I Dream of Murder - Hardcover

"Are you about ready?" Jere's mother called through the door. "Your father's waiting in the car." Jere sat up, looked at his clock, jumped out of bed, and began tearing off his pajamas. His mother had come up earlier, he vaguely remembered; he must have gone right back to sleep. He pulled back the shade at his window. The sky was totally blue; long rays of sun fell through the trees in the park across the street. Perfect soccer weather.

"Jeremiah!" his mother called out. That was his real name, had been his grandfather's name, but everyone called him Jere - pronounced Jerry - except on ceremonial occasions or when they were really fed up. "Jeremiah Tucker Robison," his eighth-grade principal had intoned as he handed him his diploma. His grandfather had called himself Jere, too.

He was dressed in ninety seconds, running down the stairs in his stocking feet. He felt about as ready to play as a bag of wet sand. While he was gulping down some breakfast, he caught the edge of his cereal bowl with his elbow and the whole thing spilled down the front of his soccer shirt. His mother handed him a towel and his water bottle, and he raced out to the car, dabbing at his shirt. He jumped into the front seat. His mother got into the backseat.