Mr. Boone was a real estate lawyer, and in Theo’s opinion this was the most boring of all areas of the law. His father never went to court, never argued before a judge, never addressed a jury, never, it seemed, left the office. In fact, he often referred to himself as an “office lawyer,” and appeared pleased with such a title. Theo certainly admired his father, but he had no plans to spend his career locked away in some office. No, sir. Theo was headed for the courtroom.
Because Mr. Boone was alone on the second floor, his office was huge. Long, saggy bookshelves lined two of the walls and on the other two were ever-expanding collections of framed photographs depicting Woods doing all sorts of important things—shaking hands with politicians, posing with lawyers at bar meetings, and so on. Theo had seen the inside of several other lawyers’ offices in town—he was quite nosy and always looking for an open door—and he’d already learned that lawyers loved to cover their walls with such photos, along with diplomas and awards and certificates of membership in this club or that. The Ego Wall, his mother called it, sneering, because her walls were practically bare, with only a few pieces of some baffling modern art hanging about.
Theo knocked on the door as he pushed it open. He was expected to say hello to both parents each afternoon after school, unless he was busy elsewhere. His father sat alone behind an ancient desk that was covered with piles of paper. His father was always alone because his clients seldom stopped by. They called or sent stuff by mail or fax or e-mail, but they didn’t need to visit Boone & Boone to get advice.
“Hello,” Theo said as he fell into a chair.
“A good day at school?” his father asked, the same question every day.
“Pretty good. The principal approved our field trip to go to court tomorrow. I saw Judge Gantry this morning and he promised seats in the balcony.”
“That was nice. You’re lucky. Half the town will be there.”
“Are you going?”
“Me? No,” his father said, waving at the piles of paper as if they required immediate attention. Theo had overheard a conversation between his parents in which they had vowed not to stop by the courtroom during the murder trial. They were busy lawyers themselves, and, well, it just didn’t seem right to waste time watching someone else’s trial. But Theo knew that they, like everyone else in town, wanted to be there.
His father, and his mother to a lesser extent, used the excuse of too much legal work when they wanted to avoid doing something.
“How long will the trial last?” Theo asked.
“The word on the street is that it might take a week.”
“I’d sure like to watch all of it.”
“Don’t even think about it, Theo. I’ve already talked to Judge Gantry. If he sees you in the courtroom when you’re supposed to be in school, he will stop the trial, order a bailiff to take you into custody, and haul you away. I will not bail you out of jail. You’ll sit there for days with common drunks and gang members.”
With that, Mr. Boone picked up a pipe, fired a small torch into its bowl, and began blowing smoke. They stared at each other. Theo wasn’t sure if his father was joking, but his face certainly looked serious. He and Judge Gantry were old friends.
“Are you kidding?” Theo finally asked.
“Partially. I’m sure I’d fetch you from jail, but I have talked to Judge Gantry.”
Theo was already thinking of ways to watch the trial without being seen by Judge Gantry. Skipping school would be the easy part.
“Now shove off,” Mr. Boone said. “Let’s get the homework done.”
“See you later.”
Downstairs, the front door was guarded by a woman who was almost as old as the office itself. Her first name was Elsa. Her last name was Miller, though this was off-limits to Theo and everyone else. Regardless of her age, and no one knew it for certain, she insisted on being called Elsa. Even by a thirteen-year-old. Elsa had worked for the Boones since long before Theo was born. She was the receptionist, secretary, office manager, and paralegal when needed. She ran the firm, and occasionally she was forced to referee the little spats and disagreements between lawyer Boone upstairs and lawyer Boone downstairs.
Elsa was a very important person in the lives of all three Boones. Theo considered her a friend and confidante. “Hello, Elsa,” he said as he stopped at her desk and prepared to give her a hug.
She jumped from her chair, bubbly as always, and squeezed him tightly. Then she looked at his chest and said, “Didn’t you wear that shirt Friday?”
“I did not.” And he did not.
“I think you did.”
“Sorry, Elsa.” She often commented on his attire, and, for a thirteen-year-old boy this was tiresome. However, it kept Theo on his toes. Someone was always watching and taking notes, and he often thought of Elsa when he hurriedly got dressed each morning. Another irritating habit he couldn’t shake.
Her own wardrobe was legendary. She was short and very petite—“could wear anything,” his mother had said many times—and preferred tight clothing in bold colors. Today, she was wearing black leather pants with some sort of funky green sweater that reminded Theo of asparagus. Her short gray hair was shiny and spiked. Her eyeglasses, as always, matched the color of her outfit—green today. Elsa was anything but dull. She might be pushing seventy, but she was not aging quietly.
“Is my mother in?” Theo asked.
“Yes, and the door is open.” She was back in her chair. Theo was walking away.
“Thank you.”
“One of your friends called.”
“Who?”
“Said his name was Sandy and he might be stopping by.”
“Thanks.”
Theo walked along the hallway. He stopped at one door and said hello to Dorothy, the real estate secretary, a nice lady who was as boring as her boss upstairs. He stopped at another door and said hello to Vince, their longtime paralegal who worked on Mrs. Boone’s cases.
Marcella Boone was on the phone when Theo walked in and took a seat. Her desk, glass and chrome, was neatly organized with most of the surface visible, a sharp contrast to her husband’s. Her current files were in a tidy rack behind her. Everything was in place, except her shoes, which were not on her feet but parked nearby. The shoes were heels, which to Theo meant that she had been in court during the day. She was in a courtroom outfit—a burgundy skirt and jacket. His mother was always pretty and put together, but she made an extra effort on those days when she went to court.
“The men can look like slobs,” she said many times. “But the women are expected to look nice. What’s fair about that?”
Elsa always agreed that it wasn’t fair.
The truth was that Mrs. Boone enjoyed spending money on clothes and looking nice. Mr. Boone cared nothing for fashion and even less for neatness. He was only three years older in age, but at least a decade in spirit.
At the moment, she was talking to a judge, one who did not agree with her. When she finally hung up, her attitude changed quickly. With a smile she said, “Hello, my dear. How was your day?”
“Great, Mom. And yours?”
“The usual. Any excitement at school?”
“Just a field trip tomorrow, to watch the trial. Are you going?”
She was already shaking her head no. “I have a hearing at ten in front of Judge Sanford. I’m too busy to sit through a trial, Theo.”
“Dad says he’s already talked to Judge Gantry, and they’ve cooked up a plan to keep me away from the trial. Do you believe it?”