The Twig

by owlcroft

A mother's influence on a son is everlasting.

Author's Note: This story immediately precedes "Aggie's Visit".

Many thanks to all the people who read and enjoy fanfic, but even more to those of you who write it!

THE TWIG

by

Owlcroft

As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.

"Hey!"

McCormick, making spaghetti sauce in the kitchen, rolled his eyes.

"Hey!"

"What?!" he yelled back, wiping his hands on a paper towel and heading for the stairs. Sometimes I think my name is 'hey'.

Hardcastle was standing at the head of the stairs, holding a clean shirt. "Where's my brown sport jacket?"

"It's at the cleaners, Judge. We can pick it up day after tomorrow." McCormick looked up at the older man and tilted his head to the side. "It's only spaghetti. You don't have to get all dressed up for it."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna have to miss the spaghetti, kid. I got a...uh...well, a kinda...um...well..."

"Enough wells make a river, Hardcase. That's a hoot, ain't it? One of my pals back in the second grade used to say that a lot." McCormick started up the stairs. "What's going on? You eating out just to get away from my cooking? Why didn't you tell me you were going out?"

Judge Hardcastle led the way into his bedroom and started combing through his closet. "I didn't know 'til just now. I just had a phone call from somebody I knew a while back. I haven't talked to her in a long time. She was married to a lawyer I knew. Where's my blue sport jacket?"

"Right here." Mark reached in past the judge and snagged the sport coat. He put it on the bed and then sat next to it. "So, why'd she call and what happened to her husband?"

"Oh, he died, about two years ago. He was a founding partner in a major litigation firm—we're talking big money here—and he left her a pecentage of the firm's profits when he died." Hardcastle held up a white shirt. "How's this, with a black tie?"

McCormick shook his head, took the shirt away and hung it back up. "Let me do this, okay?"

The judge shrugged and continued, "She had a couple of questions about some of the cases that the firm worked on. You know, should they have settled, should they have held out for more, that kinda thing. I'd have been glad to help her over the phone, but she insisted on taking me to dinner as a kind of thank you. Nice lady. Always liked her. Pretty, too. Name's Elizabeth Carlyle."

McCormick held out a light blue shirt and black slacks. "Where she taking you? Do you need a tie?"

"Trader Vic's. It was her idea. She says she hasn't been there since before Eddie died and she'd like to go back, but not by herself." He took the discreetly-patterned blue tie from McCormick. "It's not my idea of a great place, ya know. All that Polynesian stuff and the drinks with the little umbrellas. Hey, what should I order?"

"No, no, no. Black shoes, Judge. Why not get the pressed duck? That goes with any color wine, so it doesn't matter what she orders. And you like sweet stuff like that, right?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea. And if I suggest a nice bottle of wine, we won't end up with umbrellas in our noses."

"If you suggest a nice bottle of wine, I'll come pick you up when you're through. Or you can call a cab. Here, clean handkerchief. When are you picking her up?"

The judge carefully placed the handkerchief in his side pocket. McCormick just as carefully took it out, re-folded it and put in the judge's breast pocket.

"I'm meeting her there at seven o'clock. How do I look?" Hardcastle spread his arms and smiled.

McCormick sighed gently and replied, "Don't feed me straight lines like that when I'm trying to be nice. It's almost six-thirty."

"Oops. Gotta get going. It's all the way down in Beverly Hills. Look, I'm sorry about dinner." Both men were heading down the stairs. "You know I woulda given you more notice if I could, right?"

"Oh, gee, Judge." Mark placed a hand on his forehead. "What ever will I do with all that food?"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, I should only be a couple of hours, so maybe we can get a start on that Alwin file when I get back." The judge was checking himself in the hallway mirror.

"Go. Get. Scoot. You got a date and you're worrying about a file."

"It's not a date. I'm just helping out a friend's widow." Hardcastle looked back through the screen door. "It's not a date."

"Yeah. Sure. You bet. Would you go?" McCormick watched the judge drive off in his black Corvette and thought, And it's about time you went on a date, too!

ooooo

"Milt! Over here!" An attractive brunette waved at the judge from a chair in the bar. Elizabeth Carlyle was elegant in a black linen sheath dress. Her only jewelry was a simple pearl necklace and matching earrings. The shadings of silver at her temples and the tiny creases at her eyes were the only clues she was closer to fifty than forty.

"Elizabeth, you look terrific." Hardcastle took her extended hand and held it for a moment. "I don't think we've seen each other since that benefit the State Bar put on. How've you been?"

A waiter bustled over as the judge sat. "Good evening, sir. Would you care for a cocktail?"

The judge looked at Elizabeth's glass questioningly.

"Oh, it's just club soda!" She smiled impishly. "Can you believe they even wanted to put one of those silly umbrellas in this?"

"That'll be fine for me, too." Hardcastle turned to Elizabeth and continued, "You really didn't have to do this. I'd have been happy to help out over the phone or even come to your house."

She patted his hand gently. "Yes, but I wanted to. This was one of my favorite places before Eddie passed away and I haven't been back since then. It's been almost four years now since I've been here. We used to love the food, the decorations... We always had such a good time and I wanted to come back again with someone I thought would understand." She looked at Hardcastle with a small smile. "You've lost someone, too, and I thought you might be the one to help me with this." The second glass of club soda arrived. "And besides, Eddie always spoke of you as one of the real leading lights of our legal community. He said no one knew the law better and no one understood people better. So," she picked up her glass, "I'm taking a friend to dinner and we'll talk business afterward. Agreed?"

The judge clinked her glass with his. "Agreed."

ooooo

Over dinner, almond pressed duck for Hardcastle and scallops Mornay for Elizabeth, they shared memories of Eddie and exchanged news of their own lives.

"You sure you don't want another glass of wine?" Hardcastle was leaning back comfortably, finishing his own wine.

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, no. One's my limit. And don't even mention dessert—a girl has to watch her figure, you know," she said archly. "Even when she's almost fifty!"

"No! You're not!" The judge was incredulous.

"Yes, I am. In fact, my fiftieth birthday's only ten days away now. My son, Jimmy, will be fourteen in three months. Did you ever meet Jimmy, Milt?"

Hardcastle thought a moment. "I don't remember ever meeting him. I assume he's in high school now? What grade's he in?"

Elizabeth put her napkin down next to her plate. "We put Jimmy in a private school when he was eleven. His teachers told us all through elementary school that he was outpacing the other students and when he wasn't challenged by the curriculum, he became bored and unin-terested. We didn't like the idea of private school at first, but it's seemed to work for Jimmy. He's a wonderful boy, Milt. I'd love for you to meet him. Oh!" Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. "There's an idea! Why don't we go to my house for dessert and coffee? You can meet Jimmy and we can talk about those settlements. What do you say, Your Honor, can you be bribed with rocky road ice cream?"

"If you throw in a cup or two of coffee, you bet!" he answered.

Elizabeth was obviously still remembered at Trader Vic's, as the waiter accepted her signal to put the check on her tab. Hardcastle helped her into a chic white linen jacket and they headed outside.

ooooo

McCormick checked his watch during the commercial. Almost ten o'clock. All right, Judge! He settled more deeply into the leather chair and grabbed another fistful of popcorn.

ooooo

"Jimmy, darling, this is Judge Hardcastle. I know you've heard me mention him." Elizabeth smiled at her only child and extended a hand toward the judge.

"Hiya, Jimmy." Hardcastle extended a hand toward a dark-haired, pleasant-looking youth. "I knew your dad for a long time. It's nice to meeet his son."

"Mr. Hardcastle. It's very nice to meet you, sir." Jimmy smiled and then added, "I still have some home-work, so if you'll excuse me . . ."

Elizabeth shook her head. "That homework! Of course, dear. I'll be in later to say goodnight."

Jimmy headed down the hallway as Elizabeth showed her guest into the living room. Just once, thought Hardcastle, I'd like to hear McCormick meet one of my friends that politely. Oh, well.

Over coffee and ice cream, he examined the accounts of the well-known law firm of Carlyle, Webster and Roberts. There were several cases that had settled before coming to trial and the firm's percentage in each case was substantial.

"I don't know, Elizabeth. It's been years since I was in practice and business litigation wasn't my field. No thanks," he waved away the offer of another re-fill of coffee. "Would you let me take these home and look them over, maybe find out what the going rates are, and get back to you?"

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled gently. "Of course. But I hate to think of you going to that much trouble. I just wondered if the firm wasn't...oh, underbilling in some of these cases. Please, Milt, it doesn't matter all that much and I know you must have so many other more important things to do. I don't want this evening to end with me imposing on you. I've had such a good time." She glanced at the judge shyly. "If you only knew how much it meant to me, to have someone to spend time with, someone to share things with, someone of intelligence and wit and..." She broke off with a laugh. "Now you'll think I'm buttering you up! I'm not." Suddenly, she was serious again. "It's been so long since I've had an evening like this. Thank you, Milt."

Uncomfortable, yet flattered, Hardcastle stood up and replied, "No, I thank you. And I owe you a dinner. How about if I give this stuff a look tomorrow and you pick it up at my place Saturday? We could maybe cook up something on the grill, take a walk on the beach." Now, why the hell did I say that? He wondered. "Yeah, and bring Jimmy along and he can swim in the pool or shoot some hoops. What do you say?"

She stood gracefully and touched him on the shoulder. "What can I say? Thank you, Milt. We'd love to."

ooooo

McCormick was still up, watching the late movie, when the judge got home.

"Well, what do you mean coming back at this hour, you scamp?" he called as he heard Hardcastle shut the front door.

"Wha-at? It's not even midnight yet. And why are you still up?" The judge was peeling off his sport jacket as he talked. "I thought I said not to wait up for me."

"I didn't." McCormick picked up the sport jacket from the floor and hung it over the arm of the chair. "I was trying to watch this Garbo movie, but I just can't. It's one of those things everybody ought to be able to say—'yeah, I saw a Garbo flick once.' But I give up." He was now sitting in the chair with his legs draped across the sport jacket. "So, what happened? How was it? What does she look like? Did you have a good time?"

"No. Well, yeah. It was . . . nice. I guess you could say I had a good time. But it wasn't a date. We talked about stuff, ate expensive, funny-looking food and then I went to her house to get these." He indicated the law firm's account with a wave. "Met her son, too. Nice kid. Supposed to be real bright." Hardcastle yawned expansively and added, "Now, Saturday, that'll be a date."

Yanking the jacket out from under McCormick's legs, he headed up the stairs whistling. Mark sat, mouth agape, then gradually smiled and leaned back contentedly.

ooooo

The next morning, over breakfast on the patio, the judge endured the McCormick Inquisition.

"Yes, I'd say she's pretty. Almost fifty now. He's going on fourteen. I had the duck and she had scalllops. Nope, one glass each with dinner. We talked about music, politics, the Lakers—hey, she told me Jimmy's getting interested in basketball. Maybe he'd like to take in a game. We just went over the firm's accounts and ate ice cream, and it's none of your business, anyway. I don't stick my nose into your affairs. No, I don't, either! Anyway, you'll get to meet both of 'em tomorrow."

By now, Mark had finished both breakfast and interrogation. "So, what's the plan of action, Kemosabe? Tonto fix food, then make tracks with little one while big chief sit in moonlight with pretty lady?"

"Knock it off. She's a nice lady and . . . and I'm just helping her out here." Hardcastle fiddled with the folder of accounts and looked at McCormick from under his brows. "And maybe . . . maybe it could be more than that someday," he said quietly.

McCormick grinned at him and got up, collecting plates and silverware. "You think I don't know that? You're as clear as a pane of glass, Judge. Look, you make your phone calls about the business part, I'll plan out a menu and clean up." He looked at his watch, nearly spilling forks off the plate in that hand. "We'll rendezvous at twelve hundred hours and compare strategies. Move out, soldier!"

The judge sighed, reached for the folder and headed inside to make some calls.

ooooo

At twelve hundred hours, the rendezvous took place in the kitchen. Hardcastle took out the left-over spaghetti and filled Mark in on what he'd found out about the firm's profitability.

"It's all perfectly sound. They're taking on as many cases as they can handle and their fee percentage is right in line with State Bar guidelines. As far as I can find out, the settlement amounts are comparable with others in the same area . They certainly aren't underbilling, so she should be getting her fair share of the profits. I wonder why she started thinking there was something wrong? What are you doing with that?"

McCormick had the spaghetti in a skillet. "I'm frying it. What does it look like?"

"You don't fry spaghetti."

"Yes, I do. It's easy. Watch. Here's the frying pan, here's the spaghetti. Now, we heat up the pan—"

"Yeah, okay, whatever you want. Anyway," the judge was looking for two clean bowls in a cabinet conspicuously missing bowls of any sort, "all I got was good news for her. Where are all the bowls, McCormick?"

"In a box, in the laundry room. I'm cleaning the shelves in here, Judge. So, why would she be asking about the profits unless she needs the money?"

Hardcastle settled for plates. "Yeah, but Eddie left her pretty well off, and the firm's making a good profit. I think she was just trying to take a conscientious interest in the firm. You know, maybe it made her feel like she was making a contribution or something."

McCormick dished up fried spaghetti and sat. "Well, I think it was just an excuse. I think she wanted a reason to spend some time with you and this was what she came up with."

"Hmmph." The judge sampled the fried pasta on his plate. "You really think so?" Mark only nodded since his mouth was full.

"Hmmph." Judge Hardcastle looked off into the distance for a moment, then back at his plate. "Ya know, this isn't bad."

Mark grinned. "Told ya." In between bites, he went on, "I need to know what kind of meal you want to have. A family cookout on the patio, a formal dining room meal, hot dogs in the den with a ball game, what?"

"Hell, I don't know," growled the judge. "Maybe something in between?"

"You can't be 'in between' three things, Judge. But if you mean something 'in between' formal and informal, I've got some ideas."

This time it was Hardcastle who only nodded.

"If you want to fix something on the patio, really good fillets. Inside, chicken cordon bleu already fixed up by the butcher. With either one, we have mashed potato cheese puffs and salad on the side. One would be red wine, the other white. Dessert would be petit fours and coffee with that bottle of cognac you've been saving." McCormick was already rinsing off his plate in the sink.

Hardcastle brought his plate to be rinsed. "You've got this already figured out, huh? Which do you think she'd like better? Steaks or fancy chicken?"

"Well, that, Hardcase, is what you're going to ask her when you call to confirm the time and travel arrangements. Did you plan on picking her up and taking her home?"

The judge wiped his chin and thought about it. "I don't think we decided one way or the other. I'll go call her now and tell her the good news about the firm and find out what she'd rather have."

Mark swiped up spaghetti sauce from the counter. "Hold it! Get back here; we haven't finished yet. Do you know if she, or her son, is allergic to anything? Is there anything they absolutely hate? Red wine gives some people headaches; is she one of them? Will she eat dessert or would she rather have fruit? What does she take in her coffee? What will Jimmy drink? Did you ask them if they wanted to swim in the pool? What time do they normally eat dinner?"

"For cryin' out loud, I just asked her to come over here and eat! I didn't make a big production out of it!"

"Details, Judge, details. Success depends on details and concentration. Now, go call Mrs. Carlyle, have a nice conversation, and get me some answers." Mark put the plates in the dishwasher and closed it. "I've got to get the place cleaned up before tomorrow."

ooooo

"Okay." The judge was rubbing his hands together, looking satisfied. "She's bringing a bottle of red wine to go with the steaks, and she said Jimmy drinks anything non-alcoholic. Neither one of them's allergic to anything and they don't hate anything except Jimmy won't eat squid. She likes a little cream in her coffee and I'm saving the petit fours for a surprise."

"You didn't just ask her all that stuff straight out, did you?" came a voice from under the sink.

"Nah, I was subtle. Trust me, kiddo. I can be as discreet as the first breeze of morning." Hardcastle stooped to look under the sink. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting rid of some of this collection of old sponges, rusty cans of Comet, empty pickle jars and whatever this is." McCormick came up holding a white cloth sack.

"Oh, that's the pin bag."

"Oh, of course, silly me." McCormick handed it to the judge. "Now I recognize it. And it's your pin bag, so you decide what to do with it."

"A pin bag hangs on the clothesline and holds the clothes pins." Hardcastle absently-mindedly put the bag on the counter and Mark sighed. Now it was his responsibility again.

"What kind of steaks did you think we ought to have? And what kind of potatoes were those?" The judge's locomotive was running on one track at this point.

"Trust me, okay? We had those potatoes last Thanksgiving and you really liked them. The best part is they can be fixed ahead of time. And I'll see what steaks look good when we go shopping tomorrow, but we're hoping for good fillets. And you can pick out the flowers for the table."

"Flowers, huh?" Hardcastle was smiling. "Yeah, flowers. That'd be good."

ooooo

At 6:15 Saturday night, Mark was setting the table on the patio. The white carnations he'd picked up to re-place the orange daylilies the judge had bought were a nice focal point. The Lincoln green table cloth and matching napkins made a good background for the late Mrs. Hardcastle's best china and silver. The crystal goblets were ready. The charcoal was lit. The mashed potato cheese puffs were set to go into the oven when the bacon-wrapped tournedos hit the grill. What was missing?

"Judge! Where are ya?" he shouted.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Hardcastle had finished putting the extra towels in the bathhouse in case their guests wanted a moonlight swim. "That looks great, kiddo. What time is it?" he asked, checking his own watch as if it had stopped.

Mark sighed. Then he smiled and said, "I think I hear a car."

"Oh, boy." The judge went through the stone arch, slicking down his hair, just in time to see a slender, dark-haired woman and a boy who was obviously her son getting out of their car.

"Elizabeth. Jimmy." He went to help Elizabeth out of the driver's seat. "Nice to see ya. How was the traffic? Here, let me take that," reaching for the bottle of wine. "Nice to see ya. Hope you didn't mind driving all that way. Oh, hey. I want ya to meet Mark McCormick. McCormick, this is Mrs. Carlyle and her son, Jimmy." He waved an impartial hand at the other three and beamed.

"Mrs. Carlyle." Mark took the bottle from the judge and waited for her to offer her hand. His mother had made sure he knew his manners and if the lady wanted to shake, she'd offer her hand first. The lady didn't, so he turned his smile to her son. "Jimmy, glad you two could make it."

Jimmy didn't offer a hand, either, but that could've been because he was so obviously impressed with Gulls-Way.

"Well, let's all go out to the patio. Or would you rather have a little tour of the place? Whatever you'd like to do. Just say the word." Hardcastle was trying too hard to be a good host. McCormick gently took over.

"Mrs. Carlyle, would you like to see the house first? I have to decant this very nice bottle you brought."

He nudged the judge, who immediately said, "Oh, yeah! This is great, Elizabeth. You really didn't have to, you know."

Elizabeth smiled and said, "I'd love to see the house again, Milt. I remember it as being beautiful, but so comfortable and inviting, too. Jimmy, darling? Let's all go inside for a few minutes."

Mark led the way into the house and let the judge take over the tour while he opened the bottle and carefully poured it into a decanter. Jusst as he was about to take it to the patio, the tour group arrived.

"And I've always loved the way you used color in your kitchen, Milt. Look, Jimmy. Red countertops are so bold, most homes couldn't carry them off. But in this house, they're just right."

Mark felt his teeth starting to ache from the sugar being thrown all over the place. "This is an interesting wine, Mrs. Carlyle. I don't think I've heard of the Caparone Winery, though."

"It's a small place in Central California. They have a very limited bottling and they're famous for their cabernets." She immediately turned back to Hardcastle. "Milt, could we see your gardens? I especially remember the roses your wife grew."

"Sure. You bet." He offered her an arm and looked at Jimmy, who shook his head.

"Thanks, Mr. Hardcastle, but I'd rather study the house a little longer, if you don't mind. I'm thinking of becoming an architect and this is such an interesting layout." Jimmy smiled charmingly. "If that's all right?"

"Oh, that's fine, Jim. Maybe McCormick could show you the gatehouse, too, later on. And I've got a plan of the estate you might want to see. It shows how the buildings were fit into the grounds."

Jimmy thanked the judge and held the door for him and Elizabeth as they headed for the gardens.

"So," said McCormick, hitching a hip onto the table, "do you prefer Jim or Jimmy?"

"I'd prefer," said the teenager coolly, "that you not address me at all."

Mark stared at him in surprise.

"In fact, I'd prefer to associate with you as little as possible. I'll be looking at the outside of the house if my mother needs me." He walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.

McCormick caught him before he'd gotten the front door open. Mark put his hand on the door and leaned his full weight against it.

"Listen, Jimmy, I don't know what your problem is, although I can guess, and you're not going to let it ruin tonight for Hardcastle. You got that? You and me, we're going to pretend to be the best of buddies. Now, you go and look at the house, but when we all sit down to dinner, we're gonna smile at each other and talk to each other and be pals. Okay?"

Jimmy looked at him and sneered as well as a boy that young could. Mark thought he must've practiced, looking in a mirror.

"Oh, sure. In front of the grownups. But if my mom marries old Hardcastle, you'll be out of here so fast you won't have time to pack. Now, get out of my way."

Mark pulled the door open and then stood there for a minute after Jimmy had slouched past him. Was this really just a scheme for Elizabeth to marry money? If it was, would she have told her son about it? Maybe the boy was just dreaming, or maybe he was smart enough to figure it out himself. If it was true.

Mark leaned back against the wall and banged his head on it gently a few times. Don't make assumptions based on what a snotty 13-year-old says. At least, not yet.

ooooo

"Milt, this dinner is just so good. And I insist on having the recipe for those potato puffs."

"Well, McCormick made those. I'm sure he'd be glad to give you the recipe for them." The judge had relaxed and was enjoying himself. "I tell ya, it's nice to have somebody around who can cook a little."

"Yeah," said Mark. "And clean, and mow, and trim, and shop and..."

The judge laughed and waved a hand. "Okay, okay." He glanced at Jimmy, who was nearly finished with his meal. "So, Jim. Your mom tells me you're a basketball fan. That right?"

Jimmy put down his fork and wiped his mouth politely before answering. "Yes, sir. Well, that is, I'm a fan of the sport, but I'm afraid I don't know much about it."

"You know the Lakers are going into the play-offs, right? I got two season tickets and that includes post-season. You wanna take in a game with me some time?"

Jimmy shot a look at his mother, who nodded her approval. "Thank you, sir. But you probably have other people who'd appreciate it more than I would."

"Nah." The judge shook his head. "I was gonna take McCormick here to the opener, but I bet he'd go to the second game instead if you wanted to go to the first one." Turning to McCormick, he continued, "That okay with you, kiddo? You said it didn't matter which game, right?"

Mark nodded and looked back down at his plate. "Sure thing, Judge. No problem."

Hardcastle tilted his head at Jimmy. "So, what do you say, Jim?"

Casting a swift glance at McCormick, Jimmy smiled at the judge and said happily, "Then I'd really like that! I know I could learn a lot about the sport from you. Thank you, sir."

"That's settled, then." The judge looked around the table, clapped his hands together and said, "How about some dessert, everybody?"

"That's another thing I do real well. Fetch dessert. And I'll get that recipe for you, Mrs. Carlyle." Mark put the dinner plates on a tray and started for the kitchen.

"Jimmy," said the judge, "why don't you give Mark a hand with that stuff? Work goes faster with four hands. And you two can get to know each other better."

"Of course, sir. Mom, would you excuse me?" Jimmy gathered up the salad plates and followed after McCormick.

Once in the kitchen together, Mark put the plates in the sink and took the bakery box of petit fours out of the fridge. Jimmy watched him. Mark took the salad plates from the table where Jimmy'd set them and put them in the sink with the others. Jimmy stood by the door. Mark then started the coffee maker, put balloon glasses and the bottle of cognac on the tray and opened the bakery box. Jimmy stayed out of his way. The petit fours went onto a serving plate, which went onto the tray with the bottle and glasses. Coffee cups were set by the coffee maker, with a sugar bowl and creamer. Mark then picked up the tray, nudged open the door to the patio and turned to look at Jimmy.

"You're working too hard. Don't wear yourself out, ace."

Back on the patio, Mark put the tray down. "You two were talking about how much you both like jazz earlier. How about a little music with your dessert?"

The judge grinned at him. "Yeah, great idea! You got that radio out here?"

"Yep. I'll just set it to KKJZ and get the coffee. Jimmy, would you like something instead of coffee?" Mark was determined to be as polite as possible to the little brat.

"No, thanks, Mark. I've got a book to finish this weekend and I think I'll just read over here by the pool. If that's all right with you, sir?" He looked questioningly at the judge.

"Sure thing. What book is it? You got a book report due on it?"

"We're doing Charles Dickens this term. Right now, I'm reading Great Expectations." Jimmy hefted the book in his hand. "I'm enjoying it, but I really do have to finish it before Monday."

"I always felt sorry for Miss Havisham," Mark said. "I know she was nuts and caused a lot of trouble, but I thought she was really kind of pathetic."

Elizabeth and Jimmy looked at him as though he'd grown a third eye. Hardcastle cleared his throat and said, "Well, these look good. Elizabeth, I hope you like them. Would you like a glass of cognac, or maybe just a few drops in your coffee?"

With that hint, Mark returned to the kitchen for the coffee. After setting down the coffee service, he turned on the radio and announced, "If you need anything else, I'll be in the kitchen for a bit."

After putting the scanty leftovers in the fridge, loading the dishwasher, and wiping down the countertops, Mark had still heard nothing from the patio. Assuming they'd be able to handle things themselves from this point, he headed outside. Walking past the garage, he turned right, into the formal garden, and started thinking.

After only a few minutes, he'd figured out what was really bothering him and realized he should've gone down to the beach instead. The white gravel walks and carefully trimmed hedges were ignorable and good for concentrating on a problem. The ocean was the best backdrop for fighting through an emotional problem. And there was a problem.

He assumed Jimmy (and his mother, too) was uncomfortable around him because of his past. Jimmy covered it up with bravado and youthful insouciance. Mark knew how that worked, because he did it himself. But if the judge and Elizabeth really started a relationship, what did that mean for him? Even if she and Jimmy came to accept him, there'd be no place for him in Hardcastle's life. Surely, the judge would give up his 'hobby.' Hell, he and Elizabeth might even have more kids! No, no, she was too old for that. But Hardcase deserved a chance at another family. And if this was the right woman, then, dammit, he'd leave without being told it was time. He'd just have to see what happened between them. It would be hard to wait; nothing as bad as waiting in prison was, but hard enough.

Sighing, Mark headed back toward the house. I'll just get myself a beer. He opened the door of the refrigerator and gasped in horror. It looked like a bloodbath in there. Then he realized it was ketchup. Someone had splattered the entire bottle of ketchup over as much of the fridge interior as it would cover. Mark swore, quietly but with feeling, and grabbed a roll of paper towels.

ooooo

"Now, you're sure you're okay to drive?" asked the judge anxiously. "We could call a cab, or McCormick could drive you back."

"Milt, I'm fine," laughed Elizabeth. "You know I only had one glass of wine and just a modicum of that wonderful Napolean brandy over five hours." She smiled up at him from behind the steering wheel. "I'll look forward to Monday. I haven't been dancing in . . . oh, it must be fifteen years! Thank you for tonight, Milt."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I'll see you Monday." Hardcastle stepped back from the car and added, "'Bye, Jim!"

"Good night, sir," said the detestable Jimmy as his mother blew Hardcastle a kiss.

McCormick stood on the front stoop and watched them out of sight, then turned and went into the house as the judge started up the steps.

"Well. That went pretty good, don't you think, kiddo?" The judge grinned at Mark and threw his head back. "Yep. Good food, good music, good talk. What'd ya think of her? And of Jimmy?"

"She's certainly good-looking, all right." McCormick looked at the judge and added, "And she seemed to have a nice time. I think she really liked the food."

"Yeah. I think so, too. You were mighty quiet tonight, though."

McCormick stretched. "Ah, I'm just a little tired from all the cooking and cleaning."

"Hey, thanks for all that work. You need any help cleaning up the kitchen?"

"No! I mean, it's all done. I got it covered, Judge." Mark wandered a little as Hardcastle settled into his desk chair. "Um, you know how to dance, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. My wife and I used to go out a few times a year. Nothing fancy, a little foxtrot, a two-step, maybe a waltz. But it was fun. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if I brushed up on my dance-steps, though." Hardcastle was starting to hum and Mark headed for the steps to the hall, when he stopped.

He had to ask. "You really like her a lot, don't you?" The judge stopped humming to look up at him. "I mean, you like her in a . . . romantic kind of way, maybe?"

"Nah, not really. She's good company, but . . . well, I don't know. We'll see what happens. That's half the fun, kiddo. Finding out how you get where you end up. Hey! When did you ever read Great Expectations?"

"Think about it, Hardcase. When did I have all the time in the world to just sit around and read?" With that, McCormick was out the door and heading for the gatehouse.

Whoops. Oh, well, make it up to him tomorrow. The judge started humming again.

ooooo

"Oh, Milt, this makes me feel so young again!" Elizabeth twirled at the end of his arm and smiled gleamingly. He brought her back toward him and did a little fancy stepping of his own just so she knew he could keep up. When the number ended, they went back to their table and he offered again to get her a glass of wine or club soda.

"Oh, no, thank you." She patted his cheek. "You are so sweet. I just want to enjoy being here with you. This was a marvelous idea of yours. I haven't had such a good time in years."

"You know . . ." The judge was trying to fan himself discreetly and finding it difficult. "I wanted to ask you something the other night."

"Yes, Milt?" she asked expectantly.

"What did you think of McCormick? I know you didn't much of a chance to talk to him. Guess I kinda monopolized you. But I wondered if you got to know him at all Saturday?"

"Well..." She made a pretty little face and looked at him from an angle that made her look positively elfin. "I certainly didn't mind being monopolized."

"But . . ." he pressed her.

"Oh, I don't know, Milt. He seemed nice enough, I suppose, considering what he . . . Oh, is that a samba? Milt, can you samba? I just love it."

"Nope, never learned. What do you mean, he's nice enough 'considering'?" Hardcastle was relaxed in his chair at the tiny table in the Starlight Room. His eyes never left her as he smiled encouragingly.

"I . . . I suppose I mean considering his background." She smiled again, appealing this time to his understanding. "All I know about him is that he's your most recent rehabilitation project and he certainly seemed polite and well-mannered the other night. Do we have to talk about him? This isn't a night for other people. Tonight's for us!"

"Oh, sure. I just wondered if you maybe felt a little uncomfortable around him or anything. Or if Jimmy did." The judge stood as the band switched to a rhumba. "You'd tell me if you did, wouldn't you?" He pulled out her chair and extended a hand.

"So you can't samba, but you can rhumba?" She took his hand and they swung onto the dance floor. "Milt, right now, I feel I could tell you anything. But let's just dance. All right?"

ooooo

Thursday, Elizabeth stopped by briefly, with Jimmy, to retrieve the firm's accounts, which she'd left with the judge. Hardcastle took her for a walk on the beach, at her suggestion, and Jimmy stayed at the house due to an ankle he'd strained at tennis practice.

Mark kept a lookout from behind the hedge he was clipping, and, sure enough, spotted Jimmy walking toward the north side of the garage. A minute later, he came back around the house and went back inside.

Mark stopped clipping, went to the side of the garage and turned off the outdoor faucet Jimmy'd left running. With a determined look on his face, he headed inside.

"Look, Jimmy," he addressed the boy on the couch in the den, "I know you don't like me. That's fine, 'cause I'm not your biggest fan, either. But you keep doing this stuff and you're going to wreck whatever's going on between your mother and Hardcastle. Now, I don't think you want that, do you? You're not stupid, supposedly, so what's going on?"

"No, I'm not the stupid one in this room." Jimmy sat up straight and closed the book he'd been pretending to read. "You really don't understand very well, do you? If you tell old Hardcastle about any of this, which one of us do you think he'll believe? If I deny doing anything, he'll believe me and that's that. And even if he doesn't, then I'll tell him you're responsible for it all because you don't want him and my mother to get together and you're trying to get me in trouble. I think that takes care of any potential problem, don't you?"

"Yeah, you're bright, all right, but you forgot one possibility." Mark leaned on the doorway and folded his arms across his chest. "Hardcase will believe me when I tell him we had this little conversation. He'll believe me when I explain you got a problem being around an ex-con. And he'll believe me when I tell him you're just trying to make me mad enough to squeal on you and look like the bad guy." Mark straightened back up. "You're not as smart as you think you are, Jim. And I think the best thing in the world for you would be to have Hardcastle as a stepfather, so I'm staying out of this. But I'll be watching you, so knock off the tricks or you and I will have another little talk, not as friendly as this one."

McCormick left and went back to the hedge, feeling morose and angry, but determined to give the judge his chance.

ooooo

"McCormick! Hey, McCormick!" Obviously, the judge and Elizabeth were back from their walk. Mark sighed and put down the clippers. Pasting on a smile, he wandered over to the driveway where the demon child, his mother and Hardcastle were waiting for him.

The judge smiled and waved him to come over faster. "Elizabeth and Jimmy wanna see the gatehouse. I told 'em it's your place, so you oughta be there. You take over the tour for me, okay? I got a quick phone call to make."

"Sure, Judge. Right this way, lady and gentleman." Mark forced himself to stay friendly, even jovial. As he gave them a quick run-down on all he could remember of the gatehouse's history (too bad Sarah had retired; she knew every person who'd ever been inside the place), Elizabeth exclaimed and pried and kept as far as possible from Mark without being rude. It was obvious she'd hoped for a different escort. Mark lost sight of Jimmy when he had to follow Elizabeth into the kitchen. She opened every drawer and cabinet and then even the dishwasher.

A sudden screech brought them both back into the greatroom at a run. Jimmy was on his stomach, armed stretched out under the couch, steadily hauling a small calico cat out by the tail.

"Jimmy!" His mother was horrified.

Mark was horrified, too. He was also furious, alarmed and grabbing Jimmy's arm before the boy even knew he'd been observed.

Hardcastle chose that moment to enter the gatehouse. "I thought I heard something," he said mildly. "What's going on?"

Mark was pale with anger. "Jimmy pulled Scout's tail." Then he clamped his lips together and took the frightened animal into the kitchen.

"That true, Jim?" The judge's tone of voice was still mild, but his expression was stern.

"I'm sorry, sir," faltered Jimmy. "We were playing and he was chasing my hand. I thought I had hold of one of his legs. I never meant to hurt him."

Mark was now retrieving Silver (Scout's litter-mate) from even further under the couch. He went back to the kitchen, still silent.

"Elizabeth?" Hardastle turned the matter over to the responsible adult, who promptly said, "Oh, Jimmy, darling! You know I've told you to never play with animals. You could've been badly scratched! I'm sure you'll never do it again, will you, dear?"

"No, Mother." Jimmy was solemn and repentant.

"Ju-udge," Mark was back and he raised his brows at the older man. "He pulled Scout's tail. Shouldn't there be a little more here?"

Elizabeth took a sudden breath. "Oh, yes! Thank you, Mark. Jimmy, come here and wash your hands thoroughly. You don't know what diseases that animal could be carrying." The two went into the bathroom, Elizabeth still chiding her wayward boy.

Mark sighed, defeated. The judge looked totally bemused and shook his head.

"I don't know, kiddo. Let's just leave it at that for now. Scout okay?"

"Yeah, they're both just scared. I gave them a can of tuna to make it up to them."

Hardcastle nodded. "But don't let Jimmy back in here alone, understood?"

"You can count on that, Judge."

ooooo

The next morning, Hardcastle was deep in the editorial page when McCormick finally stumbled onto the patio looking for food.

"What happened to you?" The judge put down the paper and peered closely at Mark's bruised cheek.

"Nothing. Just tripped." Mark sat gingerly, holding his left shoulder awkwardly away from the table. He reached with his right hand for the plate of toast, but the judge stopped him.

"Hold it, sport. Just tripped? What's wrong with your arm? Where'd you just trip?"

"I tripped on the top step to the loft, all right? I fell against the little table there, but I'm fine. Just give me the toast and I'll be even better."

"'Could've been worse, I guess. You could've been headed down when you tripped." Hardcastle was passing the butter in Mark's direction also.

"No, I couldn't've." McCormick put down the piece of toast he was trying to butter with one hand and sighed heavily. "Judge, I think I have to tell you about this. Stupid pranks are one thing, but this is different."

The judge sat, waiting. When McCormick didn't say anything for a few seconds, he said, "Okay, let's have it."

"Jimmy tied a pair of my shoelaces together and then tied them across the head of the stairs so I'd trip. He must've done it right before going after Scout yesterday. And that's not the first thing he's done. He threw ketchup all over the inside of the fridge and tried to leave an outdoor faucet running wide open." Mark rested his head on his right hand. "Judge, I didn't want to tell you about this until things had gone further along with you and Elizabeth. I didn't want you to be influenced by anything Jimmy's done."

"Well, speaking of me and Elizabeth, I should be getting a phone call this morning that'll pretty much decide exactly what I'm going to do. I just missed the guy I wanted yesterday afternoon. But he's supposed to get back to me any time now." Hardcastle shoved the pitcher of orange juice in Mark's direction. "Soon as I get that call, I'm gonna get Elizabeth over here with something specific I need to say to her."

"Oh, yeah?" Mark's appetite was completely gone now. "You wanna tell me what that something specific is?"

"Aaaah . . . better not. Not until it's completely confirmed. You know, not hearsay anymore?"

Mark nodded wearily. "I'm gonna take some more aspirin."

ooooo

The judge's call came, he then called Elizabeth, and one o'clock was agreed on for their afternoon get-together. Next he went looking for McCormick to tell him about it. He found Mark in the rose garden, kneeling beside one of the late Mrs. Hardcastle's roses.

"What the hell?" the judge stopped dead.

McCormick slowly stood up and turned to face him. "I don't think it's dead. We may be able to bring it back."

"What happened?" Hardcastle was gingerly touching the broken, shredded canes, trying to push them back into position on the plant.

"I left a hoe out here yesterday and I guess he thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. The trunk's still healthy. I think no water and no fertilizer for a while. It's been traumatized, but if we shade it and prune the broken canes off, it's got a chance. I'll check with the guy at the garden center this afternoon." He looked soberly at the judge. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, me, too. This Mr. Lincoln was her favorite red rose." Hardcastle stood and brushed off his knees. "Well, that just put the bow on the present." He took McCormick by the arm, being careful it was the right arm, and pointed him toward the house. "Elizabeth's coming here at one o'clock for another talk about the law firm and I asked her to bring Jimmy, too. I think it's time we got everything straight between us. You know, had a little heart-to-heart."

Mark nodded. "I've been looking at apartments in the want ads. I could go check a couple of them out while Elizabeth's here."

The judge stood, dumfounded, in the middle of the gravel walk. "What?"

"I said, I could go look at a couple—"

"No, no, I heard what you said. I just don't understand it. Are you still speaking English? What do you need with an apartment?"

"Oh, come on, now." Mark pulled the judge into motion again. "Didn't you think I'd figure it out? You're not going to want me around here after the honeymoon. Okay, maybe that's not going to be for a while, but it doesn't hurt to get a headstart." He checked Hardcastle's expression and found it puzzling. "So, you got any ideas for lunch? Or are we having leftovers again?"

"Let me get this straight." The judge had stopped walking again. "You think I'm gonna to ask Elizabeth to marry me, she's gonna to say yes, and we're gonna kick you out so we can be a happy little family of three here. Have I got that right?"

McCormick was confused by the ferocious tone Hardcastle was using. "Well, isn't that what you're doing?"

"No! I've been trying to find out about the law firm Elizabeth's husband founded and what's been going on with the billing. The way to do that is to get information from the partners, and compare it with what I'm hearing from her. One of the partners works for the State Bar now and he's been in and out of town all week, so I only just got a chance to talk with him. With me so far? Good, now try to keep up."

By this time they were in the kitchen. Mark automatically opened up the fridge and then flinched, unsure what he'd see inside.

"Get out the beans and the ham. And the mustard. Now, this guy (his name's Bill Cleveland and he's a real straight-shooter) told me Eddie Carlyle was a real gouger. They were making a hefty profit, but he'd nudge the bill up regardless of the outcome and if they made a settlement with an insurance company—" Hardcastle pointed upward with the bread knife in his hand. "Right through the roof!"

"So," said Mark slowly, putting the ham on the counter, "she got used to big profits and when her husband died and the other partners took over, the profits were still good, but not as large as they had been."

"Bingo! Now, Bill says the firm's billing just the way it should and everybody's happy. Lots of clients, lots of profit. But the widow needs more money than they're providing, so she comes to me to see if they're cheating her somehow. And she gets a look at this place again and it occurs to her maybe the place needs a 'woman's touch. And that maybe she's just the woman for the job."

Hardcastle was slicing the ham way too thickly, but Mark wouldn't have interrupted for the world.

"So, she tries out her feminine wiles on me and I . . . well, I kinda enjoyed it. It was nice being the center of a pretty woman's attentions again. It was fun to go dancing again. But I figured her out after that first dinner together. She needs money and she needs help with that handful of a kid of hers. And, by the way, they didn't put him a private school because he's so smart. He got kicked out of his public school for attacking a teacher two years ago and no other public school would take him. Here."

McCormick took the plate he was handed over to the table. "You want milk or beer?" he asked the judge.

"Coffee. I'll get it." Hardcastle put his plate on the table and reached for a paper napkin. "So, Elizabeth . . . see, there's a point right there. Why Elizabeth? Why not Liz, or Beth, or Betty? Nope, it's got to be Elizabeth. Anyway, they're coming over this afternoon and I'm gonna have a real talk with her about the firm and the way they do business. And I've got the name of a good kid therapist. Jimmy obviously needs some professional help."

Mark swallowed ham and said, "Then you were never really interested in her? Except as a case?"

"Oh, well . . . maybe for a little while. But she's way too young for me. Sure, it was fun going out again, but you can date a woman without making a commitment, ya know. Anyway, it'll all be settled this afternoon and the cats can come out of hiding. And you can stop being paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid! I was trying to help! I just wanted you to have a chance with her . . . if you wanted one, which it turns out you didn't. That doesn't make me paranoid. It makes me an idiot."

Hardcastle reached for the beans and said, predictably, "Now yer cookin'."

ooooo

When they arrived, Hardcastle escorted Elizabeth and Jimmy to the side lawn, where a small table had been set out that matched the white wrought-iron chairs.

"Milt, this is charming! What an incredible view of the ocean. If I lived here, I think I'd spend hours just looking at the sea." She leaned toward the judge. "You never get used to it, do you?"

"Nope. Never do." Hardcastle leaned away from her slightly. "Can I get you anything? This may take a little while."

A tinkly laugh preceded, "Oh, no, thank you, Milt. I'm happy to just 'drink in' the view." Another tinkly laugh.

Mark thought of a windchime and how satisfying it would be to bash it with a hammer.

"Well, I want a beer. McCormick? You want one, too?"

"Yeah, Judge, Tonto go fetch firewater." He started up, but Jimmy beat him to it.

"I'll get it for you, sir. I'm supposed to be flexing my ankle, anyway." Without waiting for a reply, he was off at a fast walk.

McCormick thought of a supposedly-injured ankle and how satisfying it would be to bash it with a hammer. Then, ashamed of himself, settled for thinking about tossing the brat into the pool.

"See, Elizabeth, I've been talking to people about standard billing practices and they all agree the firm's doing fine. They're making a good profit, and if they took on any more clients, they'd have to expand and they're not ready to take on any more associates right now. Even if they did, that might temporarily lower your share since associates bill at about half the rate of partners."

Jimmy was back with two cold cans of beer. He handed one to the judge and one to Mark, then settled back in his chair.

Mark opened his beer and took a small sip.

Jimmy's jaw dropped and then he looked at Hardcastle with alarm.

"The bottom line here," the judge went on, popping his can open. He was interrupted by a beer fountain. Cold beer was suddenly dripping from his nose, his chin and even his ears. The only sound was a faint hiss of beer suds.

Well, he thought, this gives me a good chance to find out if she knew about his tricks.

"Jimmy," he said aloud, wiping beer away, "that's it. You've been asking for a lesson and I'm just the man to give it to you." He stood slowly, left hand resting on his belt buckle, right hand clenched in a fist.

The expected shout of "No!" still surprised him, since it was McCormick who was suddenly standing between him and Jimmy. A McCormick who was wide-eyed and a little shaky, but determined.

"No, Judge." McCormick had both arms extended to bar his way. "Please. Don't hit him."

"Okay, kid. Okay. I won't." The judge extended a hand tentatively. "I promise I won't touch him."

"It doesn't work. Hitting a kid only teaches him it's okay for people to hurt you. Don't hit him."

Hardcastle had both hands on Mark's shoulders now. "I won't. I might want to, but I wasn't going to. I'm not going to touch him. Hear me? Nobody's gonna hurt anybody else. Now sit down here for just a minute while I get the trash taken out."

He turned to Elizabeth. "You knew, didn't you? You knew about all the pranks and dirty tricks and stuff. And you didn't care enough to try to protect your son from me. I think you'd better leave now. And stop bugging your husband's firm or I'll report it to the bar."

Elizabeth was graceful in defeat. "I'm sorry, Milt. Of course, we'll leave immediately. Jimmy. Let's go, dear."

"Elizabeth?" The judge held out a piece of paper to her. "This is Doctor Pierson's number. He's a child psychologist and he's expecting a call tomorrow to set up an appointment for Jimmy."

Elizabeth took the paper, but Hardcastle wondered if she'd really call. As she and Jimmy left, he turned to McCormick to find him recovered enough to look faintly embarassed.

"You okay?" Hardcastle sat down next to Mark. "I really wasn't gonna hit him. I just wanted to find out how much she knew about his, um . . . extracurricular activities."

"Yeah, I'm fine. You're the one who's wearing beer as a fashion accessory." Mark looked at the judge. "I guess I kind of overreacted, huh?"

"Let's just say you reacted. I mean, think about it. I made it look like I was gonna hit a kid, somebody else's kid, too. You reacted by trying to keep a kid from being hurt. How could that be a bad thing?" Hardcastle stood and pulled McCormick up with him. "Can we go wash the beer off me, now? It's getting in my eyes and it stings."

ooooo

The judge was driving Mark crazy that evening. The Alwin file had disappeared and Hardcastle had been looking for it for almost twenty minutes.

"Judge, it's not in here. There's food in here, there's cutlery, there's pots and pans, but no files. Not even one. Now, put the cutting board down and go look in the poolhouse. You haven't looked there yet, have you?" Dinner was going to be even later than planned if Hardcastle insisted on searching the whole kitchen.

"Dammit. It's not gonna be in the poolhouse. I know I saw it this morning." He picked up the newspaper on the table to look under it. " Hah! I knew it! Right here all the time. And here're your classifieds. You seem to have circled some of the apartment ads," he said playfully. "Let's see what we've got. Oh, here's a good one: 1BR, 1 BA, 1st and last mos.—"

"Give me that!" Mark grabbed the paper and tucked it under his arm. "Go on. You've got your file, now go play with it until dinner is ready."

Hardcastle chuckled and picked up the file. Then he hesitated. "You were really gonna move out, huh?"

"Yes, I was really gonna move out, Judge. What? Did you expect me to go along on the honeymoon to baby-sit Jimmy? That's a romantic image. You and Elizabeth cuddling beneath the moon on a cruise ship, while I'm tying Jimmy to an anchor." Mark was obviously still feeling a little tender about his emotional display of the afternoon and Hardcastle could sense the remaining embarassment.

"Hey, look, I'm the one who should have hurt feelings, here." The judge put the file back down and leaned against the counter. "All Elizabeth really wanted was money, either from the firm or from me. She wasn't interested in me, just my bank account. All you did was try to keep a kid you don't even like from being hurt. Who's gonna host my pity party?"

"You? You want pity? You got to date an attractive woman and go dancing and be fawned on, and I got to deal with Jimmy the Hun!"

The phone rang just as McCormick was getting into his stride. Hardcastle hid a smile. Sounded like the kid was feeling a little more normal already.

"You want pity?" Mark reached for the phone. "I'm being physically attacked by a bantam-weight moron— No, no, ma'am. I'm sure you're not a moron."

The judge covered his mouth with a hand. Someday he'd really have to teach the kid how to answer the phone.

"Really?! Of course I remember you! Where are you right now? You're kidding! This is terrific!"

Hardcastle mouthed Who is it? To McCormick, but was completely ignored.

"Have you had any dinner yet? Then we're taking you out. We'll go to the best steakhouse in L.A. Have you ever been to Lawry's? We'll get the Caesar salad and everything; you'll love it! Yeah, he's standing right here, but he's being a donkey, so you can't talk to him."

At this point, Hardcastle reached for the phone with both hands and, rather than end up on the floor, Mark handed it over to him. "Bye!" he shouted at the receiver. "See ya in half an hour!"

"Hello," growled the judge. "Who is this?"

"Milt," said a familiar voice, "It's Aggie Wainwright. The Lakers are in the play-offs!"