Free Missing Pieces by Jerry B. Jenkins, Chris Fabry Page B

a repeat of a year before. At a carnival I had eaten two corn dogs slathered in mustard, then played miniature golf. Then Ashley pointed to the Tilt-A-Whirl and said she would race me. She barely beat me. We were three spins in when I remembered the corn dogs. Or, I should say, they remembered me. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
    I climbed out of the truck and took a deep breath. From the diamond I could hear them announcing the starting lineups.
    I moved to the front of the truck, slid in the passenger side, and popped open the glove compartment. Underneath a pile of napkins was a videotape. The same tape I had seen under Randy’s bed—the one with the smudged word mailbox on it.
    “What’re you doing?”
    I nearly lost my licorice. It was Leigh.
    “Getting ready to come to the game,” I said.
    “Derek said you weren’t feeling well.”
    “I’m okay now,” I said. But I wasn’t. In fact I felt even sicker about the whole thing.
    Like Sam said, every clue before this had been “circumstantial.” I finally had the “concrete” I’d been looking for.

Chapter 79

    I doodled in the sandbox beside Dylan while our pizza cooked. All I could think of was Mrs. Garcia and Danielle. For all I knew, she had stolen a picture of Mrs. Z’s baby. No wonder the girl looked like the computer-generated older picture.
    I told Dylan I’d be right back and went in to check the pizza time. Still a few minutes to go. In the kitchen I found Mom’s day planner. I turned to her work section and looked up the phone number for Jim Deavers in St. Louis. I took the cordless phone outside so I could be with Dylan.
    It took a while for Officer Deavers to come to the phone, and I apologized for bothering him at home. When he found out who I was he laughed and said it wasn’t a problem.
    “I’m working on a missing person case,” I said, then felt dumb for calling it a case. I asked how long it would take to analyze hair from two different people to see if they’re related.
    “The technology is improving all the time. Probably a few days.”
    I took a breath. “If I sent the samples, could you look at them?”
    “Not a problem,” Mr. Deavers said. “As long as your mom makes me famous in one of her next books.” The phone clicked, and he said he was getting another call.
    I held on for a few minutes, then hung up. I figured I would talk with him in a few days.
    Dylan pointed at the house. “Ashley, what’s that noise?”

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