Recipes, Cookies and Car Chases
by dcat
This takes place in the first few months of the series, that feeling-out process, so to speak. The characters of Milt, Mark and Sarah do not belong to me. St. Agatha is mentioned as a special thank you for her intercession this past week.
OOOOO
It was a gloomy Saturday morning in mid-November and the outside air had that damp coldness to it as Mark walked from the gatehouse over to the main house. It was ready to rain at any moment, the drizzly mist was already falling. It was late morning after what McCormick would only describe as a day from hell. On Friday, the ever-irascible Hardcastle and his still hesitant sidekick McCormick had tracked down and apprehended the latest person at the top of the Judge's list. A guy named Conner Bishop, who had gotten out scott-free of gun charges about seven months earlier, but was still out on the streets selling his merchandise whenever and wherever he could. Yesterday, the Judge had gotten a tip on Bishop's whereabouts and the hunt was on. McCormick closed the door of the gatehouse and stepped into the drizzle. His left wrist ached, he could feel a twinge in his right ankle and he'd saw the bruise forming over his rib cage when he looked in the mirror while brushing his teeth. None of that mattered now, aches and pains came with the 'job.' He was more concerned with what Hardcastle's reaction was going to be this morning, after last night's endless barrage of cursing and berating. The car pursuit had gotten out of hand, McCormick did admit to that, but he was just Tonto to Hardcastle's Lone Ranger, isn't that what the Judge had said from day one? He had more than a headache when he climbed into bed on Friday night and this dark and dismal morning, he wasn't feeling a whole lot better. The last thing he remembered Hardcastle saying was something to the effect of going to see Dalem about this arrangement they had. That couldn't be good. He went in through the back, entering the kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked cookies bombarded him as he opened the door.
"Wow, it smells great in here, Sarah," he began, seeing her working over at the counter mixing up some apparent dough for another round of home-made goodness. Freshly baked cookies covered the nearby table.
"Thanks," she quickly responded and added, "and don't be thinking you're going to be raiding in here any time soon."
With her back to him, he couldn't help but begin to smile. In just the short time he'd been at Gull's Way, he knew her bark was much worse than her bite and it would be best just to let her keep thinking that he was truly scared of what she might actually do. "I wouldn't dream of doing any sort of pillaging on the cookies Sarah, believe me. Being in Hardcase's doghouse is enough for me right now." She tossed him a short glance, devoid of any verbal reply or any emotion. The smile he wore vanished in an instant. Maybe he wasn't quite ready to test out her bite just yet after all, especially after the day he'd had with Hardcastle the day before. There was no reason to chance the precipitous relationship with her right at the moment. Maybe he'd at least stay in her relatively good graces. "Is the Judge around?" He asked, hoping she'd say no. His relief came short order.
"Nope, left nearly two hours ago," she looked up at the clock on the wall. "Don't know when he'll return either."
That wasn't good news. He was afraid of that answer. If Hardcastle didn't give her a return time, he must have gone to see Dalem. "How about where he went? Did he happen to mention that?" Mark asked her.
"I'm the housekeeper young man. Judge Hardcastle can come and go as he pleases and he needn't report to me," she answered. "Seems to me that if you really wanted to know the answer, you could have shagged yourself up at the crack of dawn like he does and asked him yourself."
"You're right about that." He was ready to change the subject for the time being. He clapped his hands together and asked, "So do you have some chores you want me to work on, I guess from the Judge's departure, that's what he planned for me today. What'll it be? Mulching? Pruning? Trimming? Cutting? Weeding? Pick your poison Sarah."
"In the rain? Honestly, are there rocks up there where your brain is supposed to be? Everything outside will take care of itself today."
"What about inside then? Cleaning? Scrubbing? Painting? You name it and I'm your handyman." The grin presented itself again. "I can't just sit around here, that wouldn't be right."
"Oh it wouldn't would it? I've seen you laze about before today."
"Well, no, I know I need to contribute around here. Gimme a little credit."
It was a good, long minute before she responded. "I suppose you can help me bake these cookies if you must."
He let out a laugh, "Me? Bake cookies?"
"I don't see anyone else in the room do you?" She spun around with the wooden spoon in her hand. "And you did just ask for something to do didn't you?"
"Well yeah, but…" He remembered plenty of his childhood friends mentioning things about motherly types with wooden spoons. He internally shuddered at the thought.
Sarah was already interrupting him, "But nothing, I've got fifty dozen I need to make by tomorrow."
"Fifty dozen? That's 600 cookies Sarah!"
"Seeing as how you're so smart with multiplication, you shouldn't have any problem reading a recipe," she added.
"If you think so, I've never made cookies in my life." He pushed up the sleeves on his sweatshirt. "I don't think Hardcastle's going to eat 600 cookies though."
"They're not for him, not all of them anyway," she gave the first hint of a smile. "My church is having a craft and cookie sale. We do it every year, right before Thanksgiving."
"And you supply all the cookies?"
She scoffed at his question. "Not hardly young man, but mine are certainly the most sought after." This time she looked right at him and not only smiled, but winked as well.
"That a girl Sarah," he followed it with another laugh, "What can I do?"
"Wash your hands first. I don't want to risk you getting any motor oil in my famous cookie dough."
Mark walked over to the sink and proceeded to wash his hands. "I haven't worked on my car in several days, but I understand."
"Under the nails too," she reminded him, "scrub them good."
He grabbed the towel that hung over the counter and wiped them off. "Now what?"
She walked over to the table and pulled out a recipe card. Not satisfied with it, she set it back into its container and selected another. "Here, you should be able to hold your own with this recipe. It was my mother's. Let me know if you can't read her handwriting." She took the few steps to close the distance between them and handed him the recipe.
He started to read over the card. "Oh Sarah, these are my favorite. I'm not sure I can make them without at least getting to have one."
"That'll be fine, and if they turn out, you can probably have two." She was already back to working on the batch she'd been creating.
"What kind are you making?"
"Oatmeal Raisin."
"I like those too," he said wide-eyed.
"No doubt, when this batch comes out of the oven, you can have one. Now you best get started, when the Judge does come back at least he'll know that you've been up to some good."
"That's the truth, especially after yesterday," Mark began. "I'm surprised I'm still here this morning."
"I've heard. The Judge shared his version with me over his breakfast."
Mark got busy with bowls and spoons and measuring cups, laying out his supplies before he turned his attention to the ingredients he'd need. "What'd he say?" He was venturing down a new road with her.
"I believe the first words out of his mouth were, 'I thought I was gonna die Sarah.'"
McCormick nervously cleared his throat. "He said that?" A worried look was plastered on his face.
"I may not be a reporter for the Times, but I do recall what he said young man. From there it was all down hill."
"Downhill is right. Are you sure he didn't say where he was going? Like maybe to see my parole officer?"
"He didn't tell me." She scooped out a dozen cookies on the tray and set them into the oven. "How exactly did you nearly kill him anyway? You know the Judge isn't some young whipper snapper, you shouldn't put his life in danger."
This time it was a nervous laugh that came from McCormick. "Believe me Sarah, if it was up to me I wouldn't put either of our lives in danger, I'd much rather bake cookies on a daily basis." He began putting his ingredients into the various mixing bowls he'd selected.
"Well, let's hear your version. I imagine the truth will lie somewhere in between yours and his."
"We were chasing after Connor Bishop in the Coyote."
"I heard him tell that you were doing close to a thousand," Sarah interrupted.
"The Coyote doesn't do a thousand, it was closer to a hundred," he said. She peered at him through her thick glasses to check to see if he was being truthful. "Okay, maybe 120," he re-calculated his speed.
"He mentioned something about flipping around?"
"I guarantee there was no flipping. We swerved and skidded a few times, but honestly Sarah, he wanted this guy bad and he was telling me what he wanted during the whole chase. Sort of leading me on…"
"Who's Conner Bishop anyway?"
"He's a gun runner. He sells weapons to the highest bidder. His whole operation is illegal," he said while stirring the batter. "Is this how it's supposed to look?" He asked for her input on the cookies he was creating.
She walked over beside him and checked the bowl. "Stir it a little more to make sure everything's mixed good. You want to make sure you get chips in every bite. And it looks like you have some plain batter in the bottom of the bowl. We don't want that." She showed him how to turn over the rather tough dough, "See, mix it better!"
He nodded his understanding and kept muscling his way through. Even his sore wrist was feeling better under her therapy regime.
"Did you catch him?"
"Not before we chased him for nearly fifty miles. You know the Judge has no idea what his crazy manhunts do to my car. I mean really, he's going to pull my ticket, I should pull his. Thinking he can treat my possession like it's some old beat up Chevy police cruiser."
Sarah ignored his added outburst. "The Judge mentioned something about water?"
"We jumped a pond," he said, beginning to drop spoonfuls onto the cookie sheet. "And the Judge got wet when we didn't quite clear it. But he knew that was going to happen when he shouted at me to jump it. Can I be held responsible for something he asks me to do?" He paused and waited for her to answer and when she didn't he added, "And then Conner, well, not Conner, but his goon driver slammed right into that side of the Coyote. Hardcastle should be paying for that body work too. It's all on a count of him."
"I think that's when the Judge thought he was going to die."
"Yeah, I did too actually, but I swear Sarah, he yelled at me to keep after them. So I did like he asked."
"There's no need to swear young man," she cautiously reminded him.
"Do these look alright?" He asked glancing at the cookie sheet.
She turned and snap-nodded her approval. "As soon as my batch comes out, you can put that in."
He continued on with yesterday's escapade. "After the pond, we chased him some more and ended up, well, jumping over a barricade and finally Conner and his driver smashed into a brick wall, with me, uh us, right on their tail."
"Which, according to Judge Hardcastle, you managed to miss by inches."
"I think feet Sarah, but the key word there is miss. I missed the wall by feet."
Just then the back door opened and in walked Judge Hardcastle. "It was inches kiddo, I wasn't exaggerating about that. I didn't even have enough room to crawl out of the escape hatch that you seem to think is some sort of a dual purpose sun-roof slash window, that crazy car!" he added with punctuated pleasure.
"Uh, Judge, come on, it wasn't that close, besides that side of the Coyote was smashed in. An anorexic beauty queen couldn't have crawled out through that. Don't you remember?"
"Painfully, McCormick." Hardcastle nodded. "What the hell are you doing in here?" His eyes scanned the busy kitchen. "Don't you have some work to do around here?"
"I am working," McCormick looked down at the tray of unbaked cookies he held. "I'm helping Sarah bake cookies. For her church thing. You weren't around. I figured I better do something." He continued to add one reason on top of the next.
The Judge walked over and took a seat at the overflowing table. "Are you making oatmeal raisin Sarah, because you know I love those?"
McCormick interrupted. "These are for her church thing Judge. They're not for us."
"Nonsense, she always makes extra, right Sarah? You need 600 but you always leave a few dozen lying around here."
"Of course Your Honor." She offered the Judge one of her prized possessions.
McCormick watched and listened to their banter in incredulously. "Well, you're not getting any of mine," Mark said, "mine are for her church, except for two, no, three, Sarah can have one of mine too."
"You know you should watch how you talk to me kiddo," the Judge started. "In case you forgot, this is my house and my chocolate chips you're baking." The Judge leaned across the table and plucked an already baked peanut butter cookie from the wax paper it sat on. "These are outstanding Sarah. St. Agatha's will make a killing again this year."
"Thank you Your Honor." Sarah went to the oven and pulled out her latest tray of oatmeal raisin. "Mark, it's time for your tray."
Mark grabbed it off the counter and put it in the oven.
"They'll be ready in about nine minutes Mark," Sarah said to him.
Milt was somewhat fascinated by McCormick's sudden attachment to baking. "You like doing this sort of thing McCormick."
"I don't know, this is the first time I've ever baked anything. I hope they come out as good as Sarah's."
The Judge stood up and plucked a few warm oatmeal raisin cookies and started off for the den, but not before saying, "I just had a visit with your parole officer Dalem." He left the statement hang in the air amid the delicious aroma from the oven. And that was just plain wrong in McCormick's mind. Mixing the sweet smell of homemade cookies with the nauseating mention of Dalem was sac religious.
Mark looked back and forth between the Judge, who now exited the room, and the oven and Sarah, before finally decided to go after the Judge.
Already situated at his chair behind the desk, Hardcastle looked up when he noticed the kid following him in. He shielded a grin from the kid's view.
"I'm going back?" was all Mark asked. "Just like that?"
"Going back where?"
"Quit it! You know where. Is this like your own recipe you follow? Have the kid do everything you ask and then pull the plug when you think your life was in jeopardy?" McCormick's mouth kept running. "I know you were upset about yesterday, about my driving, but really Judge I had it under control, I use to drive like that for a living in case you forgot and I was just following your instructions. I know you wanted Bishop."
"I know," the Judge polished off another cookie.
"You know? So why are sending me back? I think we should give this thing a little more of a chance. It's only been a month."
"I know that too."
"I don't get you Judge, what do you want from me? I do all the chores you ask, I chase after all the bad guys…."
"Reluctantly," Hardcastle interrupted.
McCormick showed his irritation, "But I still do it. Heck, now I'm even baking cookies with Sarah. What else do I need to do to show you that I want to make this work? What's it gonna take Hardcastle?"
"All I said was that I met with Dalem, at the police station. It was in the hallway. You know superficial politeness. Sheesh, you really jump to conclusions there kiddo. I told him you were doing fine and our little arrangement seemed to be working. Then we each went our separate ways."
"You said that? Well, what about yesterday's car chase?"
"That was a little out of control, but you're right, I egged you on, so I gotta take some of the blame for that one. And I stopped by Cliff's Body Shop on the way back here, he said to bring the Coyote in later on, I'll take care of the charges. You know, I think you're getting the hang of this Lone Ranger stuff though," the Judge said, eating his last cookie. "Next time though, no pond jumping."
From the kitchen the oven timer was sounding. "Mark, your cookies are done!" Sarah called out.
Once again, Mark was torn between continuing the discussion or heading back to the kitchen.
"Get out of here will ya? I've got files to look through for our next case. That is if you're not too busy baking cookies."
"You know, I was considering letting you try one of mine, but I'm not so sure anymore," Mark said. "Messing with my head like that, that's not good Hardcastle."
"MARK," Sarah called out again.
"I'm coming." Mark said angrily as he headed up the landing
The Judge spoke up as he left the den, "When you get done in there, grab me a few more oatmeal ones, the woman sure can bake cookies…." And then once McCormick was out of earshot he added, "And keep ex-con's in line."