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complicated.
    “How’s school going?”
    “Fine.”
    “Straight A’s?”
    “Yes. Maybe an A minus in Chemistry.”
    “I expect straight A’s.”
    You and everyone else, Theo thought. He wasn’t sure how or why Ike thought he was entitled to an opinion about Theo’s grades, but he figured that’s what uncles were for. According to his parents, Ike was brilliant and had finished college in just three years.
    “Your mother is well?”
    “Mom’s great, working hard.” Ike never asked about Mr. Boone.
    “I suppose you’re excited about the trial tomorrow.”
    “Yes. My Government class is taking a field trip to the courtroom. We’ll be there all day. Are you going?” Theo asked, but he knew the answer.
    Ike snorted in disgust. “Not me. I don’t voluntarily enter courtrooms. Plus, I have too much work.” A typical Boone.
    “I can’t wait,” Theo said.
    “So you still want to be a lawyer, a great trial lawyer?”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “Oh, nothing, I guess.” They had this same conversation every week. Ike wanted Theo to be an architect or an artist, something creative. “Most kids dream of being a policeman, or a fireman, or a great athlete or actor. I’ve never seen one so taken with the idea of being a lawyer.”
    “Everybody’s gotta be something.”
    “I suppose. This defense lawyer, Clifford Nance, is very good. You ever seen him in action?”
    “Not in a big trial. I’ve seen him in the courtroom arguing motions and stuff, but not in a trial.”
    “I knew Clifford well, at one point. Many years ago. I’ll bet he wins.”
    “You really think so?”
    “Sure. The prosecution has a weak case, from what I hear.” Though he kept to himself, Ike had a knack for hearing the courthouse rumors. Theo’s father suspected that Ike’s information came from his weekly poker games with a group of retired lawyers.
    “There’s really no proof that Mr. Duffy killed his wife,” Ike said. “The prosecutor might be able to establish a strong motive and arouse some suspicions, but nothing else.”
    “What’s the motive?” Theo asked, though he thought he knew the answer. He wanted to see how much Ike knew, or how much he was willing to tell.
    “Money. A million dollars. Mr. Duffy bought a million-dollar life insurance policy on his wife two years ago. In the event of her death, he gets a million dollars. His business was not doing well. He needed some cash, so the theory is that he, literally, took matters into his own hands.”
    “He choked her?” Theo had read every newspaper story about the murder and knew the cause of death.
    “That’s the theory. She died of strangulation. The prosecutor will claim that Mr. Duffy choked her, then ransacked the house, took her jewelry, tried to make it look as if she walked in on a burglar.”
    “What will Mr. Nance try and prove?”
    “He doesn’t have to prove anything, but he’ll argue that there’s no proof, no evidence that Mr. Duffy was at the scene of the crime. To my knowledge there are no witnesses who can place him there. It’s a very tough case for the prosecution.”
    “Do you think he’s guilty?”
    Ike cracked at least eight knuckles and locked his hands behind his head. He thought for a moment, then said, “Probably. I’ll bet Duffy planned it all very carefully, and that it went down exactly as he wanted it to. Those people do some strange things out there.”
    “Those people” were the residents of Waverly Creek, a wealthy community built around a twenty-seven-hole golf course and protected by gates. They were the newer residents, as opposed to the more established ones who lived in the town proper and considered themselves the real citizens of Strattenburg. The phrase “They live out at The Creek” was heard often and usually described people who added little to the community and were much too concerned with money. The divide made little sense to Theo. He had friends who lived out there. His parents had clients