All That's Missing by Sarah Sullivan Read Free Book Online

and was breathing damp, mold-encrusted air.
    Miss Hasslebarger leaned across the desk, and Arlo got another whiff of mothballs, which caused his stomach to churn even harder than it had before.
    â€œOf course, we can
try
to locate your grandmother,” she said. “But meanwhile, you need a safe place to stay, so I’ll take you to the shelter for tonight and . . .”
    Arlo’s heart stopped. “But couldn’t we wait . . . ?”
    Miss Hasslebarger adjusted her glasses. “They’re very nice there,” she said. “And I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning and bring you back here.”
    If only Arlo had an aunt or cousin someplace who might take care of him, the way Sam’s aunt Betty had shown up from Detroit to save him.
    Miss Hasslebarger snapped the file shut. Arlo jumped as if someone had fired off a gun. “Wait a second,” he said.
    She frowned. “My car’s right out front,” she said as she stuffed the file in her bag and motioned for Arlo to stand up. “It’s late. We’d better be going.”

Calling the Preston Children’s Shelter a home was
wrong.
It was a gray building near the airport and looked more like a prison than a home. There were barely any windows, and it was perched on a hilltop all by itself, totally isolated from civilization, as if someone wanted to make sure that the kids living there couldn’t possibly escape.
    Miss Hasslebarger parked in the visitor’s space by the front door. “You’ll have to share a room tonight,” she said. “They’re full at the moment. But it will be nice to have company, don’t you think?”
    Arlo didn’t say anything. It was already quarter of eleven, so it wasn’t likely he’d make friends. Not in a place like this. And besides, he wasn’t planning to stay, either.
    Miss Hasslebarger turned him over to a person named D.W. Whitehair. He was a tall, scrawny man, bald on top with long gray fringes of hair that straggled to his collarbone. He had bushy eyebrows, like antennae, that flopped up and down every time he opened his mouth. As if that weren’t disturbing enough, his left eye blinked involuntarily in a kind of nervous twitch. It looked like he was winking at you. Only he wasn’t winking. D.W. Whitehair didn’t seem like the sort of person who winked. He might frown or scowl or even shake his head, but that was about as friendly as Arlo figured he would get. With his stooped shoulders and lanky arms, he looked a lot like a praying mantis.
    â€œYou’ll be safe here, Arlo,” Miss Hasslebarger said. “Don’t worry.”
    Was she kidding? Arlo was terrified.
    Mr. Whitehair jerked his head toward a room on the right. “Come on in the office, kid. Watch out for Rupert there.” He gestured toward an ancient-looking terrier who had crusty bald patches where his skin was all scabby and red.
    â€œNice dog,” Arlo said. He leaned down to pat Rupert on the head, and the dog snapped at him.
    â€œCareful of your fingers. Rupert’s a little cranky. Hasn’t felt well lately. Skin condition, you know.”
    Arlo nodded. He slid past the dog into Mr. Whitehair’s office.
    â€œSorry you have to bunk with Purvis,” Mr. Whitehair said. He handed Arlo a towel and a washcloth and a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste. “The thing is, we’re a little short on space right now. But it’s only for tonight. If you have any trouble, you just tap on my door. All right?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œGood. That’s settled, then. Oh. There is one more thing. I’m sort of a sound sleeper, so you may have to knock a few times.”
    â€œI’ll try to remember that.”
    Mr. Whitehair led Arlo down the hall. They passed a thin boy with dark hair who was carrying a toothbrush toward the bathroom. He looked like he could use an extra couple of meals.
    â€œHi,”