Free The Dragon in the Ghetto Caper by E.L. Konigsburg

string to Mrs. Chronister’s. She came to the supper table with her nerve endings hanging out like a box of moist excelsior that had suddenly been opened and allowed to dry. Every day closer to the wedding it got worse. As of that Thursday, Mrs. Vivian J. Chronister of 8129 Serena Road, Foxmeadow, Gainesboro had 4,326 extra feet of nerve endings that no one could stuff back into her five-foot-four-inch frame.
    â€œThe caterers are coming tomorrow,” Mrs. Chronister began. She didn’t even wait for the preliminaries:
And how was your day, dear? Just delicious, and how was yours?
It was like starting a basketball game without singing “The StarSpangled Banner,” for God’s sake. “The caterers are coming, and so are the tent makers. The caterers are going to set up the tables, and the tent makers are going to set up the tent.”
    â€œThe detectives will be coming also,” Mr. Chronister said. “Everyone can take a tour of the premises together. You can have a preparty party.”
    â€œDetectives?” Andy asked. “What do you need detectives for, for God’s sake?”
    â€œTo guard the gifts and the furs.”
    â€œWhat furs? In May, for God’s sake?”
    â€œMany of our guests will be wearing fur wraps. It gets chilly in air conditioning. Your father, at my suggestion, has hired two off-duty city detectives to guard them.”
    â€œWhy do you need the fuzz to guard the furs when you’ve got me? I’m going to be a detective.”
    â€œBut,” said Mr. Chronister, “you will be busy with our guests. You and I must be gracious hosts.”
    â€œIf the people that you have invited are our friends, then why do you have to guard against them?”
    â€œOh,” Mrs. Chronister said, “whatever made you think that a person invites only friends to a wedding? Heaven knows, we had to invite relatives, too, and we have as many of your father’s business acquaintances and clients coming as we have friends. Besides, this wedding has had so much publicity in the society columns that everyone knows our place will be as loaded with jewelry as a bank vault. It would take only one carload of crooks to fleece everyone who comes to dinner. Old Tim Feagin wouldn’t know a carload of crooks from a carload of your father’s relatives. And we can’t ask him to check everyone to see if he has an invitation. We wouldn’t want our guests to feel that we don’t trust them.”
    â€œWhat I want to know,” Mary Jane said, “is how we’re going to fit in two odd males? Two men no one will know. Where will the caterer seat them?”
    â€œNow, that’s the last thing that you have to worry about,” Mr. Chronister explained. “They won’t look odd at all. No one will know that they’re here. One will help park the cars; he’ll keep an eye on things on the outside. The other will be dressed as a waiter; he’ll keep an eye on things on the inside, the furs, the guests and the wedding gifts.”
    Andrew could stand it no longer. He exploded. “Do you mean to tell me that you hired two detectives when you have me, Andrew Jackson Chronister, available? What kind of parents are you, showing no faith in your son? Your son who has been in training for months and months and practically a year?” He glared at his father. “I’m sitting out this whole wedding.”
    â€œThat’s fine with me,” Mr. Chronister said, “providing that you sit it out first at the church and then very quietly here at home. And that you smile while sitting it out.”
    Andy left the table in disgust. His fury at his father was piled on top of his rage at Yakots. What kind of a sidekick saved a cool, tough detective by throwing five pounds of rice and yelling
Catch!
Not once but twice. No human being could be expected to survive as much heat as he felt. He would have to ditch Yakots. He would