* * * * *
Ten minutes later, Mr. Campbell was in the kitchen removing the lids from the crates, which were now resting on newspapers so as not to damage the linoleum floor. Mrs. Campbell was still breathless over the discovery of the old clothes.
"Mom, can't we get someone to restore them? You know, clean them and dye them, repair the tears and stuff?" Caera was whining her best and looking as mournful as she could.
"Honey, that would take a lot of money, and we just don't have it right now. Your father's going to have to build a new fence this summer and the roof needs re-done as it is. Besides, we just fixed up the guest room, and money doesn't grow on trees you know."
"But mom—"
"Caera, I didn't say we wouldn't do it, but you'll have to wait until I can fit it in the budget."
"Mom, you could fix them up for our Christmas present!" Claudia suggested, still in the blue dress she'd found.
"Well, I'll think about it." A moment later Mr. Campbell called them over to inspect the contents of the other three crates. The smallest one was packed with paper to protect the Singer sewing machine inside it. Another was filled with an assortment of antiquated items--old shoes, silver mirrors (which Caera insisted were junk because she could barely see herself in them), a set of china dishes that were chipped and cracked in places, and other historical oddities.
Caera guessed the contents of the largest crate when her father turned around in a bowler hat and pretended to be Charlie Chaplin. Just as she thought, it contained relics of men's clothing.
"Where did these crates come from?" Ana wanted to know.
"Actually, I don't know." Mr. Campbell said. "Your grandfather had a lot of old junk lying around that he'd never get rid of."
"Well, Dad, aren't you glad we finally opened them?" Caera teased. Mr. Campbell laughed and said "yes" before going to search for mothballs to keep the clothes fresh.
"You girls had better go collect the camping equipment because I've got to take it to Mrs. Johnson's tomorrow morning," Mrs. Campbell suggested before going to make room in the storage room for the clothes. The three girls slowly trudged upstairs to Claudia's room.
Fifteen minutes later the girls were sitting on the edge of Claudia's bed. Caera got up and hid the old book in Claudia's bottom drawer—a place where she was sure that nothing was ever seen again.
"What does the message mean?" Ana looked dumbfounded.
"I honestly don't know." Claudia admitted. "Why do you suppose we found it now of all times, just after we started dreaming about Emma?"
"Maybe we're supposed to find whoever stole Emma's diary," Caera suggested.
"That's it!" Claudia cried. "It has to be. Emma's murderer must have stolen her diary to try to find the Campbell treasure, only he couldn't find it. And whoever stole it may have given it to someone, to family or relations, or else hidden it.”
"Or else he lost it." Ana suggested.
"Or else he lost it." Claudia agreed.
"Do you think we're meant to find it, Claudia?" Caera wondered. "Do you think that's why we've been having these terrible nightmares about Emma?"
"Yes, I do," Claudia said after a moment. "And I don't think they'll stop until we do find Emma Campbell's diary."
"But we just found her rhyming book. Maybe that's enough to lead us in the right direction—"
"No, it's not much to go on." Claudia said, in a sober way. "It's just a sign that Emma isn't finished with us yet," she added. "And that she's getting bold enough to interfere in our active lives, not just in our dreams."
"And that means her ghost might really be here in this house." Caera concluded.
Claudia and Ana stared at her, terrified.
And of course, they didn't dare sleep that night.