Disclaimer: These characters are not my creation and no infringement of any rights is intended.

Author's Note: This story precedes "Suspicion", which is currently available on the starforbrian site in "Pastiche a Trois".

AGGIE'S VISIT

by

Owlcroft

"The first thing I want to do," said Aggie Wainwright, setting down her coffee cup, "is to have lunch at Pink's. I've heard they have the best hot dogs in L.A."

"The best hot dogs on the West Coast," interjected Judge Hardcastle.

"Then I'd like to see the La Brea Tar Pits." She looked at the Judge and then at Mark McCormick, sitting across from her at the small poolside table. "I know it's kind of corny, but I like dinosaurs and fossils and . . . and . . . tar. And I've never been there and this time I swore I'd go."

"Right," the judge nodded. "Pink's , then tar pits."

"And then I've got to do some shopping. There are some things you just can't find in San Rio." She laid a hand on Hardcastle's arm. "Milt, you really don't have to go with me. I know how men hate shopping."

"Take her down Rodeo Drive," McCormick suggested. "That's always a kick, even if you can't afford to buy anything."

The judge nodded again. "That's a plan. Pink's, tar pits, Glitter Alley. How about a walk on the Santa Monica pier on the way to lunch?"

"It sounds marvelous! But, Milt, are you positive you're not too busy? You've already spent all morning showing me around your home." Aggie looked around at the pool and the house. "It's so beautiful. If I lived here, I'd never leave."

Hardcastle shrugged. "It's all right, but we'd better get a move on." He turned to Mark. "You coming, kid?"

"Nah." Mark starting collecting coffee cups. "I got a couple things to get done and I thought I'd get some pork chops we could do on the grill before the game. You two just be back here by five so we have time. Plan?"

"Plan." The judge rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "You like pork chops, don't you, Aggie?" He stood up to pull out her chair for her.

Aggie stood and smiled her thanks. "I love pork chops. Do they have any souvenirs at the Santa Monica pier?"

"They don't have anything but souvenirs there. We'll see ya, kiddo. And, hey, get some more beer, will ya?"

McCormick waved the two through the archway to the drive and carried the cups into the kitchen. He heard the truck engine fade away as he started a grocery list. Pork chops, red onion, a lime, lettuce, beer, some kinda fancy dessert. What else? The phone interrupted his mental rummaging through the fridge. Stretching a long arm, he answered it with "Hardcastle's House of Pork".

There was complete silence at the other end.

Mark tried again. "Hello, this is Judge Hardcastle's house."

"Oh." Another silence. "Is that Judge Hardcastle's house?" said a male voice.

"Yes. It is." Mark realized he'd have to be patient with this one.

"Well," the voice said, "is he there?"

"No, you just missed him. I can take a message for you." McCormick talked slowly, figuring short words and short sentences were best.

"Oh. Okay."

"So, what message do you want to leave?" By now, Mark was starting to enjoy the experience.

"Um. Just have him call me."

"Okay. But you have to tell me your name and your phone number." Can anybody really be this dumb? thought Mark, as he wrote down a name and number. "Okay, I got it. I'll have him call you as soon as he gets back."

"Yeah." The voice got a little gruffer. "You tell him to call us as soon as he gets back. Or else."

The line disconnected and McCormick stared at the phone in his hand in disbelief. What the hell was that? Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up the grocery list and left for the store.

ooooo

Aggie couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, look at that one!" She tugged on Hardcastle's arm and pulled him to the next store window. "I have to have that!"

Hardcastle was doing a little laughing himself. Her amusement at the prices and fashions and excesses of Rodeo Drive was contagious. "Sure, why not. They'll be all the rage in San Rio. And furs are so practical in a tropical climate. You better get two!"

"Oh, Milt." She put a hand to her forehead. "I can't take any more. Can't we find a nice, working class bar somewhere and get a beer?"

"Now yer cookin'! And I know just the place." They headed back to where the truck was parked. "You'll like Sammy's. No palms, no music, no paper umbrellas . . . "

"No pineapples?" she teased. "No drinks in coconuts?"

"Nope," he grinned. "And if you ask for some kind of colada, I'm going home alone."

She laughed again. "Come on, Milt. I was just trying to break the ice with you. And it did work, didn't it? You were so shy and so cute, I had to try something to get to know you."

As they headed for Sammy's, the judge remembered their first meeting, too. "Yeah, I guess I was a little shy. I mean, here's this attractive woman being so friendly and then this stupid drink gets there and I hate stuff like that. Then you end up busting me out of prison. Funny, how things work out sometimes."

"Yeah," she sighed. "That was exciting, all right. I haven't had that much fun since. But let's talk about the game tonight. I'll bet you $20 Worthy scores more points than Johnson. What do you say?"

"No way! That's a bet." Hardcastle pulled into a parking space in front of a small brick-fronted bar. "And I tell ya what, I'll bet a side $10 that Magic shoots a higher percentage than Jabbar."

"You're on!" Aggie took his proffered arm and they entered the bar arguing with evident enjoyment .

ooooo

Mark had the potatoes ready to go in the oven, the pork chops ready for the grill, a salad already made, and beer in the fridge when he heard the truck pull up in front of the house.

The front door slammed and he heard voices arguing amicably about past basketball greats. He moseyed toward the den, listening to Aggie's spirited exposition of Bob Cousy's many talents.

"You have to agree with that, Milt! I mean, any sane, rational person has to admit he was the best playmaker ever. " She turned to see Mark and asked, "How do you put up with anybody this stubborn?"

"I prefer 'intransigent' myself," said the judge with a straight face.

"If intransigent means 'donkey', then I agree. You got a really weird phone call this morning." Mark handed over the paper with the name and number. "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"Oh, boy. Moreland Lijkly." The judge looked at McCormick. "It's not spelled like it sounds. You've got it l-i-k-e-ly. It's pronounced that way, but it's spelled l-i-j-k-l-y. I think it's Dutch or something."

"If you two have something to take care of, I'm going to get some pictures while the light's still good." Aggie took a camera out of her bag and headed for the door. "Just call me when it's time to start fixing dinner. I'm good with pork chops."

"So, who is Moreland Lijkly and why's he calling you?" McCormick plopped down into the wing chair as the judge moved behind his desk. "And is he really as dumb as he sounds?"

"Yup." Hardcastle was thumbing through his file drawer. "Here it is. I knew they were getting out soon, so I had their files ready." He passed the folders over to McCormick. "Moreland Lijkly and his brother Lester. I sent them up eight years ago for armed robbery. Hated to do it, in a way, because it was obvious there's some mental problems there, but they weren't impaired enough to get off with an insanity defence. They themselves claimed to know the difference between right and wrong and that what they did was wrong. They're just so damned stupid that they either think they'll get away with stuff or they don't realize the consequences if they're caught."

"I talked to Moreland this morning," said Mark, remembering. "He wasn't exactly using words of more than one syllable." He propped his chin on his hand. "But how can you be so stupid that you threaten a judge that's already sent you up once before?"

Hardcastle raised his eyebrows. "Did he? Actually use a threat, I mean?"

"Yeah, I told him you'd call him back and he said you better, or else. I don't know about your social circles, but in mine, that's a threat."

The judge sighed. "See, that's a perfect example. They just do and say things they shouldn't and then it's a big surprise when somebody doesn't like it. Their first offense was pretty minor, a simple assault and they made bail. But then they sent a letter to the D.A. warning him about prosecuting them, didn't sign it so it'd be a big secret who it came from, but then put their names and return address on the envelope. Kinda sad, really."

McCormick looked at the judge quizzically. "What kind of lawyer did they have? I mean, somebody that dumb could easily pull off an incompetence defense with a little coaching."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't ya? But they seem to feel there's nothing wrong with them and anything they do should just be excused because they wanted to do it." Hardcastle sighed and leaned back, shaking his head. "I think there's some inbreeding there, too. You know what their mother's name is? Verity. They call her Very for short. Now think about that."

Mark thought for a couple of seconds and then groaned. "Very Lijkly? Oh, wait a minute. More and Les Lijkly? I don't believe that. Isn't that kind of thing illegal? Child abuse or something?"

"That's okay. The family had a daughter, too. Her name's 'Honey'. Wanna guess what her nickname is?"

McCormick squinted at the floor and then looked up in disbelief. "Don't tell me they call her 'Un' Lijkly."

The judge slapped the desk. "Got it! Now I ask you, what normal family would name kids like that? And the really strange thing – the father's name is Ralph Alexander."

Both men sat, shaking their heads for a moment.

"Anyway, I better call More and see if they've got some idiotic plan for revenge going." The judge picked up the phone and punched in the number from the message sheet. "Hello! More, is that you? Oh, hi, Les. This is Judge Hardcastle."

There was a gap for Mark while Les Lijkly spoke to the judge.

"Okay, look. That's assault and I could have you picked up and back in the slammer in about fifteen minutes. You got that? Now, knock off the threats; straighten up and fly right and you can stay out of jail. You keep this kind of thing up and I'll nail ya again. Now, tell More what I said and that I don't want to see or hear from either one of you again. Goodbye!"

Mark was looking at him in disbelief. "They actually said they were . . . what, coming after you or something? I don't believe that. And they're serious, aren't they?"

Hardcastle nodded. "Oh, yeah, they're serious. That's the problem. When you're too stupid to make self-preservation a priority, you become dangerous." He rubbed his forehead, a gesture of ruefulness and exasperation. "Look. I don't want Aggie to know about this. She's only here for another week or so, however long the Lakers are in the playoffs, so let's not make a big thing out of it. I don't want her involved in anything hairy."

"Oh, and why's that?" asked Aggie from the doorway to the dining room.

"Well!" said McCormick heartily, standing up and moving quickly. "I better get that grill fired up. We don't want to be late for the game, do we?" And by that time he was out the door and headed for the kitchen.

"I came in, Milt," Aggie walked slowly into the den, "to see if I could get a picture of the two of you out by the fountain."

"Well, sure! That's no problem! We'll just put the chops on the grill and head right out there." Hardcastle knew this wasn't going to work, and he was right.

"And in the meantime, you can explain just why you don't want me involved in something that could be 'hairy'." She dropped onto the corner of his desk and tilted her head. "Could it be that you don't trust me to do my part? Or are you trying to be old-fashioned and chivalrous? Or do you think I'm not mature enough to be responsible for myself and make my own decisions?" She looked straight at him. "Let's hear it."

The judge harrumphed and positioned his gavel just so. "Yeah, well, ya see, I just figured you were here for such a short time, and it is supposed to be a kind of vacation, and it would be a shame to spend any of that time on stuff like this, and I just thought you'd rather be doing tourist-type things and having fun." He looked up at her hopefully.

"And if I'd rather be helping you with something hairy, that would be all right with you?"

"No, it wouldn't!" He ran a hand over the top of his head. "I mean, these guys can be real trouble and I don't want to have to worry about you, okay?"

She smiled slightly and said, "Stop tap-dancing, Milt, and say it straight out."

He sighed, then said quietly, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"And I don't want you to get hurt. And neither one of us wants Mark to get hurt. But this is what you two do, and if I'm around, I want to be a part of it. I'm a grown-up, Milt. And it's my decision. Now, let's get that picture while the sun's still high enough." She stood and held out a hand. "Isn't that nice? We've had our first little tiff and we're still friends."

"Ho-kay," the judge exhaled. "But I'm not real keen on you being involved in anything. Just so you know that."

"I know that. Now, let's get Mark out there and you can pretend to smile."

ooooo

Dinner was over, and Aggie had insisted on the recipe for the pork chops.

"It's really simple." Mark was collecting plates and cutlery. "You put a little chili sauce on the chops when they're just about done. Then you put on a slice of red onion, a slice of lime and put them under the broiler for a couple of minutes. Hardcastle thought up the chili sauce, but the rest was my idea."

"Well, they're terrific, whoever thought it up." Aggie stretched and asked, "When should we leave?"

"Oh, we got about a half hour yet." Judge Hardcastle got up and added, "I'm gonna try to find out who the Lijkly's P.O. is and give him a heads-up about them. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes. You want dessert out here?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding. I couldn't eat another thing if you paid me." Aggie stood, too. "I'll just go help Mark with the dishes while you're on the phone." They both headed into the house by way of the kitchen door.

McCormick had scraped the dishes by then and was loading the dishwasher.

"I'll be in the den for a few minutes, then we can go ahead. No harm in getting there early." The judge waved a hand and went through the door into the hall.

Aggie stood for a moment, then asked "What can I do to help?"

"Not much left to take care of." Mark was flicking the counter with a dishrag. It's a lot easier when we have beer – no wine glasses to wash. There. Done."

"Great! Can I get a shot of you next to your car?" Aggie smiled. "I know you think I'm nuts, taking all these pictures, but I want to remember every moment of this trip."

Mark shrugged. "That's fine with me. All I have to do is stand there. You're the one going to all the effort of pushing that little button."

As they passed the den on the way to the front door, both could hear the judge talking on the phone.

"He's really a little worried about those two, isn't he, Mark?" Aggie grabbed her camera from the little hall table.

"Yeah, I think so. I haven't really looked at their files that closely, but they've got a history of going after people that they don't like. And I think it bothers him that it's happened now because he'd rather be concentrating on . . . other things."

Aggie grinned at him. "You mean, the play-offs."

Mark grinned back at her. "Yeah, the play-offs."

"Okay, stand right about . . . there. And look at the car." Aggie raised the camera as Mark gazed soulfully at the Coyote. "No, not like that. Try leaning against it."

Mark leaned obediently.

"That's it. Now, cross your arms and look cute."

Mark laughed at that and the shutter clicked.

"Perfect!" Aggie came to stand next to him and ran a hand over the Coyote's hood. "I've never seen a car like this one. Milt said you used to drive race cars. Is this one? Did you build it yourself?"

"No. A friend of mine designed it. Actually, that's how the judge and I hooked up to bust bad guys." Mark stopped abruptly, realizing there was something about him that she didn't know. "Oh." He turned and walked a few steps away from Aggie and the Coyote.

"Mark?" she asked tentatively. "Did I say something . . .?"

"No. No, it's me. There's something I should tell you." He turned to face her again. "See, I met Hardcastle in a court room."

She waited expectantly.

"I was there on a charge of auto theft and he sentenced me to prison. I spent two years in San Quentin." He saw the change in her expression and closed his eyes to try to shut out the disappointment. It's going to make a difference to her. Damn.

Aggie approached him tentatively, without speaking. When she was close enough, she gently extended her arms and embraced him. "Oh, you poor thing," she said softly. "Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry."

McCormick was astonished, confused, then deeply touched. He swallowed and gingerly put his arms around her.

"Are you all right?" she asked without releasing him. "Can you talk about it?" She leaned back and looked at him. "How long ago was it?"

"I've been out a couple of years now. And I'm okay. Really."

She held him at arm's length, hands on his shoulders. "But you didn't want to tell me. Did you really think it would matter? Mark. It doesn't."

ooooo

The judge finished his phone calls and peeped out the front window to see where Aggie and the kid had gotten to. What he saw caused him a strange little pang in his chest. The two of them were hugging each other in the driveway.

Now, why does that bother me? She's old enough to be his mother.

He peeped again and saw they were talking in a serious manner, still touching, but no longer in a close embrace.

It feels like jealousy, but I'm not jealous. Enlightenment struck. No, I'm not jealous. I'm envious, of herHe'll talk to her about serious things, let her hug him, and I can't do that.

Judge Hardcastle sighed, shook his head, then shrugged. He made sure the game tickets were in his wallet and went to the hall for his cowboy hat.

Aggie came through the front door and stood, eyes flashing. "Milton Hardcastle! How could you?"

"Wha-at? Where's McCormick?"

"He's gone to bring the truck around and don't change the subject!" Aggie folded her arms defiantly.

"All right, I won't. What is the subject?"

"Mark just told me you sent him to prison." She glared ferociously. "How could you do something like that?"

"Look, you gotta understand something. McCormick already had a record a yard long by then, but it looked to me like he'd gotten some bad breaks. He'd been charged with car theft a few times for stuff like repossessing a car before the paperwork had cleared. But he really did take that Porsche and I had all I could do to persuade the D.A. to go with the grand theft auto charge instead of insurance fraud. That was all I could do for the kid. It was a jury trial; I didn't find him guilty, the jury did. And there are sentencing guidelines that judges have to follow. Now, don't tell him any of this, you hear? I don't want him knowing I had anything to do with getting the fraud charge re-considered, okay?" Hardcastle looked harassed and defensive. "I don't think he even knows he'd coulda been charged with that originally."

Aggie looked thoughtful. "So, you really had no choice, is that it? But you don't want him to know that."

"That's about the size of it. Now, are we okay again or do you want another little tiff to remember me by?"

She screwed up her face thoughtfully and stared into space for a moment. "Well, if we argue any more we'll be late for tip-off. So, sorry, Milt. We just don't have time for a tiff."

He grinned. "We're squared away on that?"

"Now yer cookin'," she said.

ooooo

At half-time, Mark joined the judge and Aggie in the judge's seats at half-court.

"Mark," Aggie stood, arms akimbo. "Now, really, why don't you sit here and I'll sit in my own seat? It's not fair for you to be back there."

"Gee, it's six whole rows back. I can barely see the players," Mark said cheerfully. "Come on, we already settled this. Besides, there's a cute little brunette right in front of me. Trust me, I'm fine there."

"Yeah, leave the guy alone, Aggie." Judge Hardcastle stood also and stretched. "He's a lot more interested in that brunette than he is in the game. Right, kiddo?"

"Well," Mark grinned, "There's no law against getting to know someone during a basketball game. Right, Judge?" He winked meaningfully and Hardcastle turned beet red.

"Milt," said Aggie tactfully, "get me a beer from that vendor, will you? Mark, you want one? I'm buying this round."

"Nah, I'm driving tonight. But thanks. Listen, I'm gonna head back. I'll meet you two right here, okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Here ya go," the judge carefully handed a foaming plastic cup to Aggie. He took a sip of his own and shook his head as she tried to hand him a five-dollar bill.

"Now, that's not fair. I said I was buying. Come on, take it."

When he continued to refuse, she couldn't resist. "You Arkansas donkey, you!"

He spluttered beer foam and nearly choked. "When did you hear that? I know who you heard."

Aggie smiled demurely. "I'm not sure just which was the first time I heard it. It certainly fits, though."

Hardcastle looked slightly disgruntled, but then shrugged. "I've been called a lot worse in my time."

"I don't think I want to hear any of them." She drank some beer. "Did you know my husband was from Tennessee? There's just something about a southern gentleman that appeals to me."

The judge looked a lot more gruntled at this point. "Oh, yeah? Well, we're known for our charm and good taste." He preened gently.

"Oh, speaking of taste!" Aggie carefully set her beer under her seat. "I want to cook dinner for you two tomorrow and I'm not going to argue about it. You've taken me out, cooked for me, acted as tour guide, Mark's given up his seat so I can sit courtside; I want to do it, Milt. Besides, when's the last time you had real southern cooking? I had to learn to cook for my husband and he used to rave about my buttermilk fried chicken."

"Ohhh, that sounds good." Hardcastle got a faintly dreamy look. "Real fried chicken with gravy, sounds like heaven. Not that my wife couldn't cook, ya know. She could and she made some terrific meals. But southern cooking's different. Green beans with ham hocks, homemade biscuits, corn pudding, Cocola salad," the judge drifted off briefly into his memories.

"All right, then" said Aggie briskly. "Chicken with gravy, mashed potatoes, fried okra, peach pie for dessert. I'll make some biscuits if I can find White Lily flour. How does that sound?"

Judge Hardcastle beamed, then a crafty look came over his craggy face. "Just let me tell McCormick about it, okay?"

"Milt," she warned. "I don't trust you with that look on your face."

"You don't trust me?" He was hurt. "Don't you know donkeys are very dependable?"

ooooo

After the Lakers polished off the Suns fairly easily, the happy crowd started to disperse.

The truck was parked in a lot a few streets over from the Forum, but nobody minded the walk in the mild April night.

"So, kiddo. We got a real treat in store for us tomorrow night. Aggie's gonna fix us a real southern meal. Yessir, southern cooking's the best in the world." The judge was clearly preparing to expand on that theme, so Mark interrupted him.

"That's really nice, Aggie, but you're company. You're not supposed to cook."

Aggie smiled and waited to see what the judge was up to.

"Yep. I remember the frogs'-legs my grandma would fix for breakfast. Fried frogs'-legs, cooked in hog lard, real coarse-grind grits. Best food in the world, I tell ya!"

Mark was looking horrified. "But . . .but, Aggie, you wouldn't --"

"And chitterlings! Wonderful stuff. If we didn't have any chitterlings, we'd have the kidneys or the liver. You got a meal to remember coming up, kiddo. Mmmmm, I can taste it now." Hardcastle was grinning in satisfaction.

McCormick took a closer look at Hardcastle and grimaced in irritated realization. "Yeah, I bet you can. Well, Aggie, that's really nice of you and I know we'll both enjoy the chitterlings tomorrow." He squinted at the judge. "Maybe I can head out tonight and round up a herd of frogs for breakfast tomorrow, Judge. How about it? Wanna go along?"

As the two men wrangled, Aggie fell behind slightly to find the camera in her capacious purse. A scuff behind her gave her just enough of a warning to partially evade the hands grasping at her from the shadows.

"You bastard!" she screamed as she fought to free herself. "Let go of me!"

She tore free just as Mark's outstretched arm ripped at the shadow's balaclava. Judge Hardcastle grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back from the struggle.

"Are you okay?" he shouted.

"Yes!" she shouted back. "Go get him!"

Just then, a second shadow materialized and shoved McCormick from behind. Shadow Number One fled as Mark fell to the sidewalk. Shadow Number Two was right behind him.

Hardcastle bent over McCormick briefly. After realizing no one could swear that copiously and expressively if he was hurt, he headed down the street after the shadows. Half a block later, he realized he was outdistanced and headed back to Aggie and Mark.

"Let me guess." Mark was dusting himself down disgustedly. "The Lijkly brothers."

"'Fraid so. Aggie, you sure you're all right?"

"No, I'm not all right! You didn't catch them!" She was in a belligerent mood and didn't care who knew it. "That creep grabbed me. I want his head on a platter, Milt."

"We'll get 'em. You can count on that." Hardcastle looked grim. "I know where they're staying, but first, we're taking you back to your hotel."

"Oh, no. Not on your tintype! He grabbed me and I'm part of this now and what are we waiting for?" She turned and headed for the truck.

The judge and Mark glanced at each other, sighed in unison and followed.

Unfortunately, the Lijklys had been kicked out of their rooming house just that afternoon.

ooooo

Judge Hardcastle got some more information from the Los Angeles police the next morning right before breakfast. "Seems they stole a car last night around eight o'clock," he said over the eggs and sausages. "Frank says they dumped their old one on Figueroa. They're hoping to have them in custody in a couple hours."

Mark finished his orange juice and asked, "Did you call Aggie and tell her?"

"Yeah. I figured she'd want to know we're on the job here. She's still pretty mad about last night, but once the Joy Boys are behind bars, she'll be satisfied. You want some more coffee?"

"Yeah. So what time do we expect her today?"

Hardcastle poured more coffee into both mugs. "She's got the grocery shopping to do and then some errands to run. I'm not looking to see her before lunchtime, at least."

"You know, Judge," Mark swallowed a bite of sausage, "I could pack up a picnic basket for the two of you and you could take a nice walk on the beach. You know, sandwiches, a bottle of wine . . ." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sand fleas, shell-cuts, wind burn, sand in the food, yeah, that sounds really good." The judge put his fork down and looked at McCormick seriously. "I know what you're trying to do and I want it to stop, okay? You weren't born with wings and a little bow, so knock off the matchmaking."

"Hey!" Mark protested. "All I said was a picnic would be nice and you're jumping down my throat here."

"Look. Aggie and I like each other. We maybe like each other a whole lot, but that's our business and nobody else's. Got it? It's our relationship and we'll figure out if we mean anything to each other and, if so, what. We're grown-ups. We can handle it." Hardcastle drank some more coffee. "I know you like her a lot and you want to see if we're gonna be more than friends, but it's really not up to you. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Mark took another piece of toast. "I know, you're right." He slathered butter on the toast, then added grape jelly. "It's just been so nice having her around here. She's smart and fun and brave and she fits right in. She'd make a terrific step-mother."

Judge Hardcastle gave him a peculiar look. "Step-mother?"

McCormick did a frantic re-wind of what he'd just said, froze for an instant when he realized the implications, then shifted into defensive overdrive. "Step-mother? Did I say 'step-mother'? No, I meant wife and mother. You know, if she ever got married again, maybe she'd have some kids and be a mother. She's not too old for that. Or, if she is, then she could adopt. She'd be a mother to her kids, see? And a wife to whoever she married. That's all I meant. Look, are you through? I'm gonna get started on the azaleas." Mark stood and quickly collected his plate and silverware.

The judge took pity on him and held up a hand. "It's all right. I know what you meant and it's okay." He ignored the relieved sigh from the other side of the table. "But keep a lid on the Cupid stuff. And don't use too much fertilizer this time."

"You mean on the azaleas, right?" asked Mark irrepressibly.

"On the azaleas or me," the judge answered complacently.

ooooo

Aggie beeped the car horn to announce her arrival. Mark appeared from around the corner to the garage and the judge at the front door. "There's groceries in the trunk, guys. And some of it needs to get into the fridge right away."

"Did you have any trouble getting what you need for tonight?" Hardcastle hefted a bag and motioned to McCormick to get the other two.

"Yes. I got the flour for the biscuits, but I went to three different grocery stores and none of them had any fresh --"

"Sssshh! Sssshh!' The judge was frantically waving his free hand. "It's a surprise, remember?"

"Terrific," Mark muttered, balancing the other bags at the front door. "Southern-fried surprise. Hey! I hear something croaking in here."

Aggie laughed. "Just make sure the chicken gets in the fridge." She turned to the judge. "It's the wrong season for fresh . . ." she lowered her voice and her eyebrows "okra, Milt. I can use frozen, but you know it's not as good."

"Don't worry about that." He escorted her toward the house. "We'll try a couple of markets I know about that get some produce from South America. They'll probably have it fresh. And frozen's better than nothing."

They joined Mark in the kitchen. "Where do you want this?" he asked, holding up a bag of White Lily flour.

"Let me do the unpacking. Then I want to look over the kitchen a little, see what pots and pans you have. It'll just take a few minutes." She faced the judge. "So, where are those creeps? I want to press charges, personally."

"Ah," he grimaced a little. "I have some news about that. They hope to have them in custody any time now. We're just waiting 'til somebody spots the car and bingo! I'll fill you in on the way downtown to get the . . .uh . . .ingredient. Right now, I got one phone call to make. Five minutes?"

"Five minutes. Mark," she turned to the younger man, "where do you keep the potatoes?"

ooooo

Aggie and the judge had left on their mysterious errand, and Mark was weeding beneath the porch hedge, when a car pulled into the driveway. Mark eyed it curiously, then suspiciously as he realized there were two men inside. It can't be them. They can'tbe that stupid.

"Can I help you?" he called as the passenger got out and headed toward him. He was a man in his forties with a marked resemblance to the driver of the car. Both had greasy blond hair and a stubborn jaw. They were dressed alike in t-shirts and jeans, but the driver's shirt was a faded pink, and the man addressing Mark wore a dirty white one.

Probably dress that way so they can tell each other apart, thought Mark.

"Yeah. Where's Hardcastle?" The speaker was sullen and unshaven.

"You just missed him." Mark thought quickly even as he talked. "He probably won't be back for hours. If you come back around five, he'll be here. You want to leave a message for him?"

"He's not here? He won't be back for a while?"

Yep, it's them all right. "That's right. But if you come back at five o'clock, he'll be here." Mark started edging toward the porch steps. "Okay? Come back at five o'clock."

The man looked toward the driver and asked him, "What do we do now, Les?"

Les looked at Mark and said, "Get him. He works here and Hardcastle will want him back." He looked at Mark again and added "I seen him somewhere before."

"Get in the car," ordered More.

"Look, I'm just the gardener. Hardcastle won't want me back. He doesn't even really like me. You don't want to take me anywhere. In fact --" Mark shoved More Lijkly in the stomach and made a flying leap for the house. He got the screen door open before More tackled him from behind.

With even odds, Mark might've gotten free, but Les was out of the car and helping his brother by then. The Lijklys shoved him into the back seat and More joined him there. A panting McCormick managed to get his left shoe off while bending over to ease the pain in his ribs. More pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at Mark.

"Don't try nothing. I gotta gun," he said threateningly.

"You have a real gift for stating the obvious," Mark casually rested his elbow on the window and then said, "Whoops! Hey, I dropped my shoe. We gotta go back for it!"

"Nuh-uh! You're trying something tricky. We're not goin' back for nothing!" More squinted at Mark balefully. "Now just shut up and sit there."

"Right," Mark leaned back. "I'll just shut up and sit here."

ooooo

The judge and Aggie were arguing about whether Bill Russell was as good a center as Nate Thurmond as they drove down the Gulls-Way drive.

"What the hell . . . It's a shoe!" Hardcastle stopped the truck and got out. He picked the shoe up and said "It's McCormick's!" He held the moccasin out to Aggie with a concerned look. "They got him!"

"Oh, come on, Milt. They're not that stupid." She looked at the judge thoughtfully. "Are they?"

"You bet they are." Hardcastle started for the house and Aggie followed. "First, we check the answering machine, then we call the cops."

There was, indeed, a message on the machine.

"We got your gardener." The judge frowned irascibly. "You want him back, you call us." There was a click as the call ended.

"That's it?" asked Aggie, unbelievingly. "They didn't leave a phone number?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "These are the Lijkly brothers. If McCormick heard them leave this, he may remind them about it. He probably figures to wait until he thinks we'd be home to say anything. If he can say anything," he finished forebodingly.

"You don't really think they'd hurt him? They need him to get to you!" Aggie was pacing. "So, now what? We call the police?"

"Yep. And try to get a trace on the line." He picked up the phone and punched in a number.

ooooo

Two hours later, at five o'clock, the phone rang. "Hardcastle!" the judge barked.

Aggie sat in the wing chair at the corner of the desk, hands clenched, listening intently.

"We got your gardener. You want him back?" said one of the Lijklys.

"Yeah, I want him back. But first I wanna know he's okay. Put him on the phone or I'm hanging up." The judge waited impatiently through a mumble at the other end as More and Les discussed what to do, then dropped his head in relief as he heard McCormick's voice.

"Hey, Judge. These guys have really been pretty nice to me. I mean, they haven't tied me up or anything, so I think you ought to do what they say. You know, meet with them, talk a little, make a deal. Just be ready to act, that's all I'm saying. Are you with me?"

"Yeah, I think I got it, kiddo. You sure you're all right?" Hardcastle winked at Aggie.

"Oh, yeah. Bruises are my specialty. Tell Aggie not to worry."

"Yeah, I will. Put one of the bozos back on the phone and we'll set everything up. Just stay calm and remember the Boy Scout motto."

"Got it. Here's Les."

"So, you ready to make a trade, Hardcastle? We trade your gardener for you, okay? That's the deal."

"Yeah, I'll make the swap."

"No, not a swap, a trade." Les was clearly getting irritated. "You all think we're so dumb, but you guys aren't any smarter than we are. Listen, we're gonna be at the Sunset Diner in fifteen minutes. You be there, but no cops! If we see a cop, your gardener's dead. Understand?"

"I got it. I'll be there and no cops. Fifteen minutes from now." Hardcastle cradled the receiver, then quickly raised it up to his ear again.

Aggie was standing, fidgeting impatiently. The judge held up a hand to her and spoke into the phone. "You got that, Frank? . . . Right, just don't move in too soon. . . Yeah, I trust ya. Get going!" He hung up the phone and said "McCormick told me his hands are free and he's ready to act. They'll be at a diner down the highway in fifteen minutes. I'll tell ya the plan on the way."

ooooo

Ten minutes later, Mark was shoved out a car door by Les Lijkly. He got up slowly and carefully from the gravel in front of the Sunset Diner and said calmly, "That's no way to treat a guy with only one shoe."

Les looked at him, obviously confused. "Just stand right there. Don't move or nothin'."

"Got it," said McCormick cheerfully. "I'm just standing right here."

"Good. Now just stand there and don't move."

Mark was starting to enjoy the Lijkly brand of conversation. You never run out of things to say, he thought.

More got out of the car and came to stand at McCormick's left hand. Les took a position to his right, pistol out in the open, as a familiar gray and black truck pulled into the parking area. Mark resisted an urge to wave.

Hardcastle parked about 15 feet from the Lijkly's stolen car and got out slowly.

"You okay, kiddo?" he called.

"Just fine, Judge. Ready to go home and try that southern cooking."

Hardcastle waved a hand toward the truck as he approached the Lijklys and McCormick. "Yeah, Aggie's real upset and worried about you. I had to put her to bed she was so frantic."

Mark nodded in comprehension. "Well, I sure appreciate your bailing me out, Judge. I've always been your right-hand man."

"Stop talkin' so much!" snapped Les. "You, Hardcase, come over here." He pointed the gun directly at the judge.

"Whoa, wait a minute, Les." The judge spoke calmly and slowly. "If you keep pointing that gun at me, how are you gonna keep McCormick covered? Doesn't More have a gun, too?"

The brothers looked at each other in dismay.

"Guess not. We do it on the count of three." Hardcastle took a breath and said clearly "One . . .two . . . three!"

Mark lunged at Les, grabbing his gun hand and forcing it to the side. The judge dove at More's knees, both of them hitting the gravel and rolling.

Aggie rose from the bed of the truck like an avenging goddess, shotgun aimed and cocked. "Freeze!" she shouted.

Everybody froze.

Suddenly, half a dozen police cars screamed into the parking area. Les and More looked at each other disconsolately, the judge and Mark picked themselves up and went to meet the arresting officers, and Aggie smiled on the entire scene with immense satisfaction.

ooooo

"It's a good thing there's no game tonight," said Aggie. She put the enormous platter of chicken on the dining table and turned to Hardcastle to take the plate of biscuits and the butter dish. Mark was right behind him with the bowl of mashed potatoes and a smaller one of gravy. He'd been banned from the kitchen during the food preparation and was enjoying his first look -- and smell -- of everything.

"Now, you two sit down and I'll bring out the showpiece of the meal," she smiled.

Mark pulled out his chair and lowered himself, but the judge cleared his throat meaningfully and shook his head.

"But she said . . ." Mark gestured.

"A man stands until the lady's seated." Judge Hardcastle looked toward the door leading into the kitchen as it swung open again. "Aaaah! Here we go!"

Aggie set a huge china bowl right next to the judge's plate and seated herself. "Well, I did my best, Milt." She looked at the two men. "Go on, dig in!"

Hardcastle served Aggie some chicken and passed her the potatoes and gravy, then started to fill his own plate. Mark sat and looked suspiciously at the unidentified fried things in the china bowl. He watched as Aggie took some and then the judge took a heaping helping.

"So, what is that?" He pointed at the bowl. "Some kind of vegetable or something?"

"Nope," said the judge with a mouthful of chicken. "It's chitterlings. Try some, they're great! Aggie, this is better than my mother used to make. And if we'd had a cast-iron skillet, it'd be as good as my grandma's!"

"Why, thank you, Milt. Maybe you should invest in a skillet. They last forever if you take care of them. And, after all, this is only the first round of the play-offs. " She smiled at the judge. "I really think they're going all the way this year. I could be here until June, you know!"

Hardcastle grinned. "Yeah, I gotta talk to you about that. You're spending way too much money staying at a hotel." He served himself some more 'chitterlings'. "We got four bedrooms here, plus the housekeeper's suite. Why can't you stay here? You wouldn't need the rental car any longer and it'd be a lot less travelling back and forth. What do ya say?"

McCormick had had some chicken by now, a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes, a sizeable portion of gravy, and two biscuits. But he still had only one tiny unidentified fried object on his plate and was eyeing it with suspicion and disapproval. "Hey, I know!" He left off prodding the object with his fork.

Aggie looked at him and marveled at the way his whole face lit up like a beacon when he had an idea.

"Aggie can have the gatehouse and I could move into the housekeeper's suite. How's that?" He returned his attention to his plate. "But what is this. Really?"

"That's not a bad idea." The judge turned to Aggie. What do ya say? After a thirty-point win in the opening game, it is looking pretty good. And you can't stay in a hotel for six more weeks." He put down his fork and knife to show how serious he was. "Look, if you really want to throw money away, you can toss a few twenties on the barbecue every day, okay? But we'd really love to have you here and it makes sense. Right?"

Aggie laughed, both at Milt's arguments and at Mark's dubious expression as he played with the fried 'thing'. "Milt, that's a lovely offer and I'll certainly think about it. I do need to go back to San Rio for a few days after the Phoenix series, no matter what. But, if they do make it to the quarterfinals, I'll come back and, maybe . . .Mark, dear, it's not chitterlings. Try it. I think you'll like it."

Mark prodded it experimentally one more time, then, with a determined expression, stuck his fork in it and nearly put it into his mouth. "You're not kidding me, Aggie? It's not chitterlings?"

"I promise it's not chitterlings."

Just as he finally put the okra in his mouth, Hardcastle looked up and said, "It's not chitterlings. It's squid."

Aggie spluttered in laughter at Mark's frozen expression, then out of pity said, "It's okra! It's a vegetable, it's delicious and it's good for you. Go ahead and chew it, Mark."

He did, then swallowed and looked up in surprise. "It wasn't bad. I liked the little things that popped. Were those the seeds?"

"Yes, it was. Now try a few more and pass me the biscuits, please." Aggie was still smiling when she turned to the judge. "If they make the next round, I'll come back. But, Milt . . . wouldn't it be a terrible inconvenience having me here?"

"Nope." He smiled as Mark took a huge serving of okra, along with more of everything else. "Everything'd be a lot easier, in fact. Just think about it, okay? And, McCormick. Just remember there's peach pie for dessert."

"All right." Aggie leaned forward and looked straight at the judge. "I'm not going to throw Mark out of his home, but I'll take a look at the housekeeper's suite after dessert. But," she added sternly, "if I stay here, I'm part of the gang. I do some of the chores, cook some of the meals, and catch some of the bad guys. Deal?"

"Well, I don't know." The judge rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I mean, catching the bad guys, yeah, that's okay. But cooking? " He looked at McCormick packing away some more chicken. "We'd both gain about a hundred pounds if we let you cook."

Mark swallowed a bite of chicken and said, "But, Judge. That means you could walk around all day saying 'Now she's cookin'."

Aggie laughed and said, "Now you're both cookin'!"