All That's Missing Read Online Free

pulled up over his nose. But it was still frigid.
    And it was about that time Arlo realized the temperature was real.
    Must be a window open somewhere. Strange. Arlo hadn’t opened the window in his room in ages. Poppo must have done it. Poppo had been doing the strangest stuff lately. Opening windows when it was cold enough to snow outside. Geez.
    After soaking up as much warmth as he could from the covers, Arlo burst out of bed and darted across the floorboards. His window was closed, so the air must be coming from someplace else. He hurried into the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs. No wonder. The front door was standing wide open.
    What the heck?
    Poppo.
    What had he done now?
    Arlo checked Poppo’s bedroom. Sheets and a blanket lay heaped on the floor. Otherwise, the room was
empty.
Great. Now what was he supposed to do?
    Arlo checked every room in the house. Bathroom. Hallway. Kitchen. Extra bedroom and bath upstairs. Even the basement, which was like an iceberg, and the attic, which wasn’t much warmer.
    Poppo was gone. Vamoosed. Vanished. Meanwhile, it was getting colder by the minute outside. Arlo checked the clock in the kitchen. Four seventeen.
    He needed to find Poppo.
Fast.
Before the police found him. What would they do with an old man wandering around lost and confused in the middle of the night? Arlo pulled on sweatpants and his parka and headed outside.
    The sidewalks were filled with puddles from yesterday’s rain. The soles of Arlo’s shoes oozed water after half a block. It was way too cold for September. And why did it have to be so dark outside? Arlo shivered on his way up South Park Drive, then crossed over to Maple, and climbed the hill to the ball field behind the high school. That was Poppo’s favorite spot, especially when he was time traveling. He used to hang out there with his little brother, Frankie, way back in the fifties when they were in school.
    Arlo held his breath as he came closer. A few more steps and he’d have a view of the backstop and . . .
    Sure enough, there was an old man huddled on the bench beside the backstop. Arlo ran over to him.
    Poppo looked up from the can of sausages he was emptying into his mouth.
    â€œHey, Frankie. Cold out tonight, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, Poppo. I’m Arlo. Not Frankie.”
    â€œHuh?” Poppo frowned.
    â€œI’m your grandson. Remember?”
    â€œWhat happened to Frankie?”
    â€œHe died a long time ago, Poppo. Meningitis. You told me all about it.”
    â€œNah. Not Frankie. They done something with him. Why’d they want to go and do something to my little brother?”
    â€œWho did?”
    Poppo shrugged. “Those people,” he said, blinking at Arlo. He set the can of sausages on the bench. Then he frowned. “I’m confused, aren’t I?” he said.
    â€œMaybe a little,” Arlo said.
    Poppo slid a bandanna out of his left pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said.
    â€œThat’s OK,” Arlo said.
    Poppo pulled his collar higher around his neck.
    â€œCold?” Arlo asked.
    Poppo nodded, shivering.
    â€œYou should have worn your coat.” Arlo frowned at the sliver of limp lettuce fluttering off the side of the sausage can. He twisted his neck to check the Dumpster in the parking lot. Poppo wouldn’t do
that,
would he? The cover was clamped shut on the Dumpster, thank goodness.
So the food had come from . . . where?
    â€œSomething wrong?” Poppo asked.
    â€œNo. It’s just . . .” Arlo glanced across the grass toward the trash can beside the bleachers. His heart dropped at the sight of wadded-up papers and empty food wrappers littering the ground. He gave the can a sly nudge with his elbow, inching it to the edge of the bench. Then when Poppo turned his head, Arlo gave the can an extra tap, sending it toppling into the mud.
There. At least that was taken care of. Poppo couldn’t eat any more of