“Bye Theo,” she said with yet another smile. “Take care of Judge.”
“I will.”
As Theo left the clerk’s office, he realized his heart rate had increased. This usually happened when he was around Jenny. On the way out, he peeked into Judge Henry Gantry’s courtroom, the largest and grandest of all, and was not surprised to see it dark and empty. He made his way down the stairs, looking at the massive oil paintings of dead judges. As he ambled through the main lobby, someone called out, “Hey Theo.” He turned around and saw a face that was vaguely familiar, that of a guy in his forties with shaggy hair and a beard and battered sneakers.
“Norris Flay, with the Gazette,” he said as he approached Theo. Flay was apparently one of those men who felt uneasy shaking hands with a thirteen-year-old kid, so he made no effort. He looked down, Theo looked up and said, “How you doing?”
“Fine. You?”
“Great.”
“Got a minute?”
Not really. It was ten minutes before 4:00 p.m. and April would soon arrive at Guff’s Frozen Yogurt, which was only a few blocks away. The son of two lawyers, Theo had been raised in an atmosphere of distrust when it came to reporters. Their job was to dig and reveal facts and details that people preferred to keep quiet. As lawyers, Theo’s parents lived by a code of protecting, at all costs, the privacy of their clients. Theo was often amazed when he saw lawyers on television hotdogging it for the cameras as they blathered on and on about their clients and the details of their cases. Not so around good old Boone & Boone. His father was fond of saying, “Lawyers and cameras are a vile mixture.”
“Maybe,” Theo said cautiously.
“Did you like your picture in the paper yesterday morning?” Flay asked proudly.
“It was okay,” Theo said, glancing around. “What’s up?”
Flay glanced around, too, and a casual bystander might have thought a drug deal was taking place. “You leaving?”
“Yep,” Theo replied.
“Good. I’ll walk out with you.”
They left the lobby, walked through the front doors, and stopped in the shadows of one of the columns. “How’s the dog?” Flay asked.
“Fine.” Theo had no idea why Flay would want to talk to him, and the longer they were together the more nervous he became. What if someone saw them whispering in the shadows on the front steps of the county courthouse?
Flay lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke above Theo’s head. He was shifty eyed and a little jumpy, and Theo wanted to bolt.
“Look, Theo, there are a lot of rumors about this bypass and issues related to it. I have a source telling me a lot of local businessmen are pushing hard because they plan to make a buck, know what I mean?”
Theo was staring at his shoes.
Flay went on. “Especially the developers. Looks like they’re a bunch of vultures just waiting for the bypass to get approved, then they’ll swoop down and line both sides of it with shopping centers and fast-food joints. Before you know it, they’ll have the bypass jammed up as bad as Battle Street, know what I mean?”
Nothing from Theo. Flay waited, blew some more smoke, then said, “The biggest crook might be a guy named Joe Ford. You know Joe Ford?”
“Never heard of him,” Theo said, looking at Flay. It was a fib but Theo didn’t care. He had met Joe Ford within the safe and secure offices of Boone & Boone. It was none of Flay’s business.
Flay glared at him as if he knew the truth. “I doubt that,” he said. “Your father has been Ford’s lawyer for many years.”
“So?”
“So, now I hear Ford has fired the law firm of Boone and Boone. Why, well I don’t really know, but I bet it’s related to the bypass.”
“What do you want from me?” Theo asked angrily.
“Information.”
“Forget it. I know nothing.”
“Perhaps you can learn something, do a little digging, find something that might prove valuable and help stop the bypass.”
“Digging is your job, not mine.”
“We’re on the same side, Theo.” Flay reached into his shirt pocket and whipped out a white business card. He thrust it at Theo and said, “Here’s my phone number. You hear something, you give me a call. I swear it’s all confidential. I have never revealed a source.”
Theo took the card and walked away without saying a word. Though he was certain he’d done nothing wrong, it didn’t feel that way. He got on his bike and took off down Main Street, wondering if he should tell his parents. Joe Ford had fired the Boone firm the day before—how did Flay know so soon?
At Guff’s, April was waiting in their favorite booth. She ordered her usual frozen yogurt, and Theo, his usual chocolate gelato covered in crushed Oreos. She was subdued, and Theo soon knew why. Her parents were in a constant state of war, and if they weren’t in the middle of a divorce, then they were threatening to get another one started. Theo’s problems vanished as he listened to his friend discuss the latest fights around her house. He could offer no advice, but he could certainly listen. April dreamed of running away, like her older siblings had done, but it wasn’t possible. At the age of thirteen, she had no place to go. Trapped at home, she created fictional worlds to which she could get away. Her favorite dream was being a student in Paris, studying art and painting at the edge of the Seine, very far from home.
Theo worked his gelato and listened dutifully, though he’d heard of this dream quite often. He secretly hoped she would not tear up and start crying. She did not.
Chapter 21
Woods Boone was a lifelong mediocre golfer who had never had the time to sharpen his game with lessons or practice or more time on the course. When Theo was ten, his parents gave him a set of clubs for Christmas, and his father attempted to give him some free lessons. However, both soon realized that lessons, free or not, from a weekend hacker were not that valuable. So each year on his birthday, his father gave him a package of ten, thirty-minute lessons from a pro. Theo’s swing improved dramatically, and by the age of twelve, he could almost beat his father.
Weather permitting, they played nine holes every Saturday morning at the Strattenburg Municipal Course, and followed this with a boys’ only lunch, usually at Pappy’s, a well-known downtown deli noted for its pastrami subs and onion rings. Though he enjoyed athletics, the doctors would not allow Theo to play team sports. Tennis was out, too. He could bike, hike, and swim and do almost everything else, but the doctors drew the line at team sports. This irritated Theo and had been the cause of much dismay and argument around the Boone home, but Theo was still on the sidelines. That’s why he loved golf. With a few exceptions, he could play as well as anyone his age, though he had yet to prove this in tournaments. His father discouraged competition on the golf course. Mr. Boone believed golf was a difficult game to begin with and most people made it worse by keeping score, fooling with handicaps, gambling, and playing in tournaments.
But they always kept score. Not on the official scorecard clipped to the golf cart’s steering wheel, but in their heads. Mr. Boone was usually seven or eight strokes over par for nine holes, and Theo was close behind. Both pretended not to know the other’s score.
Mr. Boone was drinking coffee at the kitchen table when Theo came down with Judge. “We have a tee time?” Theo asked as he released Judge through the rear door.
“Nine forty-five,” Mr. Boone said without looking up. “But, remember, Dr. Kohl wants to see Judge at nine a.m.”
“I forgot,” Theo said. “Can we still play?”
“Sure, but let’s move it.”
Theo and Judge ate quickly. Theo never showered on Saturday morning and that was another reason he loved the day. They tossed their golf clubs into the rear of Mr. Boone’s SUV, and at nine a.m. walked into Dr. Kohl’s clinic. He sized them up and said, “Headed for the course, huh?”