Missing Pieces Read online

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  Missing Pieces

  Copyright © 2005 by Jerry B. Jenkins. All rights reserved.

  Cover and interior photographs copyright © 2004 by Brian MacDonald. All rights reserved.

  Authors’ photograph © 2004 by Brian MacDonald. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jacqueline L. Nuñez

  Edited by Lorie Popp

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the authors or publisher.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Jenkins, Jerry B.

  Missing pieces / Jerry B. Jenkins; Chris Fabry.

  p. cm. — (Red rock mysteries)

  Summary: Red Rock suffers a spate of “mailbox baseball” vandalism and twins Bryce and Ashley become witnesses.

  ISBN 978-1-4143-0142-6 (softcover)

  [1. Vandalism—Fiction. 2. Stepfamilies—Fiction. 3. Twins—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction. 5. Christian life—Fiction. 6. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Fabry, Chris, date. II. Title.

  PZ7.J4138Mis 2005

  [Fic]—dc22 2004030078

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  This story is about a dead girl, a dead dog, a dead mom, and lots of dead mailboxes, so if you don’t like dead things, stop reading right now.

  For as long as I can remember, my mother has bought a new jigsaw puzzle every few months. She says it helps our family work together on at least one thing. The newest was a picture of a waterfall, nice and peaceful, unlike our lives the past few weeks.

  When you first start a puzzle, it’s hard to imagine getting finished. But piece by piece it comes together, kind of like life. Well, some people’s lives. I don’t know if our lives will ever fit together. I can’t imagine what the picture would look like in the end.

  But with all the dead things in this story, I think you’ll be surprised how much life came from it.

  Chapter 2

  As we set up the tent in our backyard late Wednesday afternoon, I couldn’t get my mind off Ashley’s doctor’s appointment the next day. Ashley was having an EEG the next morning, and I was supposed to help her stay up. EEG stands for electro-something-or-other, but whatever it is, it scares her.

  Sam grilled burgers and hot dogs on our back deck. (If you’re wondering why I call him Sam instead of Dad, it’s a long story. My real father was killed in a plane crash. Sam is our stepdad. I’ve called him Dad like twice, but Sam feels right to me.)

  Dylan, our little brother, kept eating watermelon. Later he ran to the bathroom and stayed there most of the evening. He’s a funny little kid, and we all like having him around until he gets annoying.

  We made a small campfire in a pit toward the back of the yard and roasted marshmallows, made s’mores, and watched the sun go down. Leigh, our older stepsister, showed up with her boyfriend, Randy. She was excited about her driver’s test next week. We joked about telling people to stay off the road.

  “Leigh’s a good driver,” Mom said, looking her in the eye. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Does that mean she can drive me to dance practice next week?” Ashley said.

  Mom dipped her head and looked over the top of her glasses. “We’ll talk about that.”

  Dylan came outside crying because he couldn’t camp out with Ashley and me. I told Mom we’d watch him until he fell asleep and then carry him inside. She tucked him in to his Scooby Doo sleeping bag.

  “Don’t let the monsters get you,” Randy said before he and Leigh went inside.

  “Ooh, good one, Randy,” I said, a cold wind whipping the tent flap.

  A coyote yipped in the distance, and I glanced at the red rocks rising behind us. The air turned nippy as a crow flew overhead and cawed.

  I was glad I didn’t have to have stuff stuck to my head the next day like Ashley, but being her twin, I felt bad for her.

  Chapter 3

  I love the smell of a campfire. I’m an expert marshmallow cooker, so I showed Bryce how to get the marshmallow just right at the end of the stick. He didn’t listen, and his first one fell into the fire. Can you spell s-t-u-b-b-o-r-n?

  Dylan popped his head out of the tent. While Bryce tried again, I gave Dylan a couple of plain marshmallows and told him to lie down.

  I was nervous about my EEG the next day, not because it hurts or anything, but because last time the doctor said we’d
have to try “something different.” I don’t know what that means, but I was hoping I’d get better rather than worse.

  An EEG reads the waves in your brain. Mine do weird stuff when I sleep, and if we can’t make things better, my brain could remember those weird signals and I could just pass out even during the day.

  I kept telling Dylan to lie down, and he giggled and scrunched into his sleeping bag. When I yelled at him, he stuck his head inside his sleeping bag and Bryce frowned.

  We had only a few weeks left of school, and I was glad seventh grade was almost over. We started talking about the summer and what we would do. Earning money was at the top of the list.

  Bryce said something about a bike trip with his friend Jeff Alexander. “And I’m going to get a paper route and use my ATV,” he whispered.

  “Good luck,” I said. We ride our ATVs to school, but we’re not allowed to ride them on the street. “I’m going to talk with Mr. Crumpus and see if I can roll silverware at the Toot Toot Café.”

  “They don’t let kids our age work.”

  “I can try.”

  Headlights passed our house, and the driver gunned the engine. Not many people live past us on our road. What was going on out there?

  Chapter 4

  I could tell it was a truck, and whoever was inside whooped and yelled. Then the tires spun gravel.

  “Probably high schoolers joyriding,” I said.

  I picked up Dylan—sleeping bag and all—and he rolled over and hugged my neck as I carried him inside. I laid him gently on his bed. He opened his eyes and stared at me, like he wanted to say something. But then his eyes shut, and he was out again.

  I pulled the sleeping bag up around him and tiptoed out. When I closed the door, I heard the roar of the truck and glanced out a front window. Our house is set back from the road, but I could see the truck clearly. A strange light flashed inside the cab—it glowed. I saw faces, at least two, but I couldn’t make out who.

  One of the passengers rolled down the window and held something outside. The truck sped up and went behind a tree. I heard a loud explosion, like someone had set off a cherry bomb. The truck sped away with more whooping and shouting.

  I raced through the kitchen and into the backyard and met Ashley coming toward the house. Her eyes were wide. “Did they crash?” she said.

  I shook my head and told her what I had seen. We rushed to the tent and grabbed our flashlights.

  Chapter 5

  We flew around the house with our flashlights focused on the end of the driveway. Bryce didn’t seem as scared as I was. I just hoped no one was hurt.

  “Maybe we should get Sam,” I said.

  Bryce rolled his eyes. I hate when he does that. It makes me feel so stupid.

  I expected to see twisted metal, a car on fire, or mangled bodies. I’ve seen a couple of really bad car wrecks, and the memory sticks with you.

  We stopped at the end of the driveway and panned our flashlights to the other side of the road, where I noticed a couple of broken bottles. No crashed cars. No bodies. I couldn’t imagine what had made the metallic crashing sound.

  “Oh no,” Bryce said, moaning. “Look.”

  He pointed his flashlight at our mailbox. Mom had picked out a big one so she could send and receive her manuscripts. She’d painted flowers on the side, rising like vines, and had let Bryce and me help.

  Now the mailbox seemed to cling to the post with its last ounce of strength. It lay flat, the flowers bent, and the red flag Bryce had painted with white stripes and stars hung near the ground.

  “Why would they do that?” I said, gasping.

  “Mailbox baseball,” Bryce said. “Guys ride around with a baseball bat and flatten mailboxes as they drive by. It’s some kind of a stupid contest.” He was silent a minute. Then, “It was like a member of our family. How many orders from eBay and Amazon.com came in that big old thing?”

  “Mom’s going to be mad. We should call the police.”

  Bryce already had his cell phone out. Since we’ve dealt with them so much in the past few months, he had the number memorized. We walked down the road far enough to see that our neighbors’ mailboxes were also smashed. Bryce told the police what had happened and which direction the truck was going.

  Bryce closed his phone. “They said they’ve had a bunch of these this spring and thanked me for calling.”

  “Think they’ll catch ’em?”

  Bryce shook his head. “If they don’t, I’d like to.”

  Chapter 6

  We woke Sam and he followed us outside. He studied the mailbox and cocked his head. “I’d say that was a home run, wouldn’t you?”

  I couldn’t believe he was being so good about it.

  Sam told us to camp out in the living room. I guess he thought whoever had done it might round the bases again. I wanted to bury the old mailbox, but he said the police might want to look at it.

  Ashley and I played Monopoly while we watched an old movie. I could tell she was nervous about the EEG, because she didn’t buy Park Place when she had the chance. Plus, she didn’t choose to be the dog. She’s always the dog, but tonight she picked the shoe.

  By 3 a.m. I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I went to bed and didn’t wake up until after she was gone. I wanted to tell her good luck, even though I don’t really believe in luck.

  Chapter 7

  I don’t pretend to know how prayer works, but I believe it does. Don’t get me wrong. God doesn’t always answer the way I’d like, but I do believe he hears everything we pray, whether out loud or in our minds.

  I used to wonder about all the people in the world praying at the same time. It seemed impossible that God could hear everybody and answer, but I guess that’s because I don’t know how much God can do. I mean, how could he speak the world into existence? I don’t understand it, but I know he can do it.

  Still, sometimes I worry about my prayers and what I ask for. There are people in the world who don’t have enough food or medicine for a sick child. So it makes me feel a little silly to pray for my cat Patches’ hair ball or my ingrown toenail. But I think God cares what we care about and wants us to talk to him. In Sunday school class I asked people to pray about my EEG.

  As Sam and I walked into the doctor’s office, I could almost feel people’s prayers.

  “Ashley?” the nurse said, the one I’d had since we moved to Colorado. She looks like what you’d expect a nurse who gets along with kids to look like. Her perfume has a hint of lilacs and makes me want to sleep for a hundred years.

  As she hooked the electrodes to my head she asked how I was doing since she had last seen me. I hardly knew where to begin.

  We talked as she worked, and finally the machine was ready. “You know the drill, Ashley,” she said. “Just relax and try to sleep. When you wake up, Dr. Alek will see you and your dad.”

  She turned the lights low. My eyes were tired, and it felt good to drift off. Before I fell asleep, I prayed one last time. Help my brain do what it’s supposed to do and not what it’s not supposed to do.

  It was kind of lame, but I knew God would understand.

  Chapter 8

  Mom let me go back to sleep until third period, then drove me to school. We didn’t talk about Ashley’s appointment, but I could tell Mom was worried.

  I checked in at the office and hurried to my class. The bell had just rung, and people milled around the halls. I caught bits of conversation.

  “. . . whole thing was smashed . . .”

  “. . . don’t have any idea who did it . . .”

  “. . . my dad was so angry . . .”

  So our part of town wasn’t the only one hit by the vandals. Skeeter Messler asked why I was late. He’s kind of got a thing for Ashley, poor guy.

  “I was up late with my sister.”

  “Ashley? Is something wrong?”

  “Doctor’s appointment this morning. She has to sleep during the tests, so she stays up late.”

  Skeet
er looked away like he had just heard that Colorado had been invaded by killer koalas. “I had no idea.”

  “She’s had this a long time,” I said.

  “Is she in the hospital?”

  “No,” I said, slamming my locker. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

  I could tell Skeeter’s mind was running, and I hoped Ashley wouldn’t hold me responsible for anything he did. While we walked to our third period class, I changed the subject to damaged mailboxes. Skeeter hadn’t seen any.

  At lunch I realized I’d forgotten to pack mine and I hadn’t brought money. My stomach growled. I scanned the lunchroom, stopping on a terrifying sight. She sat next to a small cash register at the end of the line. I was about to go into uncharted waters, where an undertow could take you out to sea.

  I was about to face every kid’s nightmare at Red Rock Middle School.

  The Lunch Lady.

  Chapter 9

  In the waiting room I found Sam talking to the mother and father of a little boy on the floor. The boy smiled at me as he played with LEGOs. He was missing two teeth on top and one on the bottom, so he looked like he had been in a fight.

  “This is Ashley,” his mother said. “She just finished doing the same thing you’re going to do.”

  “How old are you?” I said.

  “Seven.”

  He seemed small for seven. His mom and dad just stared at him.

  “Does it hurt?” the boy said.

  I got down on the floor with him and shook my head. “You just go to sleep.” I lowered my head so he could see where the nurse had put the electrodes. “The nurse is really nice. She’ll put this gunky stuff in your hair, but it washes out in the shower.”

  The nurse stuck her head out the door. “Ian?”

  He stood and glanced at his mother.

  “You want me to go with you?” I said.

  He smiled again, and it looked like he had an acre of gums. His mouth was a crossword puzzle with too many holes. And four down didn’t line up with three across, if you know what I mean. I walked back with him and showed him the chair he would sleep in and the computer. He climbed in the chair while the nurse went to work.