Missing Pieces (19 page)

Chapter 80

Randy had a single
in the first inning, a double in the third, and a homer with one out in the bottom of the seventh to give his team the championship. Who knows, maybe he would have hit a triple and hit for the cycle if he’d had another turn at bat. The players walked off the field sweaty and dirty, looking like they needed a garden hose.

Leigh gave Randy a big hug, even though he was filthy, and I felt worse for her all the time. She had to know the truth—and soon.

“Bryce,” Randy said, “could you carry this to the back of the truck?” He handed me his trophy and a long, heavy, green duffel bag.

Derek helped. It was a bear trying to lug the thing over the side of the pickup into the back. When we did, the top of the bag opened and a few bats and balls fell out.

I hopped in and was shoving them back in when I noticed a wood bat among all the metal ones. I turned it over. A big piece was missing on the front, right around the Louisville Slugger imprint.

I made sure the other stuff was put away and jumped down. “Randy, could I take this bat home to practice?”

Leigh raised an eyebrow. “We have bats at home—”

“It’s okay,” Randy said. “Just remember where you got it.”

How can I forget?

Chapter 81

I rushed into the kitchen,
where the smoke alarm was screeching, and the smell and smoke overwhelmed me.

I turned the oven off, then found some mitts and opened the door. I had hit Broil instead of Bake. Our pizza had turned into a hockey puck. Not an inch was edible. I dropped it into the sink and turned on the water, making it hiss and smoke even more.

Dylan was scared and stood there crying. I held him and he buried his face in my shoulder. “I want my ba-ba.”

His ba-ba is his favorite cup with a screw-on lid. I sat him at the table and looked in the cabinets, in his room, outside, everywhere. It wasn’t until I moved the black mess in the sink that I found it. Dylan’s ba-ba was stuck to the bottom of the pizza pan, melted.

“How about if we let you drink from a big-boy cup tonight?”

“No, I want my ba-ba.”

“I can make you lemonade,” I said.

He snorted and big tears ran down his cheeks. That always happens when he’s tired. Finally he nodded, and I quickly made the lemonade before he changed his mind.

I opened the windows in the kitchen and living room, so the air would push the smoke out. The wind had picked up and was blowing a mist toward us from the mountains. It looked spooky.

The smoke detector finally stopped blaring. I was trying to figure out what we could eat when the phone rang. The caller ID showed the number unavailable, and when I picked up nobody was there.

I put a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and some chips in front of Dylan and made myself a sandwich too. I reached in the cupboard for my medicine. I shook the bottles and the pills rattled.
What good are these things doing me?

The phone rang, and caller ID read unavailable again.

“Hello, this is Ashley.”

There was silence, but whoever it was didn’t hang up.

“Hello?” I said.

“You were at the school the other day,” a woman said. “Memorial Elementary.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Stay away from my daughter.”

Chapter 82

At home later,
I raced for the hidden splinter. Like a puzzle piece, it fit the bat perfectly. That’s what I call concrete. I didn’t even need the videotape, which was still in Randy’s glove compartment.

I ran inside to tell Ashley and smelled smoke. I thought she’d had another seizure, her face was so pale. She told me about what had happened with the pizza and the phone call from Mrs. Z.

“You’ve gotten under her skin, Ash,” I said. “She must have something to hide.”

I told Ashley what I’d heard at the softball game and about the final clue.

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“We should give Randy a chance to confess before we go to the police,” I said. “Shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, but what if he gets mad?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Would Randy do something to me if I told him I knew the truth?

Chapter 83

Mom and Sam looked happy
when they came back from dinner until they discovered what had happened. The smoke alarm was nothing compared to the phone call.

“I’m just glad it was only smoke,” Mom said. “Now what did this woman say again?”

When I repeated it, Sam’s face twisted and he looked mad. The phone rang and he answered it. He covered the mouthpiece. “Ashley, did you talk with an Officer Deavers tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He’s asking when you can have samples to him.”

I just stared at Sam and tried to look innocent. He told Deavers we would get back to him and hung up.

“Did you try to get something from that little girl for Jim to analyze?” Sam said.

I nodded. “A hair.”

“No wonder her mother is so upset,” Mom said.

“I didn’t even keep it. It fell on the floor.”

“How did she get our number?” Mom said.

I shrugged. “Maybe she has caller ID . . .”

“So you called her first?”

“Yeah, that was the number I paid to get.”

Mom looked frustrated, but Sam looked like he was fighting a smile—like I was doing something Mom would do, investigate, get to the bottom of things.

“Ashley,” Mom said, “you simply can’t—”

Sam put an arm around her. “Let’s sleep on this,” he said.

Chapter 84

All I could think about
the next morning in Sunday school was how to talk with Randy and what he might do to me. If I could talk him into going to the police and confessing, maybe they’d go easy on him. Maybe if he paid for all the repairs he could get out of going to jail. Then again, he could bonk me on the head, jump in his truck, and head for Mexico.

Apparently I missed my teacher asking me a question. Everybody laughed when I looked up suddenly and said, “Huh?”

“Good answer, Timberline,” Duncan said.

At lunch I asked Sam if he would take me to Randy’s house later.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Just give me a few minutes at the computer to write down all the evidence.”

I printed the document and found Sam in the living room reading the paper. “I’m ready,” I said.

“Good,” he said, “because Randy just pulled up.”

Maybe I wasn’t ready after all. Afraid of losing my nerve, I rushed out and intercepted Randy before he got to the door. “Do you have a minute?” I said.

“Sure. What’s up?”

My stomach suddenly felt like a thousand licorice sticks had snuck inside and were squirming for the best position. “I-I . . . I think we should go back to your truck.”

“Okay,” Randy said slowly.

As we walked back, I scanned my list of clues.

He stopped, folded his arms, and leaned against the truck.

I took a deep breath. “I know about the mailbox bashing, and I know you were involved.”

Randy’s eyebrows went up. “Me?”

“Yeah, and if you turn yourself in you might not have to go to jail.”

Randy narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

I read from my list. “Your bat has the same color paint on it as our old mailbox. At your house I found a videotape with
mailbox
written on it. The bashers drove a truck that sounds like yours. You were out late with your friends the same night a bunch of mailboxes got creamed. You also had fireworks in your truck. The police talked to you at the video store. At the game last night I overheard your friends tell you they were going to watch the tape you had in your glove compartment—the same tape I saw at your house.”

Randy put his fingers through his belt loops. “Is that all?”

“No. The other night somebody tried to bash our mailbox again—only this time they used a wood bat. A splinter came off and I kept it. It matches the bat you let me borrow.”

That seemed to hit Randy hard. He ran a hand through his hair and sucked in a breath. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I have the bat?” Randy said.

“Um, no. Not yet. It’s evidence.”

He shook his head. “You think I would do that to my girlfriend’s mailbox? You think I’m the kind of person who enjoys trashing other people’s property?”

“Maybe it was peer pressure. They say it’s bad in high school. Maybe you never swung the bat, but if you drove—”

“I didn’t do it,” Randy said, his teeth clenched. “The police talked to me about my front license plate. It’s bent up and unreadable. I
was
out with the guys several times, but we never did anything wrong.”

“What about the video?” I said.

Randy went to his glove compartment and handed me the tape. “This one?”

“Yeah, it says
Mailbox
.”

“It says
Matrix,”
Randy said. “The label got smudged.”

It felt like he had punched me in the stomach. Finally, I said, “So you were watching this with your friends last night?”

“We watched a funny highlight tape of our season. One of the guys dubbed all our muffed plays and strikeouts onto this. Here, take it. See for yourself.”

“What about the night you said an emergency—?”

“One of the guys hurt his arm,” Randy said. “Turned out to be broken. We drove him to the hospital.”

Sam’s words came back to me about jumping to conclusions.

“What about the bats?” I said. “The one with the paint on it?”

“The paint could have come from the fence around the ball field. Some of the guys throw their bats against it and the paint rubs off.”

I can’t believe it. He has an answer for everything.
“And the splintered one?”

“That’s a problem,” Randy said.

“Then you’re guilty?”

Randy shook his head. “It’s not my bat. I don’t actually know whose it is. They all got mixed up with each other at practice.”

I felt like a jerk and tried to cover. “Then if we find out whose bat this is, we’ll find the basher?”

Leigh ran toward us. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just having a powwow with your brother.”

“Anything wrong?” Leigh said.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Randy said.

Leigh got in the truck and I just stood there, like my feet were planted in the gravel. “I’m really sorry,” I said, my voice shaky. “I—”

Randy put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen. All those clues. I would have thought the same thing.”

“But it’s probably one of your friends, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “’Fraid so. Give the video a look. It’s pretty funny.”