Theo glanced around and realized he wasn’t the only one drifting away. It was not a good sermon. His mind began to wander again. He asked himself how all of these fine people seated around him would react if “cute little Teddy Boone” got arrested and hauled into court. And what would they think if he couldn’t come to church anymore because he was locked away in a juvenile detention center?

It was too awful to think about. Theo again tried to concentrate on the sermon, but his mind was racing. He began to fidget, and his mother squeezed his knee. He looked at his watch, but it seemed to have stopped cold.

It was the second Sunday of the month, and this caused an unpleasant mood in the Boone family. Second Sunday meant that Theo and his parents would not leave church and go directly home, where they would lunch on sandwiches, read the Sunday newspapers, watch a game on television, take naps, and in general observe a day of rest. No, sir. Second Sunday had evolved into a ritual so dreadful that Theo and his parents were having sharp words. The Boones and three other families had established a tradition of rotating brunch on the second Sunday of each month, which meant that Theo would be required to suffer through a long meal at a long table with a bunch of adults and listen to them talk about things in which he had little interest. Theo was a late child, and this meant that he was by far the youngest person invited to Second Sunday.

The oldest person was a retired judge named Kermit Lusk, who was also an elder in their church and a man of great wisdom and humor. He was pushing eighty, as was his wife, and their children were long gone. The rotation had brought the brunch to the Lusk home, a cramped and cluttered old house in bad need of a good sandblasting, at least in Theo’s opinion. His opinions, though, were not worth much during these insufferable meals.

In the car, Mr. Boone said as he did every Sunday, “So, Theo, how did you like the sermon?”

“It was boring and you know it,” Theo shot back, already mad again. “I fell asleep twice.”

“It was not one of his better efforts,” Mrs. Boone agreed.

They rode in silence to the Lusk home, the tension rising the closer they got. When they parked at the curb, Theo said, “I’ll just stay in the car. I’m not hungry.”

“Let’s go, Theo,” his father said sternly. Theo slammed the door and followed his parents inside. He hated these brunches and his parents knew it. Fortunately, Theo could sense some weakness on the part of his mother, perhaps a twinge of sympathy. She knew how miserable he was, and she understood why.

Inside, Theo managed a fake, metallic smile as he said hello to Mr. and Mrs. Garbowski, a pleasant couple about the same age as Theo’s parents whose sixteen-year-old son, Phil, threatened to run away from home if his parents forced him to go to brunch on Second Sundays. The Garbowskis caved in and Phil was still at home. Theo admired him greatly and was pondering the same strategy. He said hello to Mr. and Mrs. Salmon. He owned a lumber company and she taught at the college. They had three children, all older than Theo and none present.

Just great, Theo mumbled to himself. Eight adults and me.

Since nothing can make one hungrier than sitting in church and waiting for lunch, the group soon took their seats around the dining-room table. Judge Lusk gave a quick prayer of thanks, and a housekeeper appeared with the first course, a salad. A dry salad, Theo noted. Dressing wasn’t expensive, was it? Where was the dressing? But he dove in, starved.

“What did you think of the sermon?” Judge Lusk asked. Since all four families attended the same church, the sermon was usually analyzed first. Great, thought Theo. Bad enough to suffer through it live and in color, now I get tortured again. Regardless of how bad a sermon might have been, no one, over brunch, ever suggested that it was anything short of brilliant. Even Pastor Pat had received rave reviews, though there had been some remarks like, “Perhaps he could’ve shaved off fifteen minutes.”

The second course was baked chicken and gravy, and it was delicious. Theo, using perfect table manners because his mother was always watching, dug in and ate like a refugee. In her old age, Mrs. Lusk had stopped cooking, and this had been well received. Her housekeeper was an excellent cook. The Garbowskis would host the next Second Sunday, then the Boones. Theo’s mother made no pretense of preparing a fine meal and always had it catered by a Turkish woman who fixed amazing dishes.

Much to Theo’s delight, the conversation turned to Pete Duffy and his adventures of the past week. This sparked lively comments around the table as everyone wanted to rush in with their opinions and reports of the latest rumors. The verdict was unanimous—everyone was convinced Duffy had murdered his wife—and his flight from justice was further proof of his guilt. Mr. Salmon claimed to know Pete well and was of the opinion that he had stashed away plenty of cash and would probably never be found. Judge Lusk disagreed and argued that Duffy’s close call at the airport in Chicago was proof that he would make another mistake sooner or later.

Theo ate in silence and listened with interest. The conversation was usually about politics and what was happening in Washington, but this was far more interesting. Then he had a miserable thought. Would these people one day soon be talking about him? Had any of these people ever been charged with a crime? He had serious doubts about that. Were the Boones and their son already the topic of hushed conversations behind their backs?

He cleaned his plate and waited on dessert. What he was really waiting on was two o’clock, the magic moment when it was time to go.

Late Sunday afternoon, Theo rode his bike across town and met April at an ice-cream parlor near Stratten College. April got a frozen yogurt and Theo got his favorite—chocolate gelato covered in crushed Oreos, and they found a booth away from the other customers.

“I talked to Rodney Tapscott,” she said in a low voice. “I went over to his house last night and watched television.”

Theo took a large bite and said, “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Well, without sounding suspicious, I managed to get around to Jonah Finn. Rodney knows that you and I are close friends, so I was careful not to seem too nosy. Rodney said that Jonah is a weird kid who’s been acting even stranger since his parents are divorcing, says he’s real moody, even angry. Jonah doesn’t have many friends. He bums money off of Rodney and other kids to buy lunch. His grades are getting worse; the kid’s a wreck. He said that one day they were talking and Jonah said something about how much he dislikes your mother. I asked why was that. Rodney said it’s because their father blames your mother for most of their problems, said that she’s trying to make Jonah and his brother live with their mother, and they rea- lly don’t want to.”

“I kinda figured that,” Theo said, glancing around.

“He said Jonah’s father says bad things about your mother. All the money’s going for legal fees, and on top of that your mother is trying to get Jonah’s father to pay too much in child support and alimony. Rodney asked me if you’re a good guy, and, of course, I said yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Here’s the interesting part. Rodney’s never seen Jonah with a cell phone. Seventh graders are not supposed to have them at school anyway, but last week, he thinks it was Thursday, while they were on lunch break, Jonah showed him a new Excell SmartPhone. He said his father bought it for him. Rodney thought it was odd because the guy never has a dime.”

“The store was broken into Tuesday night,” Theo said, ignoring his gelato.

“That’s right. Do you know what was stolen?”

“Just what was in the newspaper. Some laptops, tablets, cell phones, and a few other items.”