Chapter 1: Something's Missing

“Ladies and gentleman!” called a voice.  “Everybody, everybody gather around, and witness the daredevil event of the century!”

The speaker gestured towards a large ramp set up behind him.

“Yes, before your eyes, ladies and gentleman, you are about to see a stunt the likes of which the world has never seen.  Mr. Wally Dallenbach, eight-time Guinness World Record holder for various feats and stunts, is about to attempt the most daring trick of his life.  He and his First Union Chevy Monte Carlo will whiz over the Ramp of Death as they try a bold, new stunt.  If he succeeds, friends, Mr. Dallenbach will become the World’s Record Holder for longest car jump of all-time.  But if he does not succeed—should the jump be too short, or should Mr. Dallenbach fail to reach the ramp on the opposite end, he will fall into the blazing fire set up between the two ramps.”

“Ahem!”

The speaker turned to see Louis Anderson, who’d just cleared his throat.  “It’s only our grill, Frank, and it’s not even on.”

“Of course it’s not on,” thirteen-year-old Frank (the oldest of the Andersons) told his brother.  Frank could be easily recognized by straight, dark brown hair; blue eyes (which all his siblings shared); and an air of confidence he always had about him.  “I don’t trust your aim that much.”

“If you have that little confidence in me,” Louis (pronounced Lew-is) told his brother, “then why are you letting me set off the jet engine?”

“Because this vehicle’s disposable,” said Frank.

In addition to his baseball card collection—vast and huge—and his model train collection—also vast and huge—Frank had a sizable toy car collection.  He had Nascars, Indy cars, drag cars, Hot Wheels—anything with four wheels.  The vehicles were of various sizes, ranging from 1:64 scale (most common) to 1:24 scale to even 1:11 scale.  Frank cared very deeply about the vehicles and tried to keep them in the most pristine condition, even as he played with them.

That’s why he’d bought the 1:24 scale car Louis held.  It had once been a replica of Nascar driver Wally Dallenbach’s First Union car, which he’d driven in the Nascar Cup series.  Now, only a few of the letters were eligible on the hood.  The front of the vehicle was cracked, the paint was badly chipped, and the wheels squealed as they ran across the ground.  Unlike some of the better models, the wheels didn’t steer either—the car just ran straight unless someone directed it.  That didn’t make it very collectible, but it had been fifty cents at a garage sale in Shawnee, and Frank had purchased it with this scenario in mind.  Louis might miss, the car might get pulverized—but if it did, it was no great loss.  The vehicle was barely hanging together anyway—it might as well go out on a bang.

Over by the Andersons’ back door, seven-year-old Susan (the youngest) lay face-forward on the grass and watched, her braided blond hair lying limply to the right of her face.  “Where did you get the jet engine?” she asked.

“Hobby store up in Oklahoma City,” Frank replied.  “I can’t remember the name.”

“At least you remember how to fire it,” Louis said.  The third-oldest (at nine), Louis’s hair was like his brother’s, except black (like his older sister’s), and he was easily the quietest member of the family.  Right now, he was using a ruler to make sure the car was lined up.  That was what was going to make this stunt spectacular.  Frank had gotten a hold of a miniature jet engine, which Louis had strapped to the back of the car.  The brothers had done the math, figuring out just how far they should space the car to go up one ramp and hit the other.  If their calculations were correct, and if nothing went wrong—two pretty big ifs, but they could afford to be wrong—the car would zoom up the ramp on the east, fly magnificently over the grill, and land perfectly on the west side, of the backyard, rolling down until it bounced over the grass and hit a cushion propped against the fence.  Frank had a video camera all set to capture the event.

“Camera’s on,” he called out.  “When you’re ready, Louis.”

His brother placed his finger on the engine, excitement building as he waited.  Louis glanced at the grill—sticking up seemingly too high between the taut wooden ramps.  Doubt swept over him, but he placed his finger on the control.  “On three!” he called to his brother.  “One, two—”

A window opened upstairs.  “Hey, guys!” Nancy called.

“Three!” Louis hit the button.  There was a roar, a squeak, and zoom!—the car shot up the ramp as if it had been thrown from a cannon.  Up into the air it soared—up, up, up—over the grill—over the ramp on the west side—

Over the Anderson’s fence!—

And out into the street, where it finally fell back down before disappearing from view.  Frank stared after the car, his mouth about as wide as an ocean.

“Oh, my goodness!” he said.  “Oh, my goodness—Louis, did you see that?!”

“What in the world happened to that car?” Louis puzzled.  “I thought it would land on the ramp!”

“Woooooowwwwww!” Susan said, an awestruck look on her face.  “That was amazing!”

“Our calculations weren’t anywhere close to that!” Frank marveled.  “Did you follow directions, Louis?”

His younger brother nodded.  “I set the ramps up perfectly, I took the engine out of the pack and strapped it to the car, I lined the vehicle up—”

“Wait a minute,” said Frank.  “You took the engine out of the pack?”

“Yes!” Louis said.  “Why?”

“Was there anything else left in the pack when you finished?”

Louis shook his head.  “All it contained was the engine—”

“You mean the engines,” Frank corrected.  “That was a two-pack, which means—”

“It travelled twice as far as it was supposed to go?” Louis marveled.

“No, not that far,” Frank said, starting for the fence.  “It would’ve been heavier, for one thing, and there’s some other physics involved—but it still went farther than we expected.  I’d better see if I can find it—”

He pulled himself up on the fence, and peeped over.

To his surprise, there was no sign of the car!  It wasn’t on the curb, wasn’t on Ponca Avenue (the street to the west of the house), wasn’t even on the sidewalk across the street from the house!  Beyond this was a fence, which meant the car couldn’t have gone any farther without sailing over.  Unless—

Suddenly, Frank glanced to his left.  There, just rounding the corner onto Boyd Street was a small, white BMW convertible with the top down.  Frank couldn’t see what was in the backseat, but he knew what must have happened.

Gently, he lowered himself down, then turned to face his younger siblings.  “We’re not getting that car back!  Some convertible driver got a present.”

“You mean—” started Louis.  Susan giggled as she caught her brother’s meaning.

“That was nice of you to give it to him!” she said.  “I sure hope he enjoys it!”

“Well, that’s why I only paid fifty cents for it,” Frank went on.  “Hopefully, it’s in good hands now.  I’d say that jump went better than any of us expected—”

Bam!

The backdoor to the Andersons’ house flew open, slamming against Susan.  “Ouch!” she said irritably, staring up at her older sister.  Nancy had come running out of the house, shoulder-length black hair flying behind her in her haste.  “Everybody!” she exclaimed, blue eyes flashing excitedly.  “You’ll never believe this!”

“The jet car landed in the convertible,” Louis said.  “Yes, I saw it—”

“Not that!” Nancy said.  “It’s the Dales!  I just got off the phone with Ashley.  Her older sister’s disappeared!”