A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) by Joyce Lavene, Jim Page B

went inside again and thought about going back to sleep. It wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I went upstairs and put on jeans and a T-shirt. I waved to Gramps as I went out the door. “I’m going to Missing Pieces for a while. I’ll see you later.”
    “Are you all right, honey?”
    “Sure. Or if not, I will be. Love you, Gramps.”
    “I love you too, Dae.”
    I’d expected him to protest my going to the shop so late (or early), but he seemed to understand. Handling all my treasures made me happy and relieved some of my stress. It usually did, anyway. I hoped it would be the answer tonight too.
    The Duck Shoppes on the Boardwalk were quiet and dark. The parking lot was empty. I ran up the stairs, a little nervous. Years ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything of being here all night. I’d spent many nights on the burgundy brocade sofa in the shop.
    But Mad Dog was right. Duck was changing. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me being mayor. It was the times we lived in. People from outside were beginning to discover our little part of paradise. That would be fine if all of them were like Kevin, but some of them were like Derek Johnson. Duck would never be the same again. We’d have to grow and survive. But it wouldn’t be the place where I grew up. It already wasn’t.
    I walked along the pearly gray boardwalk, the moon still illuminating the night and the waves lapping at the wood posts that supported the walkway. All the shops were dark. I knew Shayla met clients here at night from time to time. But not tonight, not this late. Wild Stallions was closed and shuttered too, only a flashing neon “Closed” sign marking the restaurant.
    I slipped my key into the lock at Missing Pieces, opened the door and turned on the light before closing the door behind me and locking it. I sighed and immediately lost all my sense of panic. I was home.
    I’d spent my life collecting things. Many of those collected treasures were still here on the walls and in the glass display cases. I loved all of them like they were my children. I sold them to keep the store open and bring in a little money, not because I wanted to. Finding these treasures was my true gift—my true passion. Nothing and no one could take that away.
    Things had changed for me since my childhood when I could innocently hold someone’s hand and help them find some item they’d lost—as I’d done for Old Man Sweeney.
    Now those items spoke back to me, showing me where and how they were made as well as who owned them. The experience wasn’t always pleasant. I’d had to sell many of the personal items I’d collected because I couldn’t bear to touch them anymore. Their backgrounds were too terrible to envision every day. I had become more careful about what I picked up and purchased for the shop.
    I put the teakettle on the hot plate and walked around, looking at everything, touching each piece and dusting where it was needed.
    It was morning before I knew it, gray light creeping across the island. I was no closer to understanding my dream about Betsy or why Chuck could talk to me after he was dead. I had no idea who had killed Chuck. I wished it hadn’t happened here.
    Stan, the UPS guy, came and went. Missing Pieces was the UPS stop in Duck. I’d taken it on, hoping to attract more local customers. It hadn’t worked out the way I’d planned. People came to pick up their packages and sometimes stayed to gossip but rarely bought anything. Being so dependent on tourists made it hard to keep up the rent in the off-season, which was most of the year.
    I closed the shop and started back home. It seemed odd, since that was the reverse of what should’ve been happening. But I had to go home and change clothes so I could check to see if there was any child named Betsy Sparks at Duck Elementary School.
    Trudy was just coming in for an early appointment at Curves and Curls. As usual she looked perfect with her smooth platinum hair and gorgeous tan. If she