by Pete Hautman
“Because she was abducted.”
He cocked his head. “Abducted? Really?”
“A couple of hours ago. By someone driving an SUV.”
Roni pointed her pen at Maurice’s Explorer. Brian thought that was a nice touch.
“Well, it wasn’t me. Who are you, anyway?”
“Roni Delicata. I’m a reporter for the Pump.”
Maurice made a face. “I don’t talk to reporters.”
“I’m different. You want to talk to me.”
“Oh yeah?” Maurice’s mouth curved into a nasty sneer. “And why is that?”
Roni matched his nasty sneer with a grin. “Because I just saw you key that Camaro.”
As the blood drained out of Maurice’s face, Brian thought, Now that’s how to grill a suspect.
Just then, Brian saw a familiar figure come out of the school and walk around the corner toward the after-school buses. It was time to do a little interviewing of his own.
“If you want to know the truth . . . she dumped me,” Maurice said. “She said I was too much like her stepdad.”
Roni made a note in her ever-present notebook. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Like her stepdad.”
“No way. Have you met him? Mr. Thorn is totally full of himself. He wants everybody to think he’s King Tut.” Maurice crossed his arms and looked down at her, waiting for the next question.
“That’s why you broke up? Because you’re too much like Arnold Thorn?”
“I told you, I’m not like him at all.”
Says you, Roni thought.
Maurice uncrossed his arms and buried his hands in the pockets of his letter jacket.
“Look,” he said, “the real reason we broke up is because her mom thought I wasn’t good enough for her. ’Cause I don’t live in a mansion, I guess. Neither one of her parents liked me. Not that I care. Being Alicia’s boyfriend was no picnic.”
“Why was that?” Roni asked.
Maurice’s mouth tightened. Roni thought he was going to shut down on her but then he spit it out. “There was no pleasing her. Like I couldn’t possibly like her enough. I had to prove it all the time. I mean, every time we had an argument she expected me to bring her roses. You know how much roses cost?”
“Where were you at one o’clock this afternoon?”
“In school, where do you think?”
“Can you prove it?”
“Of course. There were only, like, thirty-five other kids in class.”
She turned to ask Brian if he had any questions for Maurice, but Brian had disappeared.
“Now where did he go?” she wondered aloud.
“If you’re talking about that goofy Asian kid, he took off. Look, I didn’t kidnap Alicia, okay?”
“Any idea who did?”
“No. But it wouldn’t surprise me if her real father came and got her. She told me he was really torn up about losing custody of her and her brother.”
“The timing is just rather odd, after she got beat up and all.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.” Maurice gave Roni a sideways look. “You aren’t gonna tell Tyrone I keyed his car, are you?”
Roni looked back at the scratched Camaro. “Why do you have a problem with Tyrone?”
“I just do.”
“Tell you what,” she said. “If some anonymous benefactor pays Tyrone to have his car repainted, I won’t say a word.”
Maurice looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He made a sour face and said, “Okay. But if you’re really serious about finding out what happened to Alicia, you should talk to him.”
“Tyrone? Why?”
“Because he always had a thing for her. He was, like, obsessed.”
15
prime suspect
Dante McQueen stuck up nearly a foot above all the other kids waiting for the after-school activities bus. Brian only came up to his elbow. Brian was more used to seeing him sitting—they played chess together whenever Dante could squeeze it in. Dante was a fierce competitor, and he loved chess more than anything.
But Dante’s father had insisted that he try out for basketball. So while all his friends were working on their chess moves, Dante had to work on his layups.
“How was practice?” Brian asked.
“Pitiful. These guys don’t even talk, they just grunt. Who won the chess tournament last week?”
“Beaner.”
“He always wins.” Dante sat down on the steps, his knees sticking up as high as his shoulders.
Brian stood in front of him, their eyes now on the same level. “Do you know Maurice Wellington very well?”
Dante shrugged. “As well as anybody.”
“What happened with him and his girlfriend?”
“Alicia? I don’t know. But he was sure shook up about it. You could see it in his playing. For the past couple of practices he’s been kinda brain-dead, even for Maurice. And today he showed up late, which really pissed off Coach Brentwood. Said he had a dentist appointment.”
“He left school early this afternoon?”
“Yeah, he left at lunchtime.” Dante stood up. “My bus is here.”
Brian scrambled, trying to think like Roni, trying to come up with more questions. Only one occurred to him. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being pure monster, one being a mouse, how dangerous would you say Maurice is?”
Dante didn’t even think about it. “Nine.”
Brian was startled. “Nine?”
“Let me put it this way,” Dante said. “Maurice doesn’t care about anybody but Maurice, and he’ll do anything he thinks he can get away with to get what he wants.” He stepped onto the bus, then turned back to Brian and said, “If I were you, I’d stay out of his way.”
“Thanks,” Brian said. He headed back to the parking lot. Maybe he shouldn’t have left Roni alone with Maurice. It sounded as if he was capable of anything. Kidnapping, for example. Brian started running. Even more than being afraid for Roni, he was excited to tell her what he’d learned. But when he reached the parking lot, Roni’s car was there, but Roni was gone.
And so was Maurice’s SUV.
16
left, right, left
Roni found Tyrone Eakin in the gym shooting baskets all by himself. She watched him shooting free throw after free throw. He was sinking only about one out of three. Roni was no basketball expert, but this guy definitely needed the practice.
After missing six in a row, Tyrone noticed Roni watching him.
“Hey,” he said. His mahogany skin glistened with sweat. He turned back to the basket and sent the ball sailing in a nearly perfect arc. Not perfect enough. It hit the back of the rim and bounced off. Tyrone grabbed the ball and looked at Roni again. “I’m having an off day,” he said.
“Me, too,” said Roni.
“Yeah? What’s your problem?”
“I got suspended. You’re Tyrone Eakin, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He started bouncing the ball: left hand, right hand, left hand, right hand. “How do you know that?”
Roni smiled. Everybody knew who Tyrone Eakin was. In addition to being close to six and a half feet tall, he was one of only a half dozen African American students at Bloodwater High. “I’m a basketball fan,” she said.
“That so.” He gave her a cautious smile. Left hand, right hand, left hand . . .
“You know Alicia Camden, right?”
“Uh-huh.” The bouncing sped up a little. Left, right, left, right.
“I suppose you heard what happened a few hours ago.”
“Nope. What happened?” Left, right, left . . .
“Alicia was abducted.”
The bouncing stopped.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. She was seriously abducted.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“Me? I don’t even know her that well.”
“I thought you were obsessed with her.”
“Whe
re’d you hear that?”
“From Maurice.”
Tyrone laughed and started bouncing his ball again. Left right left right. “Alicia, she’s too skinny for me.”
Roni liked the idea of Alicia being too skinny. “Then why does Maurice think you have a thing for her?”
“I just talk to her sometimes is all. Just to mess with Maurice’s head. Keep him on his toes, you know? He gets kind of full of himself sometimes.”
“I heard she dumped him.”
“That’s what I heard, too.”
“And you decided to move in?”
Left right left right. “Move in? Nah, I told you, girl. Not my type.”
“Any idea who beat her up? Or might have wanted to kidnap her?”
“Nope.” Left right left right left right left . . .
The bouncing was really getting on Roni’s nerves, so she said the one thing she knew would stop it.
“Thanks, Tyrone. By the way, I was just out in the parking lot . . . what the heck happened to the side of your car?”
Brian had never liked waiting.
He was sitting on the hood of Roni’s car. He wished she hadn’t locked it. This waiting wouldn’t be so bad if he could sit inside and listen to the radio. He figured he’d give Roni sixty seconds to show up. If she didn’t, he’d call his mom.
Sixty seconds passed. No Roni. Okay, another sixty seconds.
Was Maurice really as dangerous and crazy as Dante claimed? And if he was crazy enough to kidnap his ex-girlfriend, did that mean he was crazy enough to snatch Roni, too? And even if he’d wanted to, could he? Brian tried to imagine forcing Roni into a car. She’d be like a wild cat. Even a big guy like Maurice would have a tough time of it.
Where was she?
If he called his mom, he’d have to explain to her why he was sitting in the school parking lot when she’d ordered him to go straight home. Maybe he would call 911. An anonymous call. Tell them they had another possible abduction.
Another sixty seconds passed.
He tried to think of where the nearest phone might be. Inside the school? He really didn’t want to go back inside the school. If Spindler caught him he’d be toast for sure. On the other hand, if Maurice had abducted Roni . . .
Brian heard the sound of size 13 basketball shoes slapping asphalt. He looked up to see Tyrone Eakin charging across the parking lot. Tyrone ran up to the red Camaro, saw the scratch Maurice had made, and let out a howl of rage.
“Told you somebody was gonna be irate,” Brian muttered to himself. Looking back at the school, he saw Roni trotting toward him, a little smile on her face.
“Where did you disappear to?” Brian asked as she got closer.
“Me?” Roni unlocked her car. “You’re the one who went running off.”
Tyrone was staring goggle-eyed at the scratch on his car, dancing from foot to foot, ranting in language foul enough to melt paint.
Brian said, “We better get the bleeping bleep out of here.”
“Watch your bleeping language, Stink Bomb,” Roni said.
17
the collector
“One more stop,” Roni said as they drove off, leaving Tyrone and his temper tantrum in the school parking lot.
Brian looked at his watch. “I should get home pretty soon.”
“This won’t take long,” Roni said. “Probably.”
Brian didn’t like the sound of that. “Look, if I’m not home when my mom gets there, I’m dog meat.”
“I don’t think you get it, Stink Bomb. This isn’t a game. This is for real. Someone snatched Alicia.” Roni honked the horn for no good reason. “She could be dead.”
“And you think we’re going to save her?”
“Why not?” She pulled onto the highway leading south out of town.
“Do you think it was Maurice?” Brian asked.
“No. He was in class all afternoon.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he told me.” Roni looked at Brian. “It would be so easy to check I figure he wouldn’t lie about it. Why?”
“Because Dante McQueen told me that Maurice left school at lunchtime.”
Roni took her foot off the gas. “And you’re telling me this now?”
“You think I should have waited longer?”
Roni shook her head. “I guess Maurice is back on the list of suspects.” She gave Brian a sideways look. “Listen, if we’re going to work together, we’ve got to learn to communicate.”
“Okay. Are you going to communicate to me where we’re going?”
“We’re going to pay a visit to Driftwood Doug.”
“Oh.” Brian felt his heart jump in his chest. “But doesn’t he live on—”
Roni finished his sentence for him. “—Wolf Spider Island.”
Wolf Spider Island was infamous for its ramshackle collection of bobbing constructions that were not quite houses, not quite boats, and not quite legal. There were two- and three-story houseboats, floating geodesic domes, and even the back half of a school bus mounted on oil-barrel pontoons. Many of these floating residences were painted in bright, garish colors, with each resident seeking to outdo his neighbor.
The residents of Wolf Spider Island were no less bizarre than their homes. Roni had once written an article for the Pump about the loosely knit group of aging hippies, bikers, artists, and fishermen who populated the floating city.
Last summer the mayor, Buddy Berglund, had gotten all worked up about the island.
“Criminals, perverts, and weirdos,” he had said, slamming his pudgy fist on his desk. Roni’s mother had to calm him down, as she often did. The reason he was upset, it turned out, was because his daughter was dating a scraggly, moccasin-wearing, non-tax-paying candlemaker who lived in a tent on the island. Fortunately, the daughter broke up with the candlemaker before Buddy could nuke the island.
What Roni liked about Wolf Spider Island was the sense of a classic “place that time forgot.” Still, it could be a scary place. For one thing, there really were wolf spiders on the island, and they were huge. And even though most of the islanders were nice people, there were definitely a few weirdos in the mix.
Driftwood Doug was one of the island’s best-known residents. Every now and then Roni would see him tramping through the woodlands, wading through the marshes, and exploring the riverbanks in his canoe. He always wore the same red-checked flannel shirt, the same blue denim bib overalls, the same clunky boots and scraggly reddish-brown beard, the same canvas tote bag over one shoulder. He always seemed to be collecting something—driftwood, mushrooms, wild plums, aluminum cans—anything he could sell.
Roni now wondered if Driftwood Doug might have collected himself a teenage girl.
18
devil face
Roni turned off the highway south of town onto a narrow track that led across a field and into the woods along the edge of the river. She stopped the car in the unofficial parking lot for the island, a deserted, grassy clearing at the edge of the woods. The other vehicles parked there included an SUV, a couple of motorcycles, and an old Volkswagen van spray painted with Day-Glo daisies and peace signs.
Brian looked at her. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Don’t worry. There aren’t actually that many wolf spiders,” Roni said.
“You hang out here a lot?”
“I’ve been here a couple of times.”
She got out of the car, but Brian didn’t.
“You really think Driftwood Doug has something to do with Alicia being missing?” Brian asked.
“Who knows? We know he was lurking around Bloodwater House. Maybe he kidnapped Alicia for ransom. Or maybe he’s deranged.”
“Deranged? Great. By all means, let’s go see him.”
“Come on, Stink Bomb. What could possibly happen?”
“We could get abducted and thrown in a pit.” Brian looked at Roni with a deadpan expression. “Technically, one could say that you have abducted me.” He looked
at his watch. “And if I’m not home in about forty-five minutes, my mom’s gonna kill me.”
She looked at him, sitting in her car with no expression on his face. A laugh burbled up inside her and she snorted. “Okay, forty-five minutes. This won’t take that long.”
With a reluctant shrug, Brian got out of the car and followed her down a dirt path and over a rickety wooden bridge that crossed the channel to the island. A narrow path snaked through a dense woods of cottonwood, willow, and river birch. They followed the trail to a path that branched off toward the shore.
“This way,” said Roni, acting more confident than she felt. The path led to a rickety wooden dock that jutted out into the river.
A boy about Brian’s age was fishing off the end of the dock.
“Catching anything?” Roni asked.
“Not yet,” the boy said, keeping his eyes on his bobber.
“You know which boat belongs to Driftwood Doug?” Roni asked.
The boy pointed to a gap in the trees. “You take that path till you get to a tree with a face carved in it. If this big brown dog comes charging at you, just yell at him real loud and he’ll leave you alone. Hang a right at the face, then follow the shoreline till you get to Driftwood Doug’s. You’ll know which one it is when you get there. Only he ain’t home right now. I saw him heading upriver in his canoe about half an hour ago.”
“Was he alone?”
“Driftwood Doug is always alone.”
Branches and tall weeds brushed against them on either side as they followed the narrow path. Roni imagined wolf spiders, poison ivy, and large brown dogs.
“I’m glad this was your idea,” Brian said as they pushed through a patch of stinging nettles. “I’d hate to have thunk it up myself.”
After a few minutes the path widened and the underbrush thinned out. They could see the river again. They passed a houseboat that looked like a gingerbread house, and another that was nothing more than a ragged nylon tent sitting on a floating plywood platform.
“There’s the face,” said Brian, pointing at a gnarly old cottonwood. A scowling devil face four feet tall had been carved into the trunk. They heard a dog barking, but it sounded as if it was a long way off. They followed a well-worn track toward the shore until they came to a pile of driftwood ten feet tall. “I’d say this is the place,” he said.