Chesapeake Crimes: Invitation to Murder. Donna Andrews

whodunit novel, but more importantly, I am not sure you should be indulging the boy like that, Amelia. I mean, do we really want to encourage such uncouth and boorish expression? What happened to Shakespeare? It is so much more pleasing to the ear.”

      “I’m not without my own reservations, but experts agree a genius at work should not be suppressed. Obviously, Teddy has great literary talent, and we must assist by allowing his brilliance to blossom. For all we know, he could be the next Dashiell Hammett.”

      “I am conflicted, Amelia. Our brilliant son just referred to you as ‘a skirt.’ This disturbs my need for decorum.”

      “Give me time to see this through, Angus, please.”

      “Fine, but we can’t have him uttering vulgarities in church today. We’ll be the laughing stock of Back Bay.”

      Amelia patted her husband’s arm. “Maybe the splash of water on his face will calm him down some.”

      In fact, when Thaddeus returned downstairs some minutes later, his hair was combed, his face was clean, teeth brushed, and he sported his crisply ironed Sunday suit. He sat once more in the same chair, but with proper posture this time, and folded his hands on the table. “I feel much better, Mommy and Daddy. Might I have a cup of tea and a muffin before church?”

      “Thank God, the affliction has passed,” Angus said.

      Amelia shushed Angus while placing a tea cup in the saucer for Thaddeus. “Certainly. Tea and a muffin. I see you have cleaned up nicely, Teddy.”

      He nodded with a smile. “Yes, Mommy.”

      Amelia felt assured she had the situation under control. “Thank you so much. And do know, that while we fully support your desire to play act as an outlet for your creative nature, maybe, just be yourself in church today. Others may not understand Mac Hardcase the way we do.”

      “Speak for yourself,” Angus grumbled.

      Thaddeus accepted the muffin Amelia offered him. “Yes, Mommy. I understand. He is a rough sort of man, it is true. If I promise to be good though, can I bring my manuscript with me to church, should I be inspired while waiting for the sermon to begin?”

      “Why not take a classic to read instead, son?” Angus proposed. “I have it: Moby Dick. You have adventure, symbolism, proper words found in a dictionary…”

      The expression on Thaddeus’s face did not convey enthusiasm. In fact, he appeared rather sad.

      “How about you bring both, Teddy?” Amelia suggested.

      Thaddeus brightened with a smile. “Thank you.”

      Angus frowned.

      “Compromise, Angus,” Amelia said. “Good parents know how to compromise.”

      “Fine.” Angus folded his paper. “Let’s all be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

      “Yes, Daddy,” Thaddeus replied after swallowing a bite of muffin.

      * * * *

      The world seemed normal once again as the Birdwhistles took their place in their customary pew. Pastor Smith inspired as usual. And Thaddeus joined the children’s choir to perform a mesmerizing rendition of “Crown Him with Many Crowns.” A sense of Sunday peace enveloped Amelia when he returned to his seat beside her and Pastor Smith continued with the sermon. Only once did she become somewhat concerned when she caught Thaddeus staring strangely across the aisle at Norbert Emerson. The Birdwhistles had a dispute with the Emersons, and Norbert in particular, but Amelia was almost certain Thaddeus had no knowledge of the situation. She and Angus had been careful never to discuss the problem around their son. Amelia whispered in Thaddeus’s ear, reminding him it was not polite to stare, yet the boy could not seem to break his trance. At least, not until he picked up his Mac Hardcase book and began scribbling. She chose to allow the scribbling as it was better than the staring.

      After service, Amelia sent Thaddeus to sit on a quiet bench at the far side of the church lawn while she mingled with fellow parishioners. Sarah Clifford asked if Amelia might bring her famous deviled eggs to the weekly bridge game, and Ethel Hastings stopped her to ask how Angus’s dear mother fared after her bout with pneumonia. Ethel was always caring that way. On her way to collect Thaddeus, Amelia ran into Ruth Bates and complimented her on how well she looked after the recent scare with appendicitis, which everyone knew was really a euphemism for a face-lift. As face-lifts go, Ruth did look decent. Yes, life was upright again, and the crazy morning was becoming a distant memory.

      While Angus stayed behind to fulfill his vestry duties, Amelia turned to collect Thaddeus. They’d be walking home together, as usual. Her blood began to boil when she found Norbert Emerson and his wife, Vera, engaged in conversation with her son. Norbert had once borrowed a substantial sum of money from the Birdwhistles—a sum which had yet to be repaid. When Amelia had suggested to Vera that a monthly payment schedule be instituted, Vera announced her offense and became most disagreeable. To her credit, however, Vera did put on a good face in public. Amelia preferred to avoid them both, but this seemed impossible at the present.

      “What is that you are writing, Thaddeus?” she heard Norbert ask.

      “A book,” Thaddeus answered, eyeing Norbert with the medicine-in-the-pudding suspicion she’d seen many times over.

      Stepping closer to Thaddeus, Amelia noted his unusually restrained response. Unaware of the Birdwhistle-Emerson conflict, Thaddeus seemed to like the Emersons and generally chatted freely with them most Sundays. Amelia, pleased to be raising such a polite and social child, never discouraged him, despite her tartness toward the defaulting couple.

      Amelia greeted Vera dispassionately. “Hello, Vera.”

      Vera gave a nod matching the lukewarm tone. “Amelia.”

      “What is your book about?” Norbert inquired of Thaddeus further.

      “Do you really want to know?” Thaddeus asked.

      Norbert laughed with hearty vigor. “Certainly, I want to know or I would not have asked, now would I? Go on, give me a synopsis.”

      “Well, the story is not complete, but it revolves around a murder.”

      “Sounds grisly,” Vera said.

      “Yes, a bit,” Thaddeus agreed. “And you are in it, Mr. Emerson.”

      “Me? I am a character in a book? I am honored.”

      “You are ancillary, but still, because you know the dead man, Jimmy Jiggs, Mac Hardcase wants to talk to you.”

      Norbert’s jovial smile fell. The color drained from his fat face.

      A feeling of dread overcame Amelia.

      Thaddeus opened his book and began reading his own creation before she could intercede. “‘Hey, buddy,’ Mac shouted at Norbert Emerson across the sidewalk. ‘Aren’t you an acquaintance of Jimmy Jiggs?’ The stiff upper crust tried to ignore Mac, but he wasn’t having any of that. ‘Yeah, I saw you with Jimmy at Handsome Eddie’s strip joint. You got a doll there dances for you special. Kitty Kats is her name, am I right?’”

      Norbert Emerson’s bulbous face registered horror. He began backing away, nearly tripping over his own feet.

      Vera was not at all amused. She pursed her already-thin lips. “Such vulgar rubbish coming from a little boy.”

      Bewildered by Norbert’s reaction, Amelia felt she should probably stop her son, yet something in her could not end the scene unfolding.

      Thaddeus continued reading with dramatic flair. “Mac kept on Emerson like a mosquito on a healthy dog. ‘Don’t play stupid with me, buddy. Jimmy Jiggs wasn’t just an acquaintance o’ yours. He was your bookie and now he’s dead.’”

      By now, Norbert had turned in the opposite direction, and if his physique had allowed, Amelia was sure he would have sprinted faster than an Olympian gold-medalist. “Come,