Maverick Mania (10 page)

I faked a pass to my right, enough to get both attackers leaning that direction. Then, with a flick of my foot, I chipped the ball toward the left goal post.

It hung against the sky briefly. As it dropped, Caleb darted out from the pack of defenders—and timed his jump perfectly. He slammed his head forward, catching the ball flush in the center of his forehead.

The goalie didn't have a chance. The ball caught the underside of the crossbar and dropped in behind the goalie's shoulder.

Goal! Three to one! We were in the finals!

On the field we danced around, hugging and screaming.

Cheers and whistles and screams reached us from the stands.

The ref blew his whistle to end the game.

And everyone mobbed Caleb to congratulate him.

He had scored an important goal, all right. But it wasn't nearly as important as what happened when he walked off the field.

Caleb Riggins found himself staring at a kid identical to himself in every way.

I felt as shocked as Caleb looked.

People from the stands gathered around, as much to congratulate our team as to see what was happening. That's when I noticed Mom and Leontine off to the right, watching with big grins on their faces. And behind them was a Lake Havasu City police car, with Captain Briscoe leaning against it and grinning too.

I pushed through the mob and marched straight toward them.

“Okay,” I said to Mom and Leontine, “what's going on?”

“Can't you figure it out?” Mom answered. “After all, you're the one who pointed Leontine in the right direction last night.”

“Last night...last night...” So many things had happened in such a short period of time, I felt dazed.

“When you called me from the movie theater,” Leontine said. “Remember? The golden bridge? Internet search?”

All I had done was tell Leontine that maybe Caleb's first-grade story had been true, that maybe the golden bridge of Caleb's best memory as a three-year-old was a real place. Like the Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco. And if the story was real and the place was real, maybe an Internet search for information on a little boy who had disappeared about thirteen years ago from that area might give us a clue.

Slowly, I began to understand. “Don't tell me,” I said. “The twin brother from his story was true too?”

“His name is Robert Masters,” Mom said. “And he took an early flight to get here so Captain Briscoe could bring him down in time to watch some of the game. We wanted to keep it out of the media. Captain Briscoe said it would give the police a chance to complete the investigation in San Francisco and make an arrest there.”

I turned back for another look at Caleb and the other guy. Twin brothers. Cool.

They had begun to walk away from the crowd, just the two of them. They would have a lot to talk about.

Me too. I looked back at Mom. The detective gleam was in her eyes.

“Tell me everything,” I said. “Arrests in San Francisco?”

She told me that Caleb Riggins was born in San Francisco as Thomas Masters with a twin named Robert. Their parents were very rich. A year later, their father died of a heart attack. Their mother remarried when the twins were two years old. A year later, Thomas drowned in an accident
at the ocean. The tide pulled his body out to sea. Because of estate tax planning and inheritance laws, the life insurance policy on little Thomas Masters had been set up to pay millions. This was in a newspaper article that Leontine had found during her Internet search.

To the world, then, a child had drowned and his body had never been recovered. The real story was very different.

The twins' new stepfather, a man named Sydney Gilbert, had set up the drowning accident to collect on the life insurance. But he didn't actually go through with killing little Thomas. He figured if he ever got caught, he'd rather face time in jail for fraud than the electric chair for murder. So Sydney Gilbert had cut a deal with his brother and his brother's wife.

He gave them a lot of money to start a new life with Thomas, safely hidden in Lake Havasu City under a new name: Riggins. Charlie Riggins used his money well and became a successful businessman in the small town. To get their new name
of Riggins, they'd done exactly as Mom had guessed. They'd researched newspapers across the country to find a family similar to theirs who had died. With copies of that family's birth certificates, they got new driver's licenses and new credit cards. Credit checks just showed an odd gap in activity—between the real Rigginses' deaths and the new Rigginses' use of their identities.

It was almost perfect. Thomas, of course, had not been old enough to really remember anything about his family. And Charlie and Louise Riggins got paid a lot of money to essentially babysit Thomas until he was old enough to go to college.

Their secret would never have been found out, if not for the upcoming televised soccer tournament. They were afraid that if Caleb went on national television, someone in San Francisco would see him and notice he looked identical to Robert Masters. Then, of course, all the questions would start. So they had done their best to keep him from playing in the tournament, knowing that the team had little chance without him.
The stress of possibly being found out after all these years had driven Charlie Riggins to actually begin hitting Caleb. The thought made me wince. I listened and listened and listened.

“Wow...,” I said when Mom finished. “Caleb—I mean, Thomas—has another mother waiting for him in San Francisco.”

“No,” Mom said, “she's over there.” Mom pointed at a grinning woman who looked a lot like Caleb. She had stood back for a few minutes while her sons met. As we watched, she started toward them.

“What about the stepfather?” I asked.

“A real rat,” Mom said. “He left the family a couple of years after Thomas disappeared. Fortunately, the twins' mom knew where to find him. He's probably under arrest by now. It will take a while to sort this all out. Captain Briscoe promised to keep me informed of everything.”

“It's like you're a real detective,” I said, laughing. “Congratulations.”

Mom grinned. I was proud of her. And proud to be part of the Carr family.

I nearly told her that, but I didn't have a chance.

Screams began in the middle of the crowd behind us.

Screams of panic.

Above it all, I heard my dad's voice, shouting.

“Larry? Where are you?”

Sigmund Brouwer is the best-selling author of many books for children and young adults. He has contributed to the Orca Currents series (
Wired, Sewer Rats
) and the Orca Sports series (most recently
Winter Hawk Star, Hurricane Power
and
Hitmen Triumph
). He and his family live in Red Deer, Alberta, and Eagleville, Tennessee.

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