The Puzzle Master Read online

  The Puzzle Master

  by

  Heather Spiva

  Copyright © 2012 by Heather Spiva

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  For Adam, Joshua and Caleb

  Contents

  Chapter 1: The Junk Store

  Chapter 2: Iris

  Chapter 3: Grounded

  Chapter 4: The Fishing Pole

  Chapter 5: The Truth about Iris

  Chapter 6: Devil’s Hill

  Chapter 7: The River

  Chapter 8: Alone Again

  Chapter 9: Now Everyone Knows

  Chapter 10: Working the Puzzle

  Chapter 11: Halloween

  Chapter 12: Thanksgiving

  Chapter 13: The Big One Finished

  Chapter 1: The Junk Store

  The sun peered through the window and Marshall’s eyes opened with a start. What time was it? He sat up in bed and checked his clock. 7:05. Perfect, still early enough. He scrambled out of the sheets, already hot and sticky, and headed for his closet, tiptoeing past his older brother.

  The last thing he needed was Mason complaining about how early he was up, especially since it was the week before school started.

  Marshall opened his closet and threw on some jeans and a t-shirt with the word “Hawaii” written in neon blue. He flipped on a baseball cap, and closed the door. Stupid door, he thought a second too late. It had always been loud. It squeaked and squawked like a dying car and Marshall nearly smacked himself for forgetting.

  Mason’s bed sprung and shook. Shoot.

  He rolled over. “Marshall Thompson, what the heck are you doing?”

  Marshall shrugged his shoulders and didn’t answer.

  “It’s seven in the morning!”

  “Yeah?” Marshall asked, not wanting to explain.

  “On a Saturday.”

  “So?”

  “So why don’t you want to sleep in like every other normal twelve-year-old?”

  Marshall straightened his ball cap and pulled it nearly over his eyes.

  “Just be quiet,” Marshall finally said. “I don’t want mom and dad to wake up. And especially not Leila. She’ll cry like a wolf.” He sighed remembering the last time he tried to sneak out in the morning. Practically the whole neighborhood heard her because she wanted to come with him. Then because she woke everyone up early on a Saturday and wouldn’t stop crying, Marshall ended up not going anywhere; his parents had grounded him.

  He straightened his hat again. “Keep quiet or we’ll all be in a heap of trouble. I’m going to Luke’s.” He watched his brother groan under his breath. “You wanna come with me?”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t want to come with you. I start high school in a few days, and I don’t want to miss my last chance to sleep in.” He pulled his sheet up to his ears. “And we don’t need any more puzzles either.”

  “Why do you care?” Marshall whispered. “It’s not like you touch ‘em anyway.”

  Marshall wanted to yell at him for not caring about anyone other than himself, but it was pointless. His brother had other priorities. And it was just fine with him if Mason didn’t like puzzles, or was bored with them after five minutes.

  Marshall thought of them as like a whole new world unfolding before your eyes piece by piece; exactly like a good book unfurling page by page. At the end, all you care about is finishing the thing and seeing what you have in front of you.

  Marshall left his room content to see his brother go back to sleep. If that was all Mason wanted to do, fine. He didn’t need to remind Marshall every cotton-pickin’ second that he was starting high school. Marshall couldn’t wait for Mason to leave for college one day—then he’d get his own room back.

  He passed Leila’s room. She was quiet and he subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. Even if she was five and starting kindergarten, his parents treated her like she was still two. She cried at everything, and got her way all the time—a typical baby of the family and milking it for all it was worth. She had gotten his old room too, and that was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

  He stepped outside and breathed in the heat and humidity. Sacramento was always warm in the summer, and this year was no exception. They’d already had twenty-five days of above one hundred degrees.

  But Marshall could tolerate the insipid heat for one reason: fall. Autumn was on the way with her crisp, cool mornings. It was when school, books and friends sort of crowded around in your head day in and day out, and summer’s heat faded away like a bad dream.

  He squinted at the sun coming over their trees. The sun was warm, too warm, especially for seven in the morning. But it’s just how it was; high in the sky and ready to make you miserable. It was also the main reason Marshall had to do what he wanted to do: get to Luke’s Junk Store before anyone else did.

  He jumped onto his bike, making sure to keep quiet as he left the side yard, and pedaled toward the store. Marshall had never been too keen on Luke’s until Mason came home with an old guitar last year. It was the most ragged and beautiful thing Marshall had ever seen. Mason couldn’t play it worth anything, but that didn’t matter. And Marshall knew that, too. What mattered was that it was a treasure; Mason had found it.

  And it was all his own.

  Ever since then, Marshall had been looking for a special treasure too; that something that would make his hunting through the dusty old place worth his time. Not that he minded the dusty junk. That was all part of the fun. But, to find a treasure that someone else thought was pure rubbish was joy; to dig through piles of things he didn’t need to find that one thing he did need, that was excitement. And today was going to be the day he found his treasure.

  After leaving the neighborhood, Marshall pedaled onto the main road for a quarter mile. He passed more rows of homes that looked the same. They all had identical rooflines, shrubs and trees; as if they were cardboard cutouts. His home was one of those cutouts too. But he didn’t care if he was like everyone else, because deep down, he knew he wasn’t.

  Marshall was positive—very positive—that no one had a lamer brother and dumber sister than him.

  ***

  Marshall rounded one last corner, and rode up to the strip mall. The place was deserted. Only the mini-mart was open. Luke’s didn’t open until eight. Marshall went into the mini-mart to grab a chocolate milk. He had to use his own money, but that didn’t bother him. All that mattered was that he would be the first one there when the door opened. He had to be ready to get in and find that treasure before anyone else got to it.

  Eight o’clock came and he locked up his bike. He didn’t want anyone mistaking it for a piece of junk. Last thing he needed was to buy his bike back from Luke.

  At 8:01, Luke walked to the front of the store and unlocked the door.

  “Howdy there, Marshall,” said the old man. He had a cigarette hanging from his lower lip and it moved up and down with his jaw when he spoke. Marshall wondered how he was able to keep it in his mouth without dropping it. But he figured a hundred years of practice made it all work together just right. Luke smoked like a chimney. But, Marshall didn’t mind. It made every item in there more valuable. If they were infected with Luke’s Marlboros, then they were infected with Luke’s brand of care and kindness.

  “Hi Mr. Luke,” Marshall said. “You got some new stuff?” He walked in as Luke opened the door for him.

  “Don’t I always?” he answered with a smile, his yellow teeth lighting up the darkened room. The room was small, no bigger than his and Leila’s rooms put together. But with th
e amount of stuff piled all over the place, you could spend hours in one spot and not have seen one percent of the store. It was that good.

  “Does your mama know you’re here already?”

  “Yeah, I told her last night,” Marshall said peering into a giant fish tank, empty with little castles and pebbles in bags waiting for the right home. He looked at the price tag: $15.00. Marshall thought about it. It was a good deal. New ones were going for tons more. But his room was already crowded with him and Mason sleeping in there.

  No, it wasn’t the thing. It wouldn’t work.

  He patted his pocket, feeling his wallet, and said a small prayer. That perfect toy, or item, or thing … he just had to find one. And there was a lot to go through. Monday was the reveal day for all the stuff dumped at the store that week—old sporting equipment, yard furniture, any doo-dad and thing-a-ma-bob imaginable. People discarded the stuff because they had no use for them. Or they reeked of ugliness, age, or just plain old wear and tear. Sometimes there was great stuff, brand new stuff. And Marshall wondered how anyone could give away such amazing things.

  One time, there was a whole box of toys—like water guns, action figures, basketballs all still in their boxes. And he wondered what kid had missed out. It was a stash of birthday gifts or Christmas toys, or something like that. Did he get grounded too? Had his parents taken away the cool toys? Or maybe he got hurt, or hit by a car, and was in the hospital. Maybe, the kid had died. Marshall stuffed that thought away. Kids weren’t supposed to die young. That couldn’t be it.

  Marshall loved that junk store because there was a story behind every item. And whether Marshall knew that story or not wasn’t important. He made one up as he went along. This satisfied his curiosity and put to rest the unease that some of the items brought with them.

  Luke sorted all the stuff outside in the middle of the alley, and then brought it inside to the back of the store to put it out on display. He’d put price tags on things he thought should have a tag on it and leave the rest for customers to bargain with. He’d lay them on tables, and under chairs, and any place there was an empty spot. He would’ve hung things from the ceiling if he could, but he didn’t.

  Luke fired up another cigarette, and let Marshall alone. “You just holler if you need me,” he said, putting his feet up on the counter. He opened a fish and wildlife magazine and forgot about Marshall, engrossed in a world of bait and tackle and ammunition.

  The room had lights, but boxes covered many of them up all the way to the ceiling. It made the nooks and crannies look even darker, and the room like a cave. But mostly, it made Marshall feel like his treasure—the treasure—was just waiting for him. He couldn’t wait to get it and to tell his buddies about it at school next week. He would be the talk of the school.

  Even Michael Marks would be in awe of him, and offer to buy the treasure from him on the spot. Ever since they were five, Michael always had the coolest toys; nun chucks one year, a real whip the next, then a Dungeons and Dragons game. Every year, the toys got increasingly better. It was as if the toys just fell into his lap too; like his parents knew how cool it was for their kid to have something great to show every other kid up. It was disgusting. Marshall wished his parents were like that.

  He wandered through the pathway. Boxes and bins littered the walkway, and a light layer of dust and dirt had become a part of every item. The trail through the stuff made a loop around the store and was so narrow two people couldn’t even stand together in the aisle. Marshall stopped to check out some old Spider Man comics. Could be interesting. Then he leafed through a football card collection. But he didn’t like football. Basketball was his thing. He had plans to be 6’6” and play forward on the team when he got to high school. If he could find a basketball card collection, well maybe, that would be the treasure.

  Luke turned on a radio and country music wafted through to the back of the store. Marshall only had until 8:30. Then he’d have to head home. That’s what his mom had said. If he didn’t get back, she was liable to keep him from ever going to Luke’s again.

  He checked his watch. It was already 8:25. How could that be? Time evaporated into thin air in there. He had to leave before Mom grounded him again. Marshall wound his way back to the front, eyes peeled for something amazing to take home with him. But, it didn’t happen. He was empty-handed once more.

  “I gotta go, Mr. Luke. Maybe I can come back later though.” Marshall looked at the glass case in front of him. It had all the important things in there: knives, coins, jewelry. The kinds of stuff Marshall would never be able to afford, or even think about owning.

  “Okay. That’s too bad though. Thought maybe you’d stick around a little longer.” Luke blew smoke out of his lips, which looked like elevator doors, opening an inch apart and then closing. “If you can, come back tonight after dinner,” he said, thinking hard. “I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

  Marshall figured that Luke had the best job in the world. He already had a million surprises all over the place. He was like Santa Claus, only younger, and without the white beard. His beard was still light brown, with a few gray hairs. Now Luke was offering him something else.

  “If you think you know what it is, you don’t,” he said with a smile. Smoke billowed around Luke’s head, rising to the yellowed tiled ceiling. “You’ll just have to come back and see.”

  Marshall grinned. He didn’t feel so bad for having to leave without a treasure.

  “Okay.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to ignore the wispy tightness growing in his chest. He didn’t want to take a breath from his inhaler in front of Luke. It would be rude. “Wouldn’t miss it. See you tonight.”

  A bell on the front of the door chimed as he walked out. Marshall rode home as fast as he could. He didn’t want to be late. He couldn’t risk his mother never allowing him to go back. What would he do then? He had promised his pals he was getting something good before summer break ended. He had to go back tonight.

  Perspiration started to flow like raindrops. Stupid hat, he thought. It’s good for keeping the sun out but lousy for keeping your head cool. The tightness in his chest had subsided, but flared back when he drove up the driveway.

  He skidded to a halt at the side gate, and walked the bike through to the garage. His father had already left for work, and wouldn’t be back until dinnertime. He looked at his watch. 8:32. Oh sheesh, he thought, please don’t let mom notice. Please don’t let her notice.

  He stuck his head in through the door. He could hear Leila singing along with her morning cartoon. She was eating breakfast. Mom had to be close by, but where? He closed the door behind him and took off his hat. Mason was on the phone, talking about driver’s education for next summer. Marshall rolled his eyes. That was probably the most important thing to Mason right now. And how he was going to get that car to drive, was a close second.

  “You’re late,” said a voice behind him. Oh boy. Mom had seen him.

  “Hey Mom,” Marshall said with a smile. “I’m not late, been here for a bit.” That was a lie. He hated lying, it was so selfish. And yet, he couldn’t help from saying it.

  She sighed. “Honey, I saw you pull up on the bike in the driveway. You are late.”

  Marshall looked at the linoleum kitchen floor. The blue faded flowers were dirty no matter how many times his Mom washed them. And they were as ugly as he felt. “Just two minutes, that’s all.”

  “Ooooh,” Leila sung out, when she heard them talking. “Sure glad it wasn’t me.”

  Marshall scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out at her. She just sniffed and turned her head back to the television.

  “I can’t keep letting you come home late. I know you love that place, Luke’s Store…”

  “Luke’s Junk,” he corrected her. “I only go like once a week, and I missed last week ‘cause I was at camp. Please let me go again. I promise this time I won’t be late.”

  “That’s a pie crust promise,” she said washing her hands
at the sink. She put water in the coffee maker and began scooping out coffee from a tin canister. “Easily made, easily broken.”

  Marshall thought about the surprise Luke had waiting for him at the store. How could he miss it? What if it was another guitar like Mason’s? Or a really nice guitar? Or what if it was an even better treasure than that? He would miss it all because of Mom.

  “Please,” he begged, his voice turning to almost a cry. “Luke says he’s got a surprise for me when I come back tonight. I gotta go.”

  “Tonight?” She laughed. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve spent more Mondays at that store than some people ever go in there in a lifetime. And if you can’t keep track of your time, well, that’s your problem.” Marshall groaned inside. What rotten luck. If he’d just left the store before Luke had spoken to him, he wouldn’t have been late. But had he left without talking to Luke in the first place, he never would’ve known about the surprise.

  Rotten, rotten luck. His mind faded back to his mother’s voice.

  “You start sixth grade in one week. And you don’t need to be going to some junk store every chance you get just to find a stupid toy. Besides, it’s really too much smoke for your condition.” She pushed the ‘on’ button and they listened to the trickle of coffee spitting out of the spout.

  “It’s not just a toy mom,” he said, his brown eyes moistening over her speech. “I’m looking for something, like Mason’s guitar.”

  She grunted, which sounded like a mix of a sigh and laugh, and then wiped strawberry jam off of Leila’s face. “I won’t let you go tonight. You need to learn to be a boy of your word. Because a boy of his word grows to be a man of his word.” She saw the frustration in his face, and sighed again. “I bet if you asked him, Mason would give you that guitar. It’s not like he actually plays it.”

  Marshall wanted to scream. She didn’t get it. Not at all. There was a mysterious joy, something he couldn’t explain to her in finding that treasure; the treasure. He didn’t want Mason’s stupid guitar.