Missing Pieces (14 page)

Chapter 57

I hurried to Mr. Cheplosa’s room
just before my lunch period and found the door locked. An envelope with my name on it was taped to it. A folded sticky note read:

Ashley,

Had to leave but here’s the original and three aged photos of what she might look like at 5, 7, and 10.

I forced myself not to peek, wanting to look at the pictures at the same time Mrs. Garcia saw them. I raced to the lunchroom and found her busy with a bunch of kids. Bryce joined me—begging to see the finished products (I refused)—and we ate, watching for our chance.

Mrs. Garcia finally waved us over when there was a break in the line. I opened the envelope and slid the photos out as we approached. She took her plastic gloves off and wiped sweat from her forehead.

Mrs. Garcia put a hand over her mouth as we huddled, peering at the pictures. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “How did you do this?”

We told her. Then more kids showed up, and we had to move out of the way. “I’ll make copies of these for you,” I said.

When I got home, I showed the pictures to Mom and asked if we could go to the copy shop in town.

“Did you forget your tutoring? You’re supposed to be in Memorial today.”

Chapter 58

I had painted the targets
on the new mailbox, and it looked great. After school I found a package inside with Sam’s name on it. He had told me to be watching for it, and I opened the box like a hungry hyena. It was a surveillance camera you can hook up to any TV set. I strung the cable, just enough to reach near the mailbox, and set the camera in a bush. I plugged the other end to a black-and-white TV we keep in an upstairs closet. The picture was clear.

Next I found an old videotape and set the VCR to record at low speed. I turned it on and ran to the mailbox, walking up and down the road to check the camera angle. I’m glad nobody came by because I must have looked goofy.

Back inside, I rewound the tape and laughed out loud as I moved across the screen. I needed to mount the camera higher so it would show the license plate of any vehicle coming by, so I made a platform out of some old wood and fastened it to a pine tree.

No more sleeping outside to watch for cars. I was going to have hard evidence the next time those goons drove through.

Chapter 59

The sky had turned gray
and the temperature dropped. A fog you normally see in old horror movies covered the area. It mirrored how I felt when Mom told me how much color copies of photos were likely to cost. Ouch.

Angelique met me at her school, her brown eyes wide. We went to the library and played a few games. I’ll admit my mind was on other things.

Then she showed me a math homework assignment that had more red lines on it than an American flag. I went back through the paper, writing each problem again and showing her how to do it. I made up several more and turned her loose. She tried hard, but she got the wrong answer every time. I showed her again, but she didn’t understand.

I saw we had gone over our time, so I stuffed my notebook in my backpack. Before I could zip it, Angelique said, “What’s in that envelope?”

“Just some pictures. I have to go now—you work on these problems and we’ll meet again next week.”

“Pictures of what?”

“A little girl. Well, it was nice—”

“Can I see?”

It was becoming clear that math wasn’t the only thing she didn’t understand. I saw Mom’s car, windshield wipers clicking back and forth impatiently. She hates waiting, especially if Dylan’s in the car. “My mom’s waiting,” I said, but I knew I wasn’t going to get out of here without letting her see the pictures.

She took one look at the seven-year-old version and said, “Why do you have a picture of Maria?”

“Maria?” I said, my heart fluttering. “You know her?”

“She goes to our school.”

I sat down. “Are you sure?”

“It looks like her. She’s Mrs. Z’s daughter.”

“Mrs. Z?”

“One of the kindergarten teachers,” Angelique said.

“How long has she been here?”

She shrugged.

“Can you show me her room?”

Angelique took me by the hand and walked down a hall lined with essays and painted pictures.

She stopped at an open door that led to a darkened room. Beanbag chairs were stacked against the walls, and little chairs sat around a table. At the back of the room was a desk with a date book on top and a nameplate with
Mrs. Z
written on it.

“That’s Maria and her mom,” Angelique said, pointing to a picture.

I gasped. The little girl, cheek to cheek with her mother and smiling, looked just like the seven-year-old version of Danielle Garcia.

Chapter 60

Ashley flew out of the car
and rushed into the house. “In my room. Now.”

She spilled her story and showed me a black-and-white photocopy of the picture of the teacher and her daughter.

“The office was open so I borrowed the photocopier. This has to be Mrs. Zoloff—don’t you think?”

“You should have asked somebody at the school. Well, Mrs. Garcia should know from the picture if she can make it out.”

“I can’t get her hopes up by letting her see the little girl too,” Ashley said. She cut the girl out of the picture and gave me the other half. “I’ll be at the doctor tomorrow. Just ask Mrs. Garcia if this is Mrs. Zoloff.”

“You want
me
to talk to the Lunch Lady?”

“She won’t bite.”

Chapter 61

I stayed up late writing
in my diary and reading. Then Mom and I went downstairs to watch TV so I’d be good and tired for my appointment the next morning. She found an old love story with actors I’d never heard of, and she cried at the end, but all I could think about was the next day.

Mom turned off the TV and sat next to me, drawing a blanket over both of us. “Whatcha thinking?”

“About Mrs. Garcia. I can’t believe she’s only a few miles from her daughter.”

“You don’t know that this is her daughter or that Mrs. Z is even the right person,” Mom said. “Mrs. Garcia said her babysitter was pregnant at the time. This could be Mrs. Z’s real daughter.”

“It has to be her.”

She raised her eyebrows. “When I write a story, I think I know where I’m going to end up. But sometimes things don’t turn out the way I plan. Characters take on lives of their own and go their own ways.”

“This is not a book.”

“It’s even more important in real life to let things happen.” She paused. “Like with your EEG.”

“Mom, I’m scared.”

She hugged me tight. We didn’t say anything for a long time.

“I used to rock you to sleep when you were just a few months old,” she finally whispered. “Your brother would sleep like a stone, but you had a hard time.”

“Because of my seizures?”

“Could have been. We don’t really know when they started. You’d go to sleep in my arms, and I’d put you in your crib. Then you’d wake up, and your dad would take over.”

“I miss him,” I said without looking at her.

She sighed. “So do I.”

I shot her a double take. “But you have Sam.”

“No one ever takes another’s place. Life’s kind of like a puzzle that way. When you lose someone, it’s like removing a piece from your life’s puzzle. That hole will always be there. But as time goes on, you add more pieces around that person, so when you stand back you can still see what the puzzle is about. The big picture. The hole is still there. It just gets smaller.”

“The hole still feels big to me.”

“Yeah,” she said, kissing my head. “He’d be really proud of the way you care for your new family, and how you care enough about others to help try to solve their mysteries.”