Rivals on the River: Brady Street Boys Midwest Adventure Series, #5

By Katrina Hoover Lee

They're looking for an elusive man. But is there a surprising answer hidden in the catch of the day?
 
Summer 1987. Gary Fitzpatrick is trying not to get frustrated. But as he and his brothers continue their search for the missing doctor who amputated his leg, they are running out of money. So when the trail leads them to a small Iowa town on the Mississippi River, they enter a fishing contest in hopes of winning the cash they need.
 
Making friends with an autistic boy who's a good angler, the siblings are shocked to discover the vanished physician had rented a room in their new pal's house. But with the forwarding address locked in a safe with a lost combination and other contestants cheating to claim the prize, Gary fears their quest is coming to an unsatisfying end.
 
When something smells fishy, can the trio reel in the truth?
 
Rivals on the River is the captivating fifth book in the Brady Street Boys Adventure Series. If you like characters with faith, appealing heroes, and clever twists, then you'll love Katrina Hoover Lee's entertaining puzzle.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katrina Lee
• Release date: May 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958683040

Book preview

1

Dr. Abrams

S o you say you’re going to Lansing, Iowa, to look for Dr. Jefferson? Dr. Abrams leaned back in his leather desk chair, dipping his hand into a glass jar of change. He scooped up a handful of pennies and dimes, shaking them into the palm of his hand. He’s been there before, getting beaten in fishing tournaments.

Oh, really? Mom asked. She sat beside me, both of us sitting across from Dr. Abrams. And yes, to answer your question, the boys and their uncle are planning to go to Iowa from here. Unless you can help us find Dr. Jefferson and make that trip unnecessary. You say he has been to Lansing before. Did he grow up there?

No, he didn’t. He only visited. Just a second. Dr. Abrams slapped the change onto his desk. I need to get you folks drinks. He got up from the chair, moving to the door of his large office in a few brisk strides, past Terry and Larry sitting behind Mom and me. Despite his spotless dress shirt, diamond patterned vest, and bow tie, he moved like an athlete.

Anna!

Yes? I heard the voice of the receptionist with the chain links around her neck.

Bring water for these nice people.

Certainly.

Dr. Abrams returned to his leather chair, almost leaping into it. For someone who was retirement age as Anna had said, he was lithe and fit. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t retired yet. He leaned back in the chair, apparently his favorite pose, and looked at me with a searching gaze.

Let’s start from the beginning. His voice was brisk and encouraging. He slid the small pile of coins from his desk into his hand and picked out a penny, which he dropped into the glass jar. By the way, forgive my bad habit of always having something in my hand. Comes from working the operating room all my life, I guess!

We laughed politely.

My receptionist tells me that you wanted to speak to Dr. Jefferson, my former partner. He studied the money in his hand, head bowed, as if he were thinking deeply. He ran his other hand through his thinning hair, and looked up at me again. And that when she looked into your file, some documents were missing. That’s about all I know. How else can I help?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was relieved by his kindness and the sympathetic tone of his voice, but I hoped it wouldn’t make me cry. It had only been a few weeks since I had asked to speak to Dr. Jefferson about the surgery he used to remove my leg, but it seemed as though I had been searching for him forever. The notebook on my knee was full of notes and lists relating to the search for this doctor who had suddenly fallen off the map.

Anna slipped into the room. While she slid a tray onto Dr. Abrams’ desk and poured our water, I looked down at my newest list. I had written it out that morning on the way to Chicago, squished in the back seat of Uncle Aaron’s car between Terry and Larry, which explained the uneven writing. I had expected that Dr. Abrams might ask such a question, and I wanted to review the facts.

1. Mom suggested I talk to Dr. Jefferson, the surgeon who cut off my leg.

2. When we visited his office in Chicago, Anna told us he had disappeared, and my operation report was missing.

3. We met an international art thief who told us Dr. Jefferson had left Chicago on the CHEL.

4. A neighbor boy named Dean told us the CHEL was a freight train.

5. Hobos in the train yard gave us a handkerchief with the name of the town where Dr. Jefferson had gone.

That brought us up to the present. We were back in Chicago, back in the surgeon’s clinic, hoping like crazy that Dr. Abrams would be able to tell us where Dr. Jefferson was. Or if not, surely he would reassure me that the surgery to remove my leg had been necessary. He could explain the surgery, because he performed similar operations himself. Perhaps we wouldn’t even need to search for Dr. Jefferson in Iowa, although going on a trip with Uncle Aaron and my brothers promised excitement. But it would also cost money, and as Mom and I had discussed earlier, there was only so much money to be had. We needed a giant jar of change, much bigger than the one on Dr. Abrams’ desk.

Anna passed glasses to all of us and to Dr. Abrams. Her hand shook and a drop of water spilled over the side onto his desk. Dr. Abrams wiped it away quickly as if he was irritated, and Anna left the room as she had come, as silent as a cat.

Mom, sitting beside me, looked at me and answered Dr. Abram’s question. That’s about all we know, too. We hoped you would connect us with Dr. Jefferson. Gary, do you want to tell him anything more about why you want to see Dr. Jefferson?

I shifted on the slick upholstery of the chair Dr. Abrams had offered me. No, I didn’t really want to talk about why I wanted to see the man who had cut off my leg. But I had to. It would be the only way to get answers.

I wanted more details about my surgery. I tapped my wooden leg for good measure. I guess it bothers me that I won’t be able to be a firefighter. Mom suggested it might help me process it if I talked to Dr. Jefferson.

You like to be informed. Dr. Abrams nodded to me, smiling.

Yes.

Mmm-hmmm. Dr. Abrams played with a quarter for a moment, then flipped it into the jar. Well, I have no trouble telling you about that kind of surgery, of course. I do them all the time myself. He stopped and stared at the last two coins in his hand.

My stomach turned. But you don’t know where he is?

The broad shoulders sagged, and again, Dr. Abrams leaned back into his chair. That’s right. I don’t. And the missing documents make me quite uneasy.

What do you mean? Mom asked.

Terry and Larry were behind me, but I sensed them freezing in anticipation. Uncle Aaron was out in the waiting room, but Dr. Abrams’ words seemed so foreboding and powerful I almost imagined he had heard them too.

Well. Dr. Abrams leaned forward now and dropped the two coins into the jar. He looked my mom in the eye, hands clasped in front of him, elbows on the desk. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I don’t want to unsettle you or your son. In fact, if you prefer, you and I might have this conversation alone.

Mom replied without hesitation. Gary needs to hear whatever you have to say. And his brothers have been with him in this too.

Dr. Abrams nodded. Above his gray hair, I saw a framed print of a young man on a red and white striped boat, holding a big fish. Wouldn’t it be better to talk about fishing? But I forced my eyes back to Dr. Abrams.

Right, right. Dr. Abrams tapped Mom’s hand lightly as if to assure her that he understood our struggle, then swiveled to face me directly. So I’ll talk to you, Gary. You seem like a smart boy for someone who is thirteen, but stop me if anything doesn’t make sense.

I nodded.

A lot of complex things are involved when we find that someone has a lump or an injury on their leg that doesn’t heal normally. I’m assuming that’s what you had?

I nodded.

Right. So, for example, we can do X-rays and biopsies to find out if it’s cancer or something else. If it is cancer, we do scans to see if it has spread anywhere in the body—how much risk there is, things like that. All of those factors tell us whether we should do a surgery to remove someone’s leg. Does that make sense, Gary?

Yes.

Right, right. See, I knew you were smart! He clapped me on the shoulder. Each of those tests and scans and lab results are meticulously recorded so that no mistake is made. All of that paperwork should stay in the patient’s file.

So, why would they be missing? I shivered, even though it was almost 100 degrees outside and not much cooler inside.

Exactly! Dr. Abrams let his hand fall on his desk with a smack. Why would they be missing unless someone made a mistake and wanted to destroy the evidence?

I set my water glass back on the tray for fear I would take another drink and vomit.

Honestly, Gary, Dr. Jefferson was such a nice person. I liked him! And then one day he left our practice quite suddenly. People do that sometimes. Life crisis, that kind of thing. Dr. Abrams spread his hands wide. What was going on in his head? I don’t know. But these missing documents make me wonder. He paused. They make me wonder, that’s all.

His words burned through my ears, into my brain. I focused my eyes on the man with the fish on the top shelf of the bookcase. How long was the fish? What kind? The photo seemed blurry, but it looked like a walleye. We had caught many of those fish in the pleasant waters of the St. Joseph River. I wished I were back there now, the boat bobbing gently in the shadow of pale sycamores that lined the shore.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Dr. Abrams reached for something on his desk and handed it to Mom. Here’s a lawyer who works with people like you. If you’re interested in compensation, I’m sure he’d be happy to help.

Mom took the card, but she shook her head. Sir, we’re not looking for money. Thank you for your time, though. Do you suspect that he’s a dangerous person, or would it be okay for the boys to go to Iowa looking for him? Mom glanced at me as if to assess whether I still wanted to go. We’ll have to talk some more, but they’ve gotten themselves quite interested in finding him.

Dr. Abrams shrugged. I would let them have their treasure hunt. He’s not dangerous. Like I told you, he was a nice man. But you won’t ever find him.

Mom studied his face. I was so proud of her for staying calm. I wasn’t calm, not one bit, not unless I looked up at that fish.

Why don’t you think they will find him? Did you say he’s from Lansing?

He’s too smart to be found. And he’s got plenty of money, so you won’t outspend him. No, he’s not from Lansing. But my nephew Blake grew up there. When Dr. Jefferson first joined our practice, I told him about the fishing competition Blake hosts out there every year. There’s a big prize, something like $1,000, but Blake always ends up winning. Dr. Abrams shrugged and laughed. Bruce fished in the competition several times, but he never even placed.

Is that Blake in the photo? I pointed to the photo.

Yes, that’s him! Hey, let me see something. He grabbed a pen in one hand and ran it down his large desk calendar. That’s this weekend! They always have it on the fourth weekend in June. You should join! Have a little fun in the Mississippi and forget about finding that man. It’s a beautiful small town on the river.

Dr. Abrams stood to show his time had ended. We stood as well.