The Bloodwater Mysteries: Doppelganger (5 page)

Sniffer!
Brian remembered the little brown dog’s name now. Now he had proof that his parents had been lying to him all these years. He
had
once lived with another family—the red-haired woman, the laughing man, and Sniffer. And his father had said they couldn’t “take” Sniffer. Did that mean they had “taken” Brian? As in
abducted
?

He said, “Dad…”

From the top of the stairs, his mom interrupted him. “Brian, could you come up here, please?”

Brian ran up the steps and followed his mom into the kitchen.

“Your father and I have noticed that you’ve been curious about your ancestry,” she began, “and we—”

“Not so much my ancestry,” Brian interrupted her. “I was wondering about when you adopted me.”

Mrs. Bain sat down at the counter.

“I overheard your father tell you about Sniffer,” she said.

“I remember a red-haired lady.”

Mrs. Bain nodded. “It’s complicated, sweetie. Your father and I planned to tell you everything about your early life, but we’ve been waiting until you got a little older.”

“I’m old enough.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “You were asking earlier about Bryce Doblemun. You know, every time I
see an Asian boy about your age, I wonder if he might be the missing Doblemun boy.”

“Roni thinks
I’m
him.”

Mrs. Bain smiled, shaking her head. “That girl is quite the drama queen. Oh, by the way, that was her on the phone. Apparently, she is on her way over here to deliver some earth-shattering news.”

“That’s the only kind of news Roni knows.”

His mom laughed, then gave Brian a scarily serious look. “Since you seem so interested in exploring your roots, you should really enjoy your Korean Culture class. Don’t forget, it starts tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Brian looked at her with a horrified expression. His mother had signed him up for the class ages ago. He had forgotten all about it.

“Don’t give me that look,” his mother said. “This is the perfect opportunity for you to learn more about the country where you were born. You liked that Korean language camp you went to last summer—”

“Mom,
nobody
likes Korean camp!” Brian had hated it. Not only was it hard work, but the kids with Korean parents had treated the kids with non-Korean parents like some sort of lesser subspecies.

“Maybe it wasn’t all fun and games,” Mrs. Bain said, “but you learned a lot. You told me you were glad you went.”

“I was glad to be done with it, that’s for sure.”

“In any case, the class begins tomorrow, up in St. Paul. It’s
on the same days your dad has his Mensa meetings, so he can drive you up and back.”

“Okay, but—” Brian heard the familiar putter of Roni’s Vespa outside the house.

“That sounds like the bearer of earth-shattering news,” said Mrs. Bain.

Roni didn’t often come over to his house. She preferred meeting him someplace away from his mother. He had once tried to tell Roni that his mother was not that scary and that Mrs. Bain probably actually liked her. Then he made the big mistake of telling Roni that she and his mother had a lot in common. That explosion was bigger than any chemical reaction he had ever set off.

As Roni walked up the front steps, she looked at his wet shirt and asked, “What happened to Albert E.?” Roni had an eagle eye. Just like his mom.

“My dad did the laundry.” Brian sat down on the steps and she joined him.

“Did your dad forget to use the dryer?”

“I wanted to rescue the shirt before he did any more damage. Besides, it feels good wet. What’s up?”

“I found out where Bryce Doblemun lived in Minneapolis. I went to the library and Ms. Paige helped me. It was genius. They had some old phone books in storage, and we found the address in one that was ten years old—before Bryce Doblemun disappeared—a listing for Lawrence and
Vera Doblemun.” Her voice fell. “Unfortunately, the number’s disconnected.”

“I thought you were going to drop the case,” Brian said.

“How long have you known me?”

“Actually, not all that long,” Brian said. “But long enough.”

“Did you talk to your parents?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t find out much. Except that I wasn’t a baby when they adopted me.”

“See!” Roni punched him in the shoulder. “I told you! According to my mom, you were three or four when you were adopted.”

“Ouch. You
told
me I was
abducted.
Just because I was adopted later than I thought doesn’t mean I got snatched.”

“It doesn’t mean you weren’t, either. Which indicates that you might have been.”

Brian could not always follow Roni’s unique interpretation of the rules of logic.

“I used to have a dog named Sniffer,” he said.

Roni didn’t seem to be listening. “Look, we need information. I’m going to drive up to the Doblemuns’ old address and check it out,” she said. “The father could still live there. He might have an unlisted number now, and—”

“We have an unlisted number,” Brian said, “because my mom is a cop.”

Roni continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard him. “—and if I can find the dad, maybe I can find out if Bryce Doblemun has any identifying marks, like a mole or something. Or like that scar on your elbow.”

Brian covered the scar with his hand.

“You want to come?” Roni asked.

“Isn’t Minneapolis out of bounds for you?”

“My mom didn’t actually say how far I could go—she just made me promise not to go on major highways, but if I take the back roads, I’m technically not breaking the rules.”

“Back roads? All the way to Minneapolis?”

“I mapped it out online. You in?”

Brian shook his head. “Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Korean class. My parents won’t tell me how they got me, but they want me to understand the cultural significance of who I really am.”

cross-eyed baby

Roni congratulated herself on all the safety measures she had taken for this trip, the longest she had ever done on Hillary: helmet strapped on tight, full tank of gas, extra money, and a cell phone in case of utter emergency. Nick would be proud. Of course, she would kill her for making the trip in the first place—but even Nick would have to admit that Roni was well prepared.

The back-road route to Minneapolis was complicated, with lots of turns and stop signs. More than once, Roni thought she’d gotten lost, but soon the farm fields and horse pastures were replaced by SuperAmericas and Taco Bells, and she knew she was getting closer to the city. There was a lot of traffic—even the side streets had more traffic than downtown Bloodwater. Roni had only had one really close call when a big black Hummer pulled out in front of her. She had to slam on the brakes and cut onto the shoulder to avoid an accident. When Roni beeped her horn, the Hummer driver, talking on his cell phone, didn’t even notice her.

It took almost two hours to reach the city, and another half hour to find Dight Avenue, a small street in the
southeastern part of the city. Roni drove slowly up Dight Avenue, counting down the house numbers on the east side of the street: 4523, 4521, 4519…4515, 4513…Something was wrong.

She pulled over to the curb. Where was 4517? She parked her bike and walked back up the street to where 4517 Dight Avenue should have been.

It was a vacant lot.

Across the street, a middle-aged black man was washing his car at the curb. Roni walked over and said, “Nice car.”

The man gave her the once-over. “Let me guess,” he said. “You must be one of those Hells Angels.”

Roni thought about what he was seeing: a slightly frumpy sixteen-year-old girl with a Vespa and a yellow motorcycle helmet. She grinned, and the man laughed.

“Nineteen seventy-four Lincoln Continental,” he said, patting the hood of his car as if it were a prized pet. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore.”

“I can see you take really good care of it,” Roni said.

“That’s how come I still got it. Now, is there something I can help you with? You lost?”

“I’m looking for a man who used to live where that vacant lot is.” She pointed at the vacant lot. “Did you know the family that lived there?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, can’t help you. That house got tore down long ago, before I moved here. You might ask Irma Kelly, though. She’s been here longer than anybody.” He pointed out a small blue single-story house two lots down.

“Thanks.” Roni walked down to Irma Kelly’s and rang the doorbell. She saw a curtain move and caught a glimpse of white hair. The curtain closed. Roni rang the doorbell again, but nobody answered.

Discouraged, she walked back to the street. Just as she was trying to get up the courage to knock on another door, an SUV pulled up in front of the house next door. A thirtysomething woman got out, opened the back door, unstrapped a baby from a car seat, and hoisted it up on her hip.

Roni walked over and introduced herself. “I’m trying to reach the man who used to live across the street from you. Lawrence Doblemun?”

“The Doblemuns. What a terrible story.” The woman’s brow crumpled. “It was before we moved here. Mrs. Doblemun ran off with their only child. Then the house burned down.”

“Do you know what happened to Mr. Doblemun?”

“No. But I know who
would
know.” She looked toward the house Roni had just been at. “Mrs. Kelly.”

“I tried knocking on her door,” Roni said. “She wouldn’t answer.”

The woman laughed. “Irma is a bit suspicious of strangers. Come on. I’ll introduce you.” Roni followed her up to Irma Kelly’s door. The woman handed her baby to Roni and pressed the doorbell.

Roni didn’t have a moment to say, “I don’t know how to hold a baby, and I’m sure I might drop it.” She looked
at the drooling, cross-eyed baby. The baby stared back at her without blinking. Roni couldn’t remember if she had ever held a baby before.

Looking down at it, she couldn’t tell whether the creature was a boy or a girl. It stared at her with big brown eyes, then grabbed for her hair and yanked. The yank brought instant tears to Roni’s eyes. The baby laughed. After untangling the little tyke’s hand from her locks, Roni laughed, too.

The door opened. Irma Kelly peered out at them, a frail-looking woman with a cloud of thin white hair and greasy, oversize eyeglasses.

“Irma, this young lady has a question about the man who lived in the house that burned down.”

“Lawrence Doblemun,” Roni said.

“Lawrence, you say?” said the old woman. “The man lived in
that
house called his self
Lance.
”

“Do you know where he might have moved to?”

Irma Kelly squinted at Roni and said, “Now, why would a nice girl like you want to track down a man like Lance Doblemun?”

Roni thought fast. “I’m, um, I’m writing an article about child abductions in Minnesota,” she said. “I’m interviewing parents who have lost their kids.”

“Let me give you some advice, young lady.” Irma Kelly crossed her thin arms and looked hard at Roni. Her eyes looked blurry and huge behind the lenses of her eyeglasses. “You give that man a wide berth. He was never
no good, and I got no reason to think he’s changed. You ask me, Vera Doblemun is well quit of him. I hope he never finds her.”

“Do you know where he moved to after his house burned?”

Irma Kelly glared at Roni. “Did you hear a thing I said?”

“Yes, but I really need to find him for my article.”

The old woman shook her head, then sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you where he lives—he did leave me a forwarding address—but promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Roni said.

Irma Kelly shook her index finger at Roni. “Do not go to see him alone.”

kimchi chick

The Korean teacher was a tall, thin man named Gee Jang. Short black hair stuck up from his head. He wore black-rimmed glasses, a black shirt, black jeans, white socks, and big shiny black shoes. Brian thought he looked like an exclamation point.

“I am glad for us to be here together today,” Gee Jang said in a thick accent. “We will be going over practice of daily situational conversations. At the end of every class will be a session for help.”

Brian was glad there would be a session for help; he knew he would need it. He wondered if the short time he had spent in Korea after his birth would give him any extra advantage. Maybe he had absorbed some of the culture from his crib.

The class contained twelve students. Ten looked like they might be Korean, and two were definitely not Korean. Most of the students were older than Brian, but there was one blond girl sitting to his left who looked about thirteen. When he had come into the classroom, she had smiled at him. Very friendly. She had big blue eyes and curly blond hair, which was cut short and looked like a halo around her
head. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was interesting looking—like someone who would have great stories to tell.

“Annyeong haseyo,”
she said, which meant “hello.”

He said,
“Annyeong”
back to her, which was like saying “hi.”

She was wearing a name tag that read
MOLLY
, and below that were some Korean letters. Brian guessed that was her name in Korean symbols. Brian didn’t have a name tag yet. The Korean name he had chosen last year at language camp was Bok-Soo. That made him wonder how many names he’d had so far in his life: the name his birth mother gave him, the name his first adoptive mother gave him, his chosen Korean name, Bok-Soo, and now Brian, which could be the same name as his first American name, unless his name had been Bryce. Brian, Bryce—Roni was right. They were awfully close.

The time went fast as they learned how to say, “Please pass the kimchi” and “More tea for you?” There was an older woman in the class about his mom’s age. She looked Korean. Brian found himself watching her, listening to her, wondering if she was anything like his Korean mother had been.

Before, he had rarely thought of his birth mother. Now he was thinking about that part of his life obsessively. It was all Roni’s fault.

As the class broke up, Molly and an older Korean girl stood up and started walking out together. Just when she got to the door, Molly looked back and waved at him.