Missing Pieces by Jerry B. Jenkins, Chris Fabry Page A
Authors: Jerry B. Jenkins, Chris Fabry
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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
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
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