How would the bad weather affect the trial? Theo wasn’t sure. It might keep some spectators away, but that was doubtful. The courtroom would be packed. The town had talked of little else since the day Pete Duffy had been captured in DC.
Would Theo be in the courtroom? That was the big question. Mr. Mount had asked Mrs. Gladwell, the principal, if his class could attend the opening day, same as the last time, but the request had been denied. The boys had other classes, other obligations, and it wasn’t fair to allow one homeroom so much time out of school. This had really irritated Theo, and Mr. Mount as well, but there was nothing they could do.
The second murder trial of Pete Duffy was even bigger than the first. Why couldn’t Mrs. Gladwell understand this? The boys would learn far more in the courtroom than they would suffering through yet another day of Spanish or Chemistry. Once it became apparent that they could not attend as a group, Theo began scheming of ways to get himself excused from school. He had thought about getting sick again, and not just his usual hacking cough or upset stomach or fever caused by placing a hand towel on the furnace vent and then draping it across his forehead. None of those would work, mainly because his parents had seen them so often. He had Googled flu symptoms, and strep throat, and whooping cough, even appendicitis, but realized those afflictions were too serious to fake. Besides, his mother would insist that he stay in bed for days. He’d thought about appealing to Judge Henry Gantry, a close ally, and trying to convince him that he, Theo, was actually needed in the courtroom. Maybe he could be useful in some way. He had talked to Ike about a scheme whereby Ike would check him out of school to attend a funeral, but remembered that that trick had already been used. Finally, he had convinced Mr. Mount to intervene and write a request that Theo be allowed to watch the first day so he could report everything back to their Government class. Mrs. Gladwell had reluctantly said yes, but only if Theo’s parents agreed.
And that’s where he hit a wall. His parents were of the opinion that he had missed too many classes already. Usually they split; if one said yes the other said no, and vice versa. But this time they remained united and Theo, so far, had been unable to persuade them.
He could not imagine missing the trial.
The rain stopped and the sky began to lighten. He showered, dressed, brushed his teeth, studied his thick braces, and finally went downstairs for the final round of battle. His parents were at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. His father was dressed in his usual dark suit. His mother was still in her pajamas and bathrobe. The air seemed tense. Everybody said good morning, and Theo sat in a chair, waiting. They seemed not to notice him.
After a few awkward minutes, his mother said, “Aren’t you eating breakfast, Theo?”
“No,” he replied abruptly.
“And why not?”
“I’m on a hunger strike.”
His father shrugged, glanced at him with a quick grin, and returned to his newspaper. Starve if you want to, son.
“And why are you on a hunger strike?” his mother asked.
“Because you’re not being fair, and I don’t like the injustice of it.”
“We’ve had this discussion,” his father said without taking his eyes off the newspaper. Theo was often amazed at how much time his parents spent reading the local paper. Did Strattenburg really have so much fascinating news?
His mother said, “Injustice is a pretty strong word, Teddy.”
Theo replied, “Please don’t call me Teddy. I’m too old for that.” It sounded far too harsh and she looked at him sadly. His father shot him a hard look. A tense moment or two passed as Theo twiddled his thumbs and Judge looked up, obviously starving.
His father turned a page and finally asked, “And how long will this hunger strike last?”
“Until the trial is over.”
“And what about Judge? Have you discussed it with him?”
“Yes, we had a long talk,” Theo said. “He said he’d rather not take part.”
“That’s good to hear.” His father lowered the newspaper and looked at Theo. “So let me get this straight. Tonight we’re going to Robilio’s, your favorite Italian restaurant. And I’ll probably order either the spaghetti and meatballs or the ravioli stuffed with spinach and veal, after, of course, we start with mozzarella and roasted tomatoes. Your mom will probably get the seafood capellini, or maybe the grilled eggplant. They’ll serve us a basket of their famous garlic bread. We may even have their famous tiramisu for dessert. And the entire time you’ll be sitting there watching us eat, smelling the garlic bread, looking at trays of delicious food being hustled about by the waiters, and doing nothing but sipping from a glass of ice water. Is that what you’re telling us, Theo?”
Theo was suddenly starving. His mouth was watering. His stomach was aching. He could almost smell the delicious aromas that hit him every Monday night when he walked in the door of Robilio’s. But he managed to say, “You got it.”
“Don’t be silly, Theo,” his mother said.
His father said, “Think of the cash we’ll save. Ice water is free at Robilio’s. And all that lunch money.”
Judge reached up with a paw and raked it across Theo’s leg as if to say, “Hey, buddy. I’m not on strike.”
Theo slowly got up and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of whole milk — neither he nor Judge could stand skim — and got the Cheerios from the pantry. As he was pouring the cereal into a bowl, he saw something important. His father lowered the newspaper just an inch or so, just enough to make eye contact with his mother, and gave her a wicked grin.
The fix was in. They were playing games.
Theo placed the bowl on the floor and resumed his seat at the table, starving. Things were too quiet, and he decided to start another serious discussion. What did he have to lose? “So, again, I don’t see any harm in allowing me to watch the opening day of the trial. Both of you know it’s the biggest trial in the history of Strattenburg, probably the biggest trial we’ll ever see, and it’s just not fair to make me skip it. The way I see things, I’m sort of involved in this case because if it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be talking about a trial. Pete Duffy would be in South America and the police would never find him. An accused murderer gone free. But no, thanks to me and my keen powers of observation, and my amazing ability to recognize fugitives, not once but twice, we, the people of this town and of Stratten County, are about to witness our judicial system in action. Thanks to me. Plus, I know more about this case than almost anybody. I tracked down Bobby Escobar, the prosecution’s star witness.” His throat tightened and for a split second his lip quivered. He would not, however, give them the satisfaction of watching him crack up. “It’s just not fair. That’s all I can say. I really think you guys should reconsider.”
He folded his hands and stared at the table. They were lost in the newspaper and seemed not to hear him. Finally, his mother said, “Woods, do you think we should reconsider?”
“Fine by me.”
She looked at Theo and gave him one of those big, motherly smiles that made everything warm and happy. “Okay, Theo, we’ve reconsidered. But only for today. Deal?”
Theo was thrilled, but he had the presence of mind not to agree to any deal. He knew he would be in the courtroom later in the week when Bobby Escobar testified, but he hadn’t figured out how exactly. He jumped to his feet, hugged his mother, said thanks a dozen times, and went for the Cheerios.