way I was.
Chapter 9
When she returned home from Beth's, Violet went straight to her little alcove bedroom and tied a red bandanna over her hair.
Violet jumped to her feet. The closet? Under the bed? But wouldn't the hair dye drip on Beth's white rug?
The siren vanished into the distance. The girls looked at each other and laughed shakily. "I guess I'd better return the letter," mumbled Violet. "And fast."
"But how?"
Violet sank back onto the bed. Her knees felt like tafiy. Too much was happening all at once. As if diary entries from murderers and letters that foretold the future weren't enough to deal withânow she had to worry about breaking the law as well. What happened to people who stole things from museum exhibits? Would pleading momentary insanity help her case?
Â
Would madness provide the excuse I need if ever I am brought to task ?
Â
Would she go to jail? Reform school? "Maybeâmaybe I can just mail it back to them?"
"Anonymously," stressed Beth. "And maybe you should send the diary page to the police at the same time, so that they can get busy trying to track down the murderer."
"But we don't know who wrote it or who was murdered or anything! And it's so old I don't see how the police could solve the crime anyway, I found these things, and I want to solve the mystery myself. And don't you go telling people about any of this," she added. "Please."
"I won't," Beth promised. "As long as you send the letter back to the museum."
"I will, I will. First thing tomorrow." Violet took a deep breath of relief. She would send it back on the way to school.
But not until I photocopy it,
she decided, looking guiltily over at her friend.
It will be as I promised. I will come for you at midnight.
The words echoed in her head across the decades. Would she still be here tomorrow morning? She glanced down at the letter in her hand. A drop of reddish dye plopped onto the inkblot and she mopped it up hastily with the corner of her towel. "Hasn't it been twenty minutes yet?" she asked in a plaintive voice.
"Close enough," answered Beth with a quick glance at her watch. "Come on."
They left the letters on Beth's bed and returned to the bathroom. Violet knelt over the bathtub again while Beth rinsed her hair. Rivers of muddy dye streamed from Violet's head and swirled down the drain. Beth shoved Violet's head directly beneath the tap for a final rinse. When the pounding water finally ran clear, she wrapped "Violet's head in a clean towel.
Violet hurried to the mirror, trying to push all thoughts of letters and crime from her soon-to-be-revealed golden head. Both girls leaned toward the mirror above the sink. "
Tadah!
" Beth cried, and the towel fell away
Violet started into the mirror. A bubble of disappointment rose into her throat. As far as she could tell, her hair looked the same as always. Wet, but the same dark brown, nearly black frizz. "Nothing happened, Beth!"
"Wait," said Beth, and reached under the sink for her mother's hair dryer. "Let's see what happens when we dry it."
Violet stood still, trying not to cry, while Beth blew hot air on her hair.
"I think there are highlights," Beth said encouragingly. "Golden highlights, coming through. Hang on. They're just like Jazzy's and Rosy's."
Violet tilted her head. Golden? In the fluorescent bathroom light her hair now seemed to have an odd-colored cast, like the skin of an overripe plum. "They look like
purple
highlights to me, Beth." And now tears coursed down her cheeks. "Now I don't look like Jazzy and Rosy, and I don't even look like
me
anymore."
Beth consulted the package insert. "It wears off in four to six weeks, anyway. That won't be so bad."
But Violet could only stare in the mirror, shaking her head.
Your raven hair!
Oh, Hal,
Violet thought sadly.
Ton would have liked me better just the way I was.
Chapter 9
When she returned home from Beth's, Violet went straight to her little alcove bedroom and tied a red bandanna over her hair.
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