Free Trapped!: The 2031 Journal of Otis Fitzmorgan by Bill Doyle Page A

until we can get the situation straightened out. You, too, Lysa.”
    Charlotte grimaced as if she had tasted something awful. But she nodded and left. Lysa followed her out.

    LYSA AND CHARLOTTE WERE SHOCKED AND ANGRY.
    “I'll make sure they get back to their rooms,” Crockett said.
    I slumped into the chair where Charlotte had been sitting. Feeling frazzled, I squeezed my eyes shut and put my head in my
     hands. I felt Judge's hand on my shoulder. She said sympathetically, “I'm not sure if anyone could have handled that better.”
    With my head still down, I opened my eyes and found myself looking directly at the drawing Judge had been working on when
     I came in earlier.
    The sketch showed men in old-fashioned suits helping a little girl with black hair off a train. The girl looked to be about
     six years old—and exactly like a younger version of Lysa Benato. In the background of the drawing, I could make out a city
     that looked like it might be San Francisco. It was in flames.

    JUDGE'S SKETCH
    “What's this?” I said, tapping the paper.
    “Oh, that? Just a memory I had,” judge said. “It came to me while I was talking to Charlotte and Lysa. I thought maybe it
     was because you remind me of your ancestor Fitz.”
    “You mean my great-great-great-great-grandmother?” I couldn't help but laugh with the last “great.”
    “You remind me a lot of her,” she said. “And that's quite a compliment.”
    “Thanks, judge.” For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off the drawing.
    Judge noticed and said “You can Keep it if you like.”
    “I'd love it,” I told her. “But maybe you should give it to Lysa since you drew a younger version of her in the picture.”
    “That's not Lysa,” Judge said. “That's Asyla Notabe.”
    I looked up, surprised. “You mean the Asyla Notabe who started the campaign against private detectives?”
    “That's right,” Judge said. “Even she was a little girl at one point. In fact, I met her in 1906 on the same train that I
     met Fitz. We were on our way to San Francisco.”
    “That's the answer,” I said. “It's been right there the whole time!”
    “What is it?”
    I quickly wrote out the three names.
    CHARLOTTE NOONAN
    MAXINE BENATO
    LYSA A. BENATO
    “Do you see it?” I said. “I know you and my family worked on anagrams to crack many cases together. And it looks like this
     one might hinge on anagrams, too.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Judge. She gazed at the names for a moment. “Benato is an anagram for Notabe!”
    “Look at Lysa's full name.”
    LYSA A. BENATO
    I rearranged the letters until they spelled:
    ASYLA NOTABE
    I pushed the paper toward judge. “Lysa A. Benato is an anagram for Asyla Notabe!”
    “You're right!” Judge cried. “But what about Charlotte Noonan? She's a clone, as well, but her name isn't even close to an
     anagram.”
    I tapped the pen thoughtfully against the table. “That's true. And why would there be three Notabe clones on this Climber,
     anyway? Does it have to do with ESCAPE BY A HAIR? And does the person who tool the statue know how to stop the virus?”

    LYSA DIDN'T SEEM TO TRUST JUDGE.
    “Well,” judge said, “there might be one way to answer some of our questions. We can tall: to Lysa and Charlotte.”
    Lysa wasn't in her room, so we checked her mom's. Mrs. Benato was lying in bed asleep, and Lysa was sitting in a chair next
     to the bed watching over her. When she saw judge, Lysa said, “No offense, but for some reason you make me nervous.”
    Judge I didn't take offense at Lysa's comment the way I might have. Instead, she gave Lysa a little smile. “Why don't I wait
     outside?”
    Before I could protest, judge left the room. The door slid shut behind her, and I turned to Lysa. I was angry. “You're going
     to have to get used to constructed intelligent life.”
    “Am I?” she asked, seeming genuinely surprised by my anger. “You mean there are more of them?”
    “People might consider you