The Disappearance of Amanda Wrenn

By Joyce A. Stengel

After the deaths of her father and sister, Lou Harrison hopes that moving to Somerville with her mother will be the fresh start they need—but the secrets that hide in the small town threaten to shatter the order of Lou’s life all over again. Somerville is still scarred by the unsolved mystery of Amanda Wrenn, a girl who disappeared when she was thirteen and who bears a startling resemblance to Lou’s dead sister. Even more concerning are the sinister visions suddenly torturing Lou’s mind both day and night, visions that show her tragedies she had no part in.

With the discovery of Amanda’s secret diary, a path to the startling truth begins to unwind, and each twist and turn along the way is more perilous than the last. Lou wants to do anything she can to help, but will she be able to handle the shocking reality she’s about to uncover? All Lou knows is that she’s running out of time, and if the puzzle isn’t solved soon, she might have to pay with her own life.

This new middle-grade thriller proves that some secrets grow stronger—and more dangerous—with time. The past and present come together to create a mystery so thrilling that readers will be holding their breath until the final heart-racing twist. Author Joyce A. Stengel once again demonstrates her remarkable strength at weaving unforgettable mysteries and sets herself apart as one of the leading voices of the genre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781455621675

Book preview

Chapter One

Millie’s Antiques

A sign in the window of Sandy’s Café offered a zillion flavors of ice cream. Lou fingered the money in her shorts pocket. The screen door creaked, and she stepped into a dim, cool luncheonette—like something from an old movie.

Lou ordered a chocolate cone from the boy with a nose ring and a trio of pimples on his chin. She took the cone and plunked down the last of her money. Then she left the café and started up Bay Road. On the other side of the street, the beach sloped down to the sparkling bay. Lou slowly licked the ice cream and gazed out at the calm water. Blue glass that went on and on. No towering trees to darken it like at the lake in New Hampshire.

She needed a job. Money was scarce since Dad died. No luck so far with babysitting or mowing lawns. They needed the money, and . . . well, she needed something to do, to keep busy. Like Mom did.

An ancient pickup coughed and sputtered by, kicking up stones and sand.

Shift gears, Lou muttered. You’ll burn out the engine on that old Chevy. She slid her tongue across the ice cream and got a mouthful of grit. She wrinkled her nose and spat.

The truck skidded into the drive of Millie’s Antiques. The tailgate clattered down, and a carton flew out. Lou tossed the ruined cone aside and ran to the carton. A few books had spilled onto the gravel drive. She stuck them in the box, lifted it, and followed the truck to the back of the shop.

Hey, she called, these fell out of your truck. And you could use a driving lesson.

The big-boned woman looked up from pulling a carton from the truck. Bring it in. She tipped her head towards the back door.

Lou followed the woman into a cluttered room and set the box on the floor with a thump. Dust drifted up, making her sneeze. The woman jammed a box on a battered, round table, then held out her large right hand. Millie Quinn, proprietor of Millie’s Antiques, she boomed. And what’s your name? I haven’t seen you around. You new to Somerville?

I’m Lou Harrison. My mother and I moved here last week.

Well, welcome to our sleepy little town by the sea, Lou. And thanks for saving that carton for me.

You should have shifted gears. You had a heavy load, and you were going uphill.

Millie Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. Oh?

Lou nodded. My dad always said if you baby your vehicle, it’ll talk nice to you.

Millie nodded. Makes sense. She headed back out to the pickup. Got to unload this stuff.

Lou eyed the truck’s cargo area. Boxes and furniture crowded the space. She pitched in and helped carry the heavy boxes, an end table, and two chairs into the old, dusty building.

Thanks, Millie said, securing the tailgate. You’re stronger than you look.

Lou shrugged. Yeah. My dad used to say I was little but mighty.

Millie wrenched open a small refrigerator. How about a soda? Ice cold.

Thanks. Lou flipped the tab and the soda fizzed. She downed half the can.

Guess you were thirsty, Millie said.

Lou covered her mouth to muffle a burp. It helped wash the grit out of my mouth. When you flew by in your truck, sand flew all over my ice cream.

Millie laughed. I guess I owe you a cone. And you were a big help unloading my truck. She rummaged in a mammoth, bright-red canvas bag, then handed Lou a bill.

Thanks. Lou tucked the money in her pocket and nodded at the cartons. What’s in those?

Mostly books. I picked them up cheap at an auction. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a million-dollar first edition one of these days.

How about if you hire me for the summer? You know—to sort them out.

Millie hesitated, then turned to Lou, studying her. You don’t look old enough to work.

I just helped you with all this stuff, didn’t I? She motioned with her hand, indicating the clutter. And I can help you categorize the books. I’m a whiz with a computer, and . . .

Hold on, Lou. How old are you?

I’m a good worker. It doesn’t have to be all formal and stuff.

How old?

Uh, thirteen, but listen. You could . . . uh . . . pay me under the table?

Millie’s eyebrows arched. Under the table?

Lou shrugged. Yeah, like you could, like . . . pretend I’m your niece or something. You know, helping out for the summer, and whatever you pay me could be . . . uh . . . like an allowance?

I have a niece, Suri. She’s thirteen, too.

Oh. Lou looked down and scuffed her sneaker across the wood floor.

But Suri babysits sometimes. So . . .

Lou looked up.

Millie cocked an eyebrow. A soft look warmed her dark eyes. Guess you really want a job, huh?

Lou’s mouth tightened. No way was she begging.

Millie took a sip of her soda. Okay. We’ll work something out. She winked. And call me Millie.

Chapter Two

Wrenn Hollow

Millie shouted, Hang on to your hat!

The pickup two-wheeled around a curve on the rutted road that ran along the Atlantic. The truck groaned as it chugged up a hill, then slowed. Millie floored the gas and the truck crested the hill, then flew down.

Lou braced her hands on the dash. No seat belts! Dad had always made them buckle up. You’re sure hard on this truck, she shouted.

Millie laughed.

I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. Those roller coaster rides with Dad! The climb up, then the rush down. Lou and Dad had always picked roller coasters. Kelsey and Mom had liked those lame rides, the ones that went round and round. The rides that made your stomach woozy.

Kelsey, a year older than Lou, had been Mom’s favorite. They even looked alike with their dark hair and dark eyes. Lou had been Dad’s girl. She got her looks from Dad’s side of the family—blonde hair, gray eyes. Dad made a great story of how he’d taken one look at her when she was born and insisted she be named Louisa, after his mother. She’d been Dad’s favorite.

Maybe favorite wasn’t the right word. It was more like Kelsey and Mom liked frilly girl stuff, and she and Dad liked poking around under the hoods of cars.

And now Lou missed both Dad and Kelsey so much that the missing was part of her.

A week had passed since Lou met Millie; Lou spent it unpacking and categorizing Millie’s books. Now they were off to an auction at a place called Wrenn Hollow.

This is the fun part of antiquing, Millie cried. I think of it as a treasure hunt. You never know what might turn up.

What will you be looking for? Lou asked. More books?

Oh sure, but I’m really hoping to get a painting or two, or a couple of wood carvings. Charlotte Wrenn was a wonderful artist. Her husband, Selwyn—he carved fantastic sculptures. Bet every antiques dealer in Maine will be there.

How come they’re selling?

It’s not Charlotte and Selwyn selling. They died in a terrible auto accident about fifteen years ago. Millie shook her head. A winter storm. Really fierce.

Accident. Lou’s stomach clenched. The accident that had taken her father’s and sister’s lives flashed before her eyes.

Millie honked at a bicyclist and shouted, Careful, kiddo. She frowned. The Wrenns had a daughter. Amanda. She was thirteen when her parents died, just your age.

Kelsey was thirteen when she died, Lou thought. She swallowed hard. So Amanda’s what—twenty-eight now? And she’s selling Wrenn Hollow?

Nope. Not Amanda. The same year her parents died, she disappeared into thin air, as the saying goes.

She ran away?

No one knows for sure. Gilbert—that’s her half brother—he was the last one to see her alive. Millie took a curve that led away from the sparkling water, and the truck lurched into a shaded stretch of road. He’s selling it. I didn’t know him well. He’d hang out with me and my friends when he visited, but he mostly kept to himself.

He visited? Didn’t he live at Wrenn Hollow?

Nope. He lived in California with his mother.

Did he and Amanda get along? Lou wondered out