by Pete Hautman
On the other side of the woodpile was a fire pit with a grate, a few rusted metal lawn chairs, and a two-story houseboat that seemed to be tilted toward the river. The front ends of the pontoons were riding up on shore.
“Anybody home?” she yelled.
Nobody answered.
She turned and looked at Brian. Brian looked at his watch. She felt like ripping it off his wrist and throwing it in the river.
“If you want, you can go back to the car,” she snapped.
“No way. If I go back to the car, you’ll be out here for hours.”
“Okay then.” Roni returned her attention to the houseboat. “Let’s check it out.” She stepped onto the pontoon and pulled herself up over the railing.
19
the bloodwater connection
Brian watched Roni edge along the narrow, tilting deck, peering into the cabin through the two porthole windows. He added breaking and entering to the list of crimes he could be charged with, then hopped up onto the boat to join her.
“I can’t see anything from out here,” Roni said.
“Maybe we should try knocking.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s nobody in there.”
The door was at the back of the boat. Roni rapped on it a few times, listened, then twisted the doorknob.
The door swung open.
“Hello?” Roni said. “Anybody home?”
“What do you see?” Brian asked.
Roni stepped into the dark interior.
“Wow,” she said.
Brian blinked as he peered through the door into the cabin of the boat. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw a long wooden table piled with twisted, light brown . . . somethings.
“What are they?” he said.
“I don’t know,” Roni said. “They look like some kind of roots.” She picked one up. It looked like a carrot gone insane, with the main root splitting into two rootlets like a pair of twisted, tapering legs.
“You think he eats them?”
Roni sniffed the root and made a face. “Smells like old wood.”
They looked around at the rest of the room. There were two beat-up wooden chairs, a large plastic cooler, and a long bookshelf made from scrap lumber. The shelves were crammed with books. Brian read a few of the titles: Mushrooms of North America, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Survivalist’s Bible, The Nick Adams Stories . . .
“I guess he likes to read,” Brian said.
“Good one, Brainiac,” said Roni. She was climbing a ladder up to the second level. “Check this out,” she said.
Brian didn’t want to follow her. But he didn’t want to be left behind, so he grabbed onto the ladder and climbed up after her.
Like the main floor, the loft was sparsely furnished: a thin mattress neatly dressed with sheets and a blanket, another well-stocked bookshelf, a small desk and chair, and an old trunk. Light slanted in through a skylight.
At one end of the room hung several pairs of denim bib overalls and the same number of red-checked flannel shirts.
“You notice anything weird?” Roni asked.
Brian glanced around the small loft. “You notice anything not weird?”
“It’s so . . . organized.”
“Yeah. The guy lives in a tilted houseboat but there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.”
“And check out the wardrobe. He only wears one outfit, but he’s got a ten-day supply.”
“But no Alicia.”
“I guess not. If he took her he must have stashed her someplace else.” Roni noticed a framed photograph on top of the dresser.
“You think this is him in the picture?” Roni asked. The photo showed a smiling, clean-cut man and a pretty, dark-haired woman standing in front of a building.
“I don’t know.”
Roni picked up the photo and held it up to the skylight. “In the background . . . isn’t that Bloodwater House?”
Brian took a closer look. He could make out the large stone walls and windows. “It sure looks like it.” He turned the frame over and looked at the back. “Uh-oh.”
Taped to the back of the frame was a picture cut from a newspaper. It showed a man, a woman, and two teens smiling into the camera.
“Recognize anybody?” Brian asked.
“The Thorns!” Roni said. “That was the picture that was in the paper when they first bought Bloodwater House!”
Suddenly the boat rocked and Brian felt his heart thump. He hoped it was just a wave.
Roni put the photo back on the dresser. “Maybe we should go,” she whispered.
“I’m with you,” Brian said. He was already scooting down the ladder. He wanted to get off that boat as quickly as possible. He practically ran across the cabin, not waiting for Roni. He wanted to get out of there. He had a bad feeling.
Brian burst through the door and was just stepping out onto the deck when an arm the size of a tree limb wrapped around his waist and lifted him into the air.
20
hoot
“Hey!” Brian shouted, instinctively flailing his arms and kicking at his attacker.
The man shifted his grip, grabbing Brian’s belt and dangling him over the water. Brian stopped struggling. He did not want to get dropped into the river. It looked wet.
“Got me a little river rat.” The voice sounded like a gravel truck emptying its load.
Brian twisted his head to look at his captor. He did not like what he saw.
The man’s head was completely hairless and as shapeless as a lump of raw dough. Worst of all, he was grinning. The grin could have used about six more teeth.
“What you doin’, li’l riv rat?” the man rumbled.
“Let me down and I’ll tell you,” Brian said.
The man laughed. It was not a pretty sound. His whole body, all three hundred pounds of it, shook when he laughed. Brian hoped his belt wouldn’t snap.
“Hey, Hoot,” said Roni.
“Who’s that?” the man rumbled, looking back at Roni. “I know you?”
“It’s me, Hoot. Roni Delicata. Remember me?”
“Oh yeah,” said Hoot. “The reporter girl.”
“That’s right. How about you put my friend down?”
“This little rat’s with you?”
“Yes.”
“Huh! You a burglar now?”
“We just came out here to talk to Driftwood Doug. The door was open, so we went in.”
“Good thing I happened by. Just checkin’ on Doug’s boat on account of we got a big storm rollin’ in. Just in time to keep you from making off with all his worldly possessions.”
“We didn’t take anything.”
“ ’Cuz Hootie come along to stop ya.”
“No, because we aren’t thieves.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Why don’t you put him down, Hoot, and I’ll introduce you.”
Hoot looked back at Brian as if he had forgotten about him, then brought him back over the boat and set him down gently.
Brian looked up at the man mountain from his new perspective. Next to Roni, he looked like a giant troll dressed in jeans and a black leather vest.
Roni said, “Hoot, this is my friend Brian. Brian, this is Hoot.”
“Please to mee’cha,” said Hoot. He grabbed Brian’s hand and pumped it so hard Brian thought his shoulder would dislocate. Hoot released Brian’s hand and returned his attention to Roni. “How come you two burglin’ Doug’s boat?”
“I told you,” Roni said. “We didn’t take anything. We just wanted to talk to him.”
“Shouldn’t go on people’s boats without an invite.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Hoot.”
“Sorry don’t cut it, girl. Down here on the island we got to take care of each other.”
Roni said, “Hoot, we really don’t have time to talk. I have to be getting home, okay?”
“You kids comin’ down here causin’ all kinds a trouble.” Hoot crossed his arms over his m
assive chest. “People livin’ on the island you be better off not knowin’.”
Yeah, Brian thought, like you.
“We’ll keep that in mind, Hoot,” said Roni. “Next time.”
“Ain’t gonna be no next time.”
“Listen, we have to go now, Hoot.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh, little girl. I think maybe I gonna turn you two over to the gestapo.” Hoot glared at them from beneath his hairless brow, and Brian found himself wishing that he had just dropped him in the river.
21
love or money
“It’s almost six,” Brian said as he buckled his seat belt. It was a good habit, especially with Roni behind the wheel. “My mom’s gonna lock me in my room for a year.”
“Sorry,” said Roni. She pulled onto the highway and headed for Bloodwater. “I didn’t expect us to get busted.”
“So . . . who was that guy?” Brian asked.
“That was the mayor of Wolf Spider Island.”
They hadn’t had a chance to talk during the walk back to the parking area with Hoot lumbering along behind them muttering about what he was going to do the next time he caught them “snoopin’ and burglin’.”
“They have their own mayor?”
“Unofficial mayor.” Roni smiled. She had met Hoot back when she’d written the article on Wolf Spider Island. He wasn’t as tough as he looked. Or maybe he was, but he had a soft heart. She was surprised how long it had taken her to talk him into letting her and Brian go. “He sort of keeps an eye on things.”
“What was he talking about, turning us over to the gestapo?”
“That’s what he calls the police. The Wolf Spider Islanders don’t like cops. He wasn’t really going to turn us in. Too much trouble. Basically, Hoot is pretty lazy.”
Several huge raindrops splashed the windshield. Lightning flickered on the horizon. They rode in silence for a few minutes. The rain began to fall steadily.
“I guess we didn’t find out much,” Roni said as she turned onto Brian’s street.
Roni stopped the car in front of Brian’s house. The rain was coming down harder, and every few strokes of the windshield wipers brought another rumble of thunder.
Brian said, “We didn’t find Alicia. But we know from that photo that Driftwood Doug has some connection with Bloodwater House.”
“That doesn’t mean he snatched Alicia.”
“Maybe not,” Brian said. “But it must mean something.”
Brian was pretty sure he had beat his mother home, but he knew enough not to come sauntering in the front door. Just on the off chance she was sitting in the kitchen, he circled their split-level house and entered through the basement door. He could claim he had been home all the time. She might believe him.
He entered quietly and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t hear any conversation. More importantly he didn’t hear the radio or the TV. His mother was a news addict. She had to know what was going on in the world all the time.
Brian walked up the stairs that ended in the kitchen. His father was hunched over the kitchen counter. A loaf of bread and a can of tuna sat at the end of the counter. In front of his father were four piles of cards. His father was playing bridge.
Most people played bridge with other people, but his father had devised a way that he could play it with himself. When Brian had asked him why he didn’t play with other people, his dad told him it was just too much trouble. He could play for hours.
“Hey, Dad,” Brian said.
His father lifted his head and smiled as if he had just woken up from a pleasant dream. “Brian, where have you been?”
“Around.”
“I see. I thought maybe you’d left. Are you hungry, son?”
Brian liked it when his dad called him son. “Is Mom coming home for dinner or not?”
“She called again. She thought she’d swing by and eat with us, but then she’s going to have to go back to work tonight.”
Brian looked at the bread and tuna on the counter. “Tuna melts?”
“Yes. Just let me finish this hand. . . .”
Brian took over the sandwich-making process. He made the tuna salad with lots of finely chopped dill pickles. He lined up three pieces of bread on a cookie sheet, slathered on the tuna salad, and completely covered that with thinly sliced cheese.
“Dad, why would someone abduct a teenage girl?”
“I won,” his father declared and slid all the cards back together. “Abduct a girl? Oh yes, your classmate.”
“Yeah. What would be their motive?”
His father took only a moment to think and then he said, “Well, it could be for money, of course. Kidnapping for ransom is not unknown. There are also a number of mental aberrations that might lead to such antisocial behaviors. Early childhood trauma, brain tumor, social marginalization caused by political or cultural pressures, certain chemical imbalances in the brain leading to . . .”
Brian was often impressed by his father’s ability to take a simple question and make it incredibly complicated. He decided to interrupt.
“But what is the most likely reason?”
Bruce Bain stopped talking and thought for a moment. “I believe that most child abductions occur when a parent abducts his or her own child.”
“But why?”
“Often it is a couple who divorce, and the court gives custody to one parent, and then the other parent abducts the child. It must be terrible for the child.”
“Do you think Alicia Camden’s real father might have kidnapped her?”
“Without more facts, I would not care to speculate.”
“What about being kidnapped by an ex-boyfriend? Does that ever happen?”
“Where human relations are concerned, particularly jealousy, almost anything is possible.”
The front door banged open and his mother walked in the door shaking water off her umbrella.
“Hullo, dear,” said Mr. Bain. “Is it raining out?”
“No,” said Mrs. Bain. “It’s pouring.”
Brian turned on the grill and put the sandwiches under the broiler. When he turned back, his mother was smiling at him.
“You made dinner?” she asked.
“No big deal.”
She messed up his hair and kissed him on the cheek. “Mom!” he protested—but actually he was glad she wasn’t still mad at him.
“You’re a good kid,” she said. “Give me a second to wash up and put on a different pair of shoes. These things are killing me.”
When they all sat down at the kitchen counter with the tuna melts perfectly melted, Brian brought up the topic of Alicia’s abduction. “Have you found out anything?”
“We have some ideas, but we haven’t yet located Alicia,” she said, taking a careful bite of her tuna melt. She could never wait until it had cooled off. “Hot,” she mumbled, waving her hand in front of her mouth.
“Do you have any ideas about the motive?”
“Well, keep in mind that we aren’t absolutely certain she has been abducted. She may have gone with someone willingly. We are considering every possibility.”
“But suppose she was abducted. Why would someone do that?”
“That’s easy,” said Mrs. Bain. “It usually comes down to love, money, or revenge. By the way, what on earth were you doing at the Thorns’ today?”
“Ted’s a friend of mine. We did that science project together, remember?”
“Oh yes . . . the potato gun.”
“Dad says that most kidnappings are parents snatching their own kids.”
“That’s true, but that usually involves younger children. Why? Did Ted say something about his father?”
“You mean Mr. Thorn?”
“No, his real father.” His mother caught herself. “I mean his biological father.”
“He mentioned him. He lives in Mankato. They hardly ever see him. Is he a suspect?”
“The Mankato police have been trying to locate him.”
&
nbsp; “He’s missing, too?”
“According to his neighbor, he left on a fishing trip. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
“So why do you think he did it? Love, money, or revenge?”
“I didn’t say he did anything. We just want to talk to him.” Mrs. Bain took another bite of her sandwich and chewed, giving Brian a suspicious look. After she had swallowed she said, “Why so many questions? Are you up to something, Brian?”
“No! Nothing!”
“I see,” she said dryly. “How unusual.”
22
river dance
Alicia felt like throwing up. Was it possible to get seasick on a river? Another gust of wind sent the boat rocking. She imagined the boat tearing loose from its moorings and traveling down the Mississippi River, all the way to New Or-leans. She’d always wanted to go there. She imagined herself floating gently through the Mississippi bayous listening to the sound of Cajun music.
When she was in a tough spot, Alicia could always get away. For as long as she could remember, she had been able to escape to fantasies in her imagination. Maybe that’s how she had survived the last few months without going completely crazy.
A wave slammed against the side of the boat, reminding her where she was.
It was getting dark outside. She hadn’t eaten in hours, not since she’d finished her Snickers bar. She tried to persuade herself that might be good. She was always trying to lose weight. Still, her stomach felt like there was a small rat gnawing away at the inside of it.
She couldn’t think about that. Hunger was the least of her problems. Instead, she imagined herself at the home-coming dance. She saw herself spinning across the dance floor in the perfect dress, black, spaghetti straps, fitting her to a T.
A huge gust of wind grabbed at the boat, tipping it almost on its side. She heard the sharp snap of a rope breaking, and then another, and suddenly the boat was spinning and rocking crazily, and the dress flew from her thoughts, and the dance floor vanished.
