The Disappearance of Lars Wellingsworth
Chapter 1: The Arrival
Jess pressed the button to lower her window and leaned forward, sticking her nose out of the car like those air-hungry dogs you see trying to catch the breeze. She inhaled deeply, savoring the perfume of old-fashioned roses that lingered in the air, their fragrance mingling with the small town smells of cut grass, motor oil, fabric softener, and chocolate chip cookies. Jess loved those smells. They meant summer to her.
The car scattered gravel as it eased into the driveway at 23 Jefferson Street (as it had done every summer for as long as Jess could remember), and came to a stop beneath the biggest oak tree you’ll ever see with gigantic, gnarly branches reaching across the yard toward the Humphrey’s next door. A screech owl lived in that tree. Jess could hear him sometimes at night as she lay next to the open window in the white bedroom, its tiny voice whinnying like a miniature pony.
Gramma tottered across the front porch in her terrycloth slippers, her arms waving with welcoming delight, her ever present apron with the green apple design tied securely around her waist, and her snow white hair tightly permed in ringlets like an elderly goldilocks. Her youthful eyes shone behind silver rimmed glasses that came to dangerous points at the corners. Granddad always tried to get her to buy new glasses. “You’ve had those same weapons for 50 years. A fellow can’t steal a kiss without fear of getting his eye put out or at least a good sized scratch.”
“Now tell me,” Gramma would always say, “Why would I pay good money for new glasses when these work just fine?”
Granddad would shake his balding head and whisper under his breath, “Stubborn old woman.”
Gramma would frown. “I may be stubborn, but I’m not deaf.”
Every summer, for two glorious weeks, Jess and her older brother, Conrad, were abandoned by their parents in the Midwestern town of Dawkins Corner. It meant two weeks of freedom from the constraints of city rules, two weeks of neighborhood stickball games and swimming in the creek, and two weeks of triple-decker ice cream cones with each layer a different, yummy flavor like passion berry punch or peppermint sizzle.
Gramma wrapped her fragile arms around Jess’s narrow shoulders and squeezed. “How’s my girl?” she said softly, smoothing a few stray strands of hair behind Jess’s ears.
“Just fine, Gramma.”
Granddad held the freshly painted screen door wide open. “Get in here all of you. I’m starved. This old woman wouldn’t let me have as much as a green bean before you got here.”
Gramma had three steadfast rules: be home by dark, don’t swim alone, and don’t pick up any snakes. Other than those restrictions Jess and Conrad were pretty much left up to their own devices. “Your father grew up with those same rules and he didn’t turn out so bad,” Gramma would say. And Dawkins Corner was the kind of town where you really couldn’t get into much trouble, even if you tried. Everyone knew everyone, so it was like having an extra dose of parents keeping an eye on you all of the time. Of course the kids knew certain places to go to escape the watchful eyes, but even then, no one really got into any serious trouble. That is, until the kidnapping.
The car scattered gravel as it eased into the driveway at 23 Jefferson Street (as it had done every summer for as long as Jess could remember), and came to a stop beneath the biggest oak tree you’ll ever see with gigantic, gnarly branches reaching across the yard toward the Humphrey’s next door. A screech owl lived in that tree. Jess could hear him sometimes at night as she lay next to the open window in the white bedroom, its tiny voice whinnying like a miniature pony.
Gramma tottered across the front porch in her terrycloth slippers, her arms waving with welcoming delight, her ever present apron with the green apple design tied securely around her waist, and her snow white hair tightly permed in ringlets like an elderly goldilocks. Her youthful eyes shone behind silver rimmed glasses that came to dangerous points at the corners. Granddad always tried to get her to buy new glasses. “You’ve had those same weapons for 50 years. A fellow can’t steal a kiss without fear of getting his eye put out or at least a good sized scratch.”
“Now tell me,” Gramma would always say, “Why would I pay good money for new glasses when these work just fine?”
Granddad would shake his balding head and whisper under his breath, “Stubborn old woman.”
Gramma would frown. “I may be stubborn, but I’m not deaf.”
Every summer, for two glorious weeks, Jess and her older brother, Conrad, were abandoned by their parents in the Midwestern town of Dawkins Corner. It meant two weeks of freedom from the constraints of city rules, two weeks of neighborhood stickball games and swimming in the creek, and two weeks of triple-decker ice cream cones with each layer a different, yummy flavor like passion berry punch or peppermint sizzle.
Gramma wrapped her fragile arms around Jess’s narrow shoulders and squeezed. “How’s my girl?” she said softly, smoothing a few stray strands of hair behind Jess’s ears.
“Just fine, Gramma.”
Granddad held the freshly painted screen door wide open. “Get in here all of you. I’m starved. This old woman wouldn’t let me have as much as a green bean before you got here.”
Gramma had three steadfast rules: be home by dark, don’t swim alone, and don’t pick up any snakes. Other than those restrictions Jess and Conrad were pretty much left up to their own devices. “Your father grew up with those same rules and he didn’t turn out so bad,” Gramma would say. And Dawkins Corner was the kind of town where you really couldn’t get into much trouble, even if you tried. Everyone knew everyone, so it was like having an extra dose of parents keeping an eye on you all of the time. Of course the kids knew certain places to go to escape the watchful eyes, but even then, no one really got into any serious trouble. That is, until the kidnapping.