Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  On the way there, at a West Coast pace of eighty miles an hour, the two were explaining that Missy Peeple, a Skary resident, seemed to know more about this town than she had previously said. But now she was in this mildly demented state and not making much sense.

  “At one point she said, ‘May the Lord safely keep and restore you,’” Martin said, glancing in his rearview mirror at Dr. Hass, waiting for a reaction, so Dr. Hass stuck out his bottom lip as if examining the statement carefully. How was he supposed to know what an old woman’s chattering was about? Maybe she was just trying to be nice on her deathbed.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to tell whether she’s coherent or not?” Wolfe asked.

  Dr. Hass rubbed his chin in a delicate manner. “Hard to say.” Wolfe glanced back at him. “But I’ll give it my best shot.” Dr. Hass looked at the two men in the front seat, half contemplating whether he should jump from the car and make a run for it. Then he said, “What does this woman know?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Martin said.

  “The town depends on it?” he asked.

  They exchanged glances before looking at him. “You’re on a need-to-know basis,” Martin finally said.

  Oliver did not have an appetite for the pizza this man had offered him and was now gobbling down. He’d never seen a man so skinny consume a large pizza that fast. His mind raced with possible escape scenarios, but at the end of all that thinking, he really didn’t have a plan, except to hope that Martin would find out he was missing and put two and two together. He was, after all, the only person who knew of Oliver’s plan to nab one of the clones.

  Oliver raised his eyes, ever so carefully, to study Douglas, as he called himself. So much of it made sense. Of course he was a clone. Skinny, probably had digestive problems due to the cloning. Strength that was really inhuman. How Oliver had ended up tied to a water pump he was not sure. All he knew was that this Douglass face turned bright red and the next thing he knew, the rope that had been in his hands was now around his hands.

  Maybe the poor guy had no clue he was a clone. How would he know if no one told him? Oliver tried to think back on all the signs that Garth Twyne was involved in this. Really, there weren’t any, except Miss Peeple’s years of insistence that he’d cloned pigs. Why didn’t anybody listen? Now here he was, staring at a clone in the flesh and blood.

  Still, it was so hard to believe Garth Twyne the vet was smart enough for all this. The dumb lad had spent most of his time courting a woman he would never have, and then scheming to try to get her anyway. So, Oliver concluded, this Dr. Hass must be involved somehow. Oliver admitted that he did have a strange feeling around the man, as though there was something not quite right.

  But enough of that. Oliver’s immediate problem was how to get out of this predicament. And as he thought of this, an even more sickening thought overwhelmed him. Maybe Douglas was not planning on killing him. Maybe he was planning on cloning him!

  “Ah!” Oliver shouted.

  Douglas looked up, in the middle of licking all his fingers. “You okay?”

  “I’m … uh … Can you please tell me what you’re planning on doing with me?”

  Douglas stood, throwing the napkin he hadn’t bothered using into the pizza box that sat on the bed. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you were planning on doing with me?”

  Oliver bit his lip. How much should he say? Would it cause him to be in more danger?

  “Earlier,” Douglas said, “you mentioned my ‘owner.’ What in the world did you mean by that?”

  Oliver swallowed. “Nothing.”

  Douglas took a step closer to him, his small eyes narrow with determination. “Oh yeah? You want to reconsider that answer?”

  “Okay, okay,” Oliver blurted. “It’s exactly what I said. Your owner told me he’d pay me a hundred and fifty dollars to bring you to him.”

  “What owner?! You’re acting like I’m a dog!”

  Oliver formed his words carefully. “What exactly are you?”

  Douglas put his hands on his hips. “What exactly do I look like?”

  Oliver said, “Out of curiosity, do you look exactly like the one you came from?”

  Douglas shook his head. “What in the Hellmann’s Mayonnaise are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know, do you?” Oliver said sadly.

  “Know what?”

  Oliver sighed and realized the only way of potentially getting out of this was to tell the guy the truth. He gathered his thoughts before speaking. “There is one before you.”

  “One before me?”

  “Maybe more. But I suspect one.”

  “One what?”

  “Man. The man you came from.”

  “My father?”

  “Oh, is that what they call it? Is that what they told you? He’s your father? You poor fool,” Oliver sighed.

  Douglas laughed, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling. “You know, I have to say, this is the most wacked-out, dripping-with-crazy town I have ever seen in my whole life. I mean, you travel cross-country, you go through these small towns, and you think, What kind of people could live in such a small town? And now I know. Crazies! Crazy lunatics!”

  “I’m sure they brainwashed you,” Oliver said calmly. He didn’t want to upset the guy any more. “But take a look at yourself. I mean, ask some hard questions, sir.”

  “Hard questions?” Douglas asked, amusement lighting up his features. “Like what hard questions?”

  “Well, I mean, have you noticed that the other people in this town don’t suddenly scream for no reason? Just out of the blue. Look, I don’t hold that against you. It’s probably just a glitch from the cloning process—”

  “Cloning process?!” Douglas laughed, yet his eyes registered nothing but bewilderment.

  “And why do you wander around the woods at night? Looking like the walking dead? You see, it’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you, but these are simply not normal, everyday behaviors of a human being.”

  Douglas stared at Oliver, laughed, stared some more, and then his laugh faded. “What exactly are you saying here?”

  Oliver lifted his head with courage. “Douglas, I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you’re a clone.”

  “I’m a clone.”

  “Yes. And we’re not a prejudiced town, you should know that, but I just don’t think we’re a good fit for you. You and your buddies might try someplace like New Orleans. You’d fit right in.”

  Douglas was laughing hard. “You think I’m a clone?”

  “It’s okay, I know this is going to take a while to sink in. I should’ve known Dr. Hass didn’t tell you.”

  Douglas stopped laughing. “Dr. Hass?”

  “Yes, your owner. Dr. Hass.”

  “My owner?” Douglas shook his head. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I think there’s been a big, big, big misunderstanding here.”

  Oliver tried not to look disappointed. He supposed if he were a clone, it would be hard to accept. Douglas had a very serious look on his face.

  “You okay?” Oliver asked, trying to be sensitive.

  “You said that Dr. Hass paid you to kidnap me?”

  Oliver nodded. “We sort of had a deal. If I kidnapped you, he’d make sure you wouldn’t return to this town.”

  And then Oliver’s heart stopped. Because Douglas’s face was turning bright red.

  “Hmmm. Huh. Mmmmm.” Dr. Hass leaned over the old woman, holding his breath as he did so. But the mothball smell still penetrated his nostrils, so he tried not to make ugly gagging noises.

  “Safely keep and restore you,” she mumbled. By the expression on Wolfe’s face, this was supposed to mean something. What in the world was he supposed to say?

  “She’s crazy,” he finally announced. “Certifiable. Loco y loco. Howard Hughes’s sister.” The two men stared at him. He tried to act casual. “It happens with old age, you know. What is this lady? About a hundred?”

&n
bsp; Wolfe stepped forward, crossing his arms. “How can you tell she’s crazy just by looking at her?”

  “Well, do you know what safely keep and restore you’ means?”

  Wolfe shook his head.

  “Well, then, I would conclude she’s senile.”

  Martin said, “Don’t you need to do some more tests? And isn’t there anything we can do to bring her out of it?”

  Dr. Hass said, “Well, you can always try a mixture of lemonade and vodka.”

  “Excuse me?” Wolfe said, his face stern.

  “Look,” Dr. Hass said when nobody laughed at his joke, “the mind is a delicate thing. What did you expect? I was going to come in here and wave a magic wand, making it all better?”

  Martin sighed. “I’m sorry, Doctor. We’re putting too much pressure on you.”

  “Psychology is as much common sense as it is medicine. I’ve proved that over and over again.”

  “Where did you say your degree is from again?” Wolfe asked.

  Dr. Hass stared into Wolfe’s engaging eyes and said with a confident smile, “Life, Wolfe. The same place you got yours.”

  CHAPTER 33

  THEY DROPPED DR. HASS back at his home office and headed toward Wolfe’s house. “Don’t you think there is just something off about that guy?”

  Martin shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I didn’t see any diplomas in his office. Strike you as odd?”

  “Well, he did just get to town. Maybe he hasn’t put them up yet.” Martin glanced at Wolfe. “Maybe we were expecting too much out of him at the hospital, like I said.”

  “It’s not what he didn’t say, but what he did say,” Wolfe began but then noticed something peculiar. “Martin, look at that!”

  Three police cars were parked in front of Melb Cornforth’s house. “Pull over!” Martin said and hastily exited the car. Wolfe followed.

  When they got inside, Melb was sitting on her couch, crying, Ainsley’s arms draped around her. “Wolfe!” Ainsley said, jumping up and rushing to him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oliver’s missing,” Melb said between sobs.

  “Missing?”

  Ainsley nodded. “He didn’t show up for church. They found his car near Main Street but haven’t found Oliver yet.” She looked at Melb. “They’ll find him, Melb.”

  Suddenly Deputy Bledsoe rushed in, looking for the sheriff, who was just stepping out of the bathroom. “Sir, we found Oliver’s stocking cap.”

  The sheriff’s eyes lit up with annoyance as he glanced around the room, realizing everyone had just heard that, including Melb, who was whimpering with the visible effort to control herself. Deputy Bledsoe didn’t seem to notice.

  “Behind the junkyard, near a water pump.”

  The room grew silent as the sheriff rubbed his brow. “I don’t understand this. We’ve never had a kidnapping in this town,” he muttered.

  Suddenly Martin was pulling Wolfe alongside him, up to the sheriff. “Sir, we need to talk. Outside.”

  Dr. Hass was not one for taking long walks, but since he didn’t have a car this was his only option. He’d probably walked a mile, careful to track where he was going so he wouldn’t be lost in the backwoods of Indiana forever, when he finally decided to give some thought to his life. Truthfully, it wasn’t something he did much. But being around crazy people tended to make one reflect. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was fear of turning out like them.

  He was certainly shocked by what he’d found in small-town America. There was a sense of community, albeit an unhealthy one, from what he could see. Back home, people didn’t care about anybody else’s business unless it would somehow help theirs. Here, everybody cared about everyone else’s business, even if it hurt theirs. Strange.

  Yet with all the unexpected dysfunction, he couldn’t help notice the tremendous loyalty—the care—that everyone displayed. In the circles he ran with, everyone was too busy searching for themselves to notice anybody else existed. Here, sure, there seemed to be a real lack of self-awareness, but that was nearly transcended by the thoughtfulness. Who in the world cared if the mayor of your town went nuts? In his old life, that would be considered scandal worthy of the front page. Here, he was a protected citizen.

  Dr. Hass continued to walk.

  It was true that though he’d moved halfway across the United States to explore new cheese, he had been experiencing the strange realization that the part of him he’d wanted to leave behind had indeed followed him. He’d no sooner driven into the town limits when his other half had joined him.

  Sighing, he looked at the beautiful pines. The woods that surrounded this tiny town nearly seemed to envelop it with their beauty. He walked the trail in the woods, bundled in his coat, scarf double-wrapped around his neck, listening to the most enjoyable silence.

  But he knew with silence would come thoughts prompted by conscience. For so long he’d surrounded himself with the noisy chaos of big cities—that way he would never have to listen to himself, at least with his heart engaged.

  Now, though, it whispered to him, as softly as the sound of snow being blown across the hillside. He closed his eyes and stood still, trying to understand what it was about himself that he never liked. He was always trying to be somebody else, never confident enough to own up to who he’d been born as.

  He’d had a loving mother, though she’d had poor judgment on many things, like naming him after his father, who he’d turned out to be exactly like. He’d been a creative child, innovative in such a way that his teachers always liked him. So how did he end up like this?

  “Whoo.”

  Dr. Hass looked up into the sky. The clouds moved so fast it made him dizzy.

  “Whoo. Whoo.”

  He smiled a little.

  “I have no idea.”

  Sheriff Parker’s foot tapped furiously against the cement sidewalk they all stood on. Martin kept glancing at Wolfe, as if to ask him for some help, but Wolfe could do nothing but stare in disbelief.

  “Cloning?” the sheriff whispered harshly, though all the others were still inside.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Martin said. “But I’m telling you, I believe it.”

  “Martin,” Wolfe said. “That’s crazy!”

  “I know it is,” Martin said. “But you didn’t see the guy Oliver got. He really was something else to look at.” Martin stared hard at the sheriff. “And you know the rumors that have run around this town for years now.”

  “They’re rumors, Martin,” the sheriff said.

  “Then how do you explain all the crazy people walking around this town? Huh? Screaming at all hours of the night? Suddenly coming into our town, trying to fit in?”

  The sheriff stared at his feet. “I’ll admit, I haven’t been too engaged because of Thief’s ordeal and all. I figured if they weren’t breaking the law, they weren’t my concern.”

  “Four of them were at church this morning,” Wolfe offered, though he didn’t really know what that meant or how it might help the situation.

  “So you’re saying Oliver kidnapped one of these people, he got away, and this Dr. Hass offered Oliver money to kidnap the rest of them.”

  “And he assured Oliver he’d ‘take care of them,’ which Oliver understood to mean keep them out of our town … by whatever means possible.” Martin’s eyes shifted back and forth between the sheriff and Wolfe.

  “What would a psychologist want with a bunch of clones?”

  Wolfe laughed out loud. “Folks, they’re not clones!”

  Neither of the men acknowledged him.

  “I have a theory that Dr. Hass might be involved in this … with Garth.”

  Wolfe laughed … again unnoticed by the two other men.

  Martin continued, first glancing back at Melb’s house. “And I’ll tell you something else. I think Melb’s been cloned.”

  Wolfe threw up his hands, though he really couldn’t wait for this bizarre explanation.
>
  “Melb?” the sheriff asked.

  “I haven’t had the heart to tell Oliver, but I’ve seen her, Sheriff. Out in the woods in the middle of the night!”

  The sheriff’s eyes were widening.

  “And has anyone but me noticed how much thinner this new’ Melb is? Doesn’t that make sense? If you’re cloned, you’d be thinner?”

  Wolfe narrowed his eyes, looking hard at Martin. “And how exactly does that make sense, Martin?”

  But Martin didn’t have a chance to answer, because the sheriff said, “Let’s go find us a Dr. Hass.”

  With the house surrounded, and guns pulled in a showdown-like setting worthy of Clint Eastwood, everyone was quite disappointed when Dr. Hass was not home.

  “Now what?” Kinard sighed, placing his unloaded pistol back in its holster.

  Sheriff Parker thought for a moment. “Kinard, you stay here, wait for the doctor. Everyone else, over to Garth’s place.”

  Wolfe stood there and watched Martin follow the rest of the deputies. He slapped his hands over his face and shook his head. Surely they didn’t believe this nonsense!

  Just as in his book, in the end, everything had an explanation. Wolfe sighed. Well, while the rest of the town chased phantom clones, Wolfe was going to find out what the key around his neck belonged to.

  Martin couldn’t quite decipher what was going through Garth Twyne’s little head. Garth stood in a small operating room, surrounded by the cohorts, white as a ghost. And there was an unconscious cat on the table everybody kept eying.

  Martin thought the sheriff might repeat his demand, since Garth wasn’t inclined to say anything.

  And he did. “Well?” the sheriff said. “Are you involved in this or not?”

  Garths skinny frame trembled as he shook his head.

  “So you’re trying to tell me you have no idea what this cloning business is about?” the sheriff said, his arms folded authoritatively. Martin decided to fold his own arms.