Death by Eggplant by Susan Heyboer O'Keefe Read Free Book Online

with the hat. It was hard to tie the strings under Cleo’s chin, since Cleo didn’t exactly have a chin. Her head just ran into her feet, but no one wore a hat tied under their feet.
    â€œIt’s much too hot for the strings anyway, don’t you think?” Mom said. “They might give her prickly heat.
    There.” With a final pat, she stopped fussing. “Are you ready, Bert?”
    She intended to take the baby to church.
    Had Cleo been christened yet? I wondered. Would Mom ask me to be godfather? Would my godchild turn into cake batter when the baptismal water hit her?
Cake batter?
Dr. Zimmerman had planted a terrible seed in my mind. How could a budding chef be given a flour sack and not entertain such thoughts?
    Sweat made my neck itch around the buttoned collar, and we hadn’t even left the house.
    â€œYou know, Mom, you’re right about the heat,” I said, tugging at my tie. “It really
is
uncomfortable. And Pastor Werner never turns on the air-conditioning till after the Fourth of July, no matter how hot it gets. Maybe the baby should stay home.”
    â€œYour father can’t come with us this week, but he won’t be home, either. He has to run over to the office, so no one will be here. Cleo can’t be alone, not even for a little while, Bert.”
    â€œNo one will ever know,” I pleaded.
    â€œBut that would be cheating. And when you get your passing grade,
you’ll
know.”
    â€œYou go, then. I’ll stay home and babysit.”
    â€œAre you sure?” she asked.
    â€œSure, I’m sure.” I tried to make my smile both sorrowful and sincere. “Go. I know how much you like the singing.”
    About as much as I
dis
liked it. The organist always made us sing the
whole
hymn. So if “Wouldst Thou Know My Wretched Name on That Final Fiery Day?” had fourteen stanzas, we would sing
all
fourteen stanzas, even if the final fiery day came while we were there.
    â€œThat is so sweet of you to stay with your sister, Bert, thank you,” she said. Maybe having a flour-sack sister had some advantages after all. I was just about to rip off my white dress shirt, which was a bit too tight anyway, when my mother added, “But no, really,
you
should be the one to go. I’ll stay home. If you start walking now, you can just make it.”
    It was better to go without Cleo than with her, so I said okay, and walked down to Good Shepherd Lutheran on Church Street.
    Bobby Kim from class was there, and I sat with his family. There were so many little Kims between Bobby and his parents that they didn’t notice us whispering at the end of the pew. So that was good. But all the hymns were whoppers, and the heat had really inspired the pastor to rip-roaring images of hell, so that was bad.
    We were only at the second-to-last verse of the final hymn when the bells rang at First Presbyterian across the street, signaling that their service would soon start. That meant we had run a good fifteen minutes late. Desperate for fresh air, as soon as the last word was sung, I said goodbye to Bobby and the Kims and ran out the side exit.
    â€œWhat’s your hurry, Bertha?” I heard. “I didn’t know old ladies could move that fast.”
    Dekker! He went to First Prez and should have been inside by now. This was divine punishment for wishing church would end sooner.
    Head low, hands in my pocket, I walked past him, toward the main entrance of Good Shepherd, where groups stood on the sidewalk talking. If I had to have it out with Dekker, I figured I better have help around.
    All the while, part of me nagged, “He’s right. You
are
a big wuss. Punch him now!” I couldn’t. So what if I towered over him? Elephants squealed at the sight of mice, didn’t they?
    â€œWhat do you want from me?” I asked, when I figured I was close enough to yell for help. “It’s Sunday. Give it a rest.”
    â€œWhy