Suspicion

by owlcroft

A peeping tom disturbs the neighborhood, but Aggie Wainwright helps the guys nail him.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and no living persons, living or dead are meant to be offended or infringed hereby.

Beta Thanks: With gratitude to S.Z., C.D., L.M.L. -- you all deserve a really good story, and maybe some day I'll write you one.

Author's Note: My thanks to L.M. Lewis for the loan of Professor Sturgis, to whom we were first introduced in "Fork in the Road". Good characters get borrowed.

Introductory Explanation: This is another story first published in "Pastiche A Trois". To all of you who bought our 'zines and gave us so much encouragement and support, this story is dedicated gratefully.

SUSPICION

by

Owlcroft

Mark McCormick sat in the den, making a grocery list and waiting for Judge Hardcastle to get back from his sign meeting.

"Arkansas donkey," he muttered as he wrote down 'hot dogs'. "I keep telling him 'Slow Children Playing' means there are dumb kids running around." He wrote 'beer', then paused and thought for a moment. 'Okra' was the next item he entered, smiling. It'll be great to have Aggie staying here again. Ol' Hardcase's really excited about it. That big toothy grin of his is so . . . cute. Well, not cute. I dunno, endearing maybe. He wrote 'potatoes', then added 'eggs'. Endearing, for cryin' out loud. Get a grip, Skid.

He reached for a spoonful of mac and cheese from the bowl on the coffee table and heard the truck pull up in front of the steps. As soon as the front door slammed, he called out, "Welcome back! How'd it go?"

Judge Hardcastle stumped slowly down the steps into the den, scowling ferociously. "Hah," he muttered. He leaned against the front of his desk and stared at the rug silently.

"That well, huh?" Mark took another spoonful of cold mac and cheese. Swallowing hugely, he said, "They didn't like your ideas?"

"What?" The judge lifted his head and stared at McCormick, slouched on the couch. "What're you eating?"

"Mac and cheese. There's a little left if you want. What happened? I didn't expect you back for another hour."

"Ah, we had a little trouble. Never even got to the proposals." Hardcastle shook his head. "See, we were all sitting around, having coffee and talking, and we were just about to start discussing the signs when somebody screamed. You know the Andersons have a teen-age daughter, right?" Seeing Mark's nod, he continued, "Well, she was in the shower and somebody looked through the bathroom window at her and she screamed and came running out in a towel and everybody jumped and yelled and I ran outside to try to--"

"Hold it!" The tablespoon clanked as McCormick set the empty bowl down sharply on the coffee table. "You did what?"

"I ran outside to try to catch the guy, or at least see where--"

"Ju-udge. Are you crazy? The guy could've had a gun. What were you thinking? Didn't they teach you better than that at cop school?"

"Well, I didn't stop to think, and besides there was nobody there by then." Hardcastle straightened and went to sit behind his desk. "Okay, maybe it was a little careless . . ."

"Careless is one word for it." Mark leaned forward and spoke seriously. "Stupid is another one. Judge, you know better than to take a chance like that."

"Yeah, I know. You're right." The judge sighed heavily, then added, "But when you hear a girl scream, you just react. I should've thought about it and maybe taken a look through a window or something, but . . . it's instinctive, I guess. You gotta try to find what's wrong and make it right again."

"Yeah, I know." McCormick cocked his head slightly. "But you could try to be a little less instinctive. Maybe let somebody else lead the charge once in a while. Hmm?"

Hardcastle waved a hand at him. "Yeah, yeah. You're trying to tell me to be careful so you don't hafta worry when you're not around to take care of the poor old geezer, right? Well . . . I appreciate it." He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desktop. "'Sides, I wasn't the first guy out there anyway. Her brother was already there, combing through the hedge. Seems he was sweeping off the tennis court when he heard Ashley scream and heard the guy run off, but he couldn't get through fast enough to get a look at him or see which way he went." The judge swiped a hand across his chin thoughtfully.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Well, I'm going down to the local station tomorrow to see how many people have filed reports on this creep. Turns out two people at the Andersons think they might've heard something outside their windows the last coupla weeks. I'm also going to check into anybody who moved here recently or anybody with a record of trespass or voyeurism."

"You mean people who like to travel?" Mark hmmp'ed and stood up, retrieving his bowl.

"Har, har. We've already decided to re-institute the neighborhood watch and you're signed up for the ten to midnight shift."

"Oh, come on. Ten to midnight?" groaned McCormick. He grabbed up the grocery list and wrote down 'brussels sprouts' in a fit of pique, then looked up suddenly. "Hold it! We can't be driving around on patrols with Aggie here. It wouldn't be polite, leaving her here alone all night."

"That's right," nodded Hardcastle. "So she can go on patrol, too."

McCormick sighed. "At least tell me I don't have a gun-crazy lunatic for a partner this time."

"Nope," smiled the judge with satisfaction. "Ya got me."

ooooo

Mark knelt next to Aggie's patio chair and held up a re-filled wine glass. "This glass, to you, once my hand has left, leaves my heart in tune, so far bereft." He grinned at her expression.

"Well, thank you. I think." She looked at him quizzically. "Was that poetry? Are you quoting something?"

"Nah." He resumed his own seat and took up his own wine from the glass-topped table. "It's just all the stuff I've been reading for class. Great literary classics. 'The Mill on the Floss', 'Tristram Shandy'."

"Did you ever finish that?" Hardcastle leaned forward to push the bowl of almonds toward Aggie. "I tried twice to read that thing and never got past page eight."

Aggie scooped up a handful of nuts and nodded. "Me, too. We had it in high school and I think we all agreed we'd rather fail than read it."

"Well," Mark assumed a prideful expression. "I got to page twenty-six!" He looked at their dubious faces and added, "But only 'cause somebody bet me I couldn't make it to twenty-five."

The judge made a face and grabbed a few almonds himself, while Aggie chuckled.

"So I was telling Milt," Aggie took a sip of her wine, "that it's just such a change to come into Los Angeles and be one of the people with friends there to yell at me and wave and act excited. I used to feel so . . . I don't know exactly . . . left out maybe? A little lonely." She smiled at the judge. "But now there's somebody with the yells and waves and hugs waiting for me. It almost feels like coming home."

McCormick waited for the judge to say something gracious, realized that wasn't going to happen and spoke up himself. "Well, it feels like you're coming home to us, too, Aggie." He raised his glass to her in a salute and grimaced slightly to Hardcastle. "Welcome home!"

"Oh, yeah. You bet." The judge belatedly lifted his glass, looking around at the others.

Aggie set her wine down and rested her elbows on the patio table. "You don't fool me for an instant, you know." She tilted her head and quirked a smile at the judge. "You're thinking about the case we're going to be working on, aren't you?"

Mark leaned back and waited for Hardcastle to shout "We! Whaddya mean 'We'?"

Instead, the judge shrugged apologetically and said, "Yeah, I guess I am." He turned a blind eye to McCormick's obvious incredulity.

Aggie's eyes lit up and she grinned hugely. "Tell me about it."

"Well . . ." Hardcastle set his glass down carefully and took a deep breath. "It seems we've got a peeping tom in the neighborhood. Just started a coupla weeks ago, but there've been three incidents already. People are getting a little shook up about it. It's not that voyeurs are dangerous – usually they never commit any other crime at all. But nobody likes their privacy invaded and around here, we're a little sensitive to trespassing, too."

"What about records, Milt?" Aggie tried to sound professional and experienced. "Do you know of anyone who fits into the typical voyeur statistics? Is there someone in the area who's got a background of this type of behavior?"

Hardcastle shook his head and frowned. "Now, that's what's wrong with all these cop shows. Folks watch some kinda TV program and think that's the way law enforcement really works. I mean, yeah, I could go downtown, and if there's anybody who's got a record of this kinda thing, that'd be someone we can keep an eye on. But there's really no 'profile' of this type of crime. It could be anybody, male or female, any age, any background, any level of education. It's almost an anonymous type of crime." He shrugged. "And, as it happens, there's nobody in the area with a record of anything like that."

"Then what do we do?" Aggie looked from the judge to McCormick. "We don't just sit around and wait for another incident, do we?"

Mark had gotten over his astonishment. He snorted and said, "No, we go out on patrols in the truck and hope the guy's stupid enough to get caught in the act."

"Patrols?" Aggie was incredulous. "That's it? Why not set a trap for him? Have people hiding somewhere so when he starts peeping, they can jump out and grab him?"

"We're doing that, at the three houses where the incidents have already occurred. But," the judge held up a minatory finger, "that's not what your part is gonna be. You're gonna be in the truck with me, checking out some of the more remote places in the area."

Aggie and McCormick both beamed at him.

"You and me," purred Aggie, "in a remote spot, late at night. Oooh, sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, you might be gone all night." McCormick tried hard to sound self-sacrificing. "Of course, I'll be here, waiting by the phone in case anything happens. I'll be ready to dash out and round up the bad guys, see that justice is done." He stood, then slapped his forehead. "No, I won't, either! I've got class tomorrow night."

"Okay," Hardcastle waved a hand at him. "I'll let you off patrols on that basis, but when it's not a class night, you get to drive, kiddo. It's your community, too, ya know. We all have to do our parts."

"Yes, Judge. Okay, Judge." Mark collected empty wine glasses. "I'll go start dinner now, Judge."

"Oh, no!" Aggie stood as well. "Dinner out tonight! On me. Milt told me about this terrific Mexican place that just opened. It's supposed to have the best, most authentic chicken mole' in L.A."

McCormick left them to argue over who would pay.

ooooo

"But they've still got their shells on." Mark held a shrimp on the end of his fork so Aggie and Hardcastle could see it clearly.

"Yeah, you lose a lot of flavor if you cook 'em peeled. Look," the judge held a shrimp belly-up and placed his thumbs side by side. "You just pull it apart and then the whole thing comes out. See?" He popped the shrimp in his mouth and chewed slowly. "Mmmm. Delicious," he said thickly.

"I don't know about this," muttered Mark.

Aggie had been steadily devouring her portion and now dabbed at her mouth and said, "So, I've got two meetings tomorrow, one with that parts supplier I told you about and that'll probably take most of the day. If my investment manager can hustle through his part, I should be free by no later than five o'clock. Dinner by six, six-thirty at the latest, and we can get to the community center right on time for the meeting. Then, it's off to the Great Peep Patrol."

"Now," the judge cleared his throat and pointed a seafood fork at her, "I don't want you taking this too casually, okay? Whoever's out there probably isn't dangerous, just needs a little help with the clockwork, if you know what I mean. But we're not gonna take any chances, and I'm in charge. Got it?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" She saluted and returned to her shrimp. "These have to be some of the best shrimp I've ever had. And you say the mole' is the real deal?"

"Yep." The judge watched McCormick wrestling with his shrimp and winning two falls out of three. "They even thicken the sauce with the blood." He waited for the reaction and was not disappointed.

"Blood?" Mark was appalled. "Blood! Really? They really put blood in the sauce?"

"That's what the recipe calls for. It acts as a thickener, you know, when it clots."

Aggie smiled impishly, then quickly covered her mouth with her napkin. "Umm. They probably say coagulates, Milt. It sounds better. But my grandmother did the same thing whenever she slaughtered a chicken."

"Yeah. Mine, too. They didn't waste anything back in those days." Hardcastle pushed his empty plate away and considered the aghast McCormick face across the table from him. "You ever see a chicken slaughtered, kiddo? They chop off the head and then the rest of the chicken runs around for a while before it realizes it's dead. Tends to be a little messy."

Aggie had her face buried in her napkin, rocking back and forth with suppressed laughter.

"You do this on purpose," said McCormick accusingly. "You do this on purpose, and it's not funny, either!"

"Nope, nothing funny about it." Hardcastle reached for his glass of beer. "Traditional recipes, traditional ingredients, traditional methods of preparation. Now, the menudo they serve here --"

"I know, it's tripe. Chitterlings. Aggie, make him stop," pleaded Mark.

Aggie, still giggling faintly, held up a hand and said, "I think this is our waiter, boys, so time to behave."

McCormick looked up at the waiter and asked, "Is there really blood in here?"

"Excúseme, por favor. No entiendo."

"Uh, sangre aqui?" Mark raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Ah, momentito, 'favor." The waiter set down their plates and hurried off.

"See, he'll go ask the cook and if there's blood in this, I'm leaving," said Mark with a dark look at the judge.

Moments later, their waiter returned with a glass of red liquid. "Sangría," he said, setting it down in front of McCormick.

ooooo

The community center was packed by 7:30, when the judge stood up at the front of the room and waved everyone to silence.

"Okay, we all know what's been going on, right? And we all know the patrols have been reinstituted." He looked around at the nodding heads of over fifty people. "I've done a little checking and there's nobody with a record of voyeurism in the whole area and nobody recently moved here, so that means it's probably somebody who's resident and has either been doing this for a while and never been caught, or is going through some kind of stress and it's triggered something latent."

Mrs. Hendry waved an agitated hand. "I thought Mark McCormick was in charge!"

McCormick, seated in the front row next to Aggie, smothered a grin and turned to face her. "I'm in charge of burglars and car-thieves. But the judge is much better acquainted with peeping toms than I am, so he's in charge of this." He smirked at Hardcastle, who was glaring at him, arms akimbo.

Hardcastle assumed a false smile and murmured, "Thank you, Mr. McCormick. Now," he raised his voice again, "we've got the patrols going again, but we need some volunteers to stake out a few particular homes. We got some requests from a coupla of our neighbors in the hills who live alone, and they're feeling a little nervous right now. So, after we're done here, I'm going to ask any of you who'd be able to spend a couple of hours a night at one of them, just for company and to keep an eye out, to sign one of those papers over on that table." He gestured to the right side of the room. "Also, the police would like to recommend, very strongly, that those of you who don't have alarm systems, get one. Even a just a motion detector. And don't try to protect your property. If you hear or see anything, call the police and stay inside your house. Whoever this is, is probably not dangerous, but there's no need for anybody to take any chances. And besides," he paused and looked around the room slowly, "if this turns out to be one of your neighbors, you really don't want to be out there pointing guns at 'em, do ya?"

"Milt," a heavy-set man in a purple jogging-suit raised his arm. "I'm not sure I understand why you think it has to be one of us. Why can't it be somebody from 'outside'?"

"Well," the judge shrugged and spread his hands, "there's no way to know for sure, but usually these guys stick pretty close to home so they have a place to run for if they're spotted. They also tend to get a bigger kick out of peeping at folks they know, rather than strangers. So, yeah, I'd like to think it's somebody from somewhere else, but chances are it probably isn't."

"What about alibis? Can't we start eliminating people if they have solid alibis for at least one of the incidents?" The speaker was a tall blonde woman. "For example, you and I were both at the Andersons when they had their 'incident'. Doesn't that leave us out?"

"Good point, Marie," nodded Purple Jogging-Suit. "I was home with Edgar that night and neither of us left the whole time." He smiled complacently.

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "That is a good point, but we have to have alibis that don't depend on spouses . . . or whatever," he added hastily. "People who'd lie for you are no good for alibis. How many of you here have an alibi based on somebody other than a spouse or family member?"

Approximately half of the attendees raised their hands; the rest sat silent and faintly resentful.

"Okay, so I'm gonna ask those of you with your hands up to help out with the patrols and stakeouts and the rest of you start having company over for dinner or cards or something. Who knows, this could be great for community relations. Really bring us together as neighbors, ya know? Get to know each other better and find a lot of common interests."

McCormick, who had not raised his hand, glanced at the others still under suspicion and thought how little the judge really understood human nature.

ooooo

Aggie shone the flashlight on the map again. "Now where does this lead to?"

"Mrs. Allenby's. She's a widow, lives alone up at the end of the lane." Hardcastle wrestled the truck around a sharp curve, then leaned over to point a finger at a specific point on the map. "Right about there. She's a tough old gal, refuses to have any kind of alarm system. Says she's never bothered with 'em before, and would rather be burgled than have to worry about setting off alarms every time she goes through the door."

"She sounds very, uh, interesting." Aggie turned off the flashlight and put the map on the dashboard,

"Eccentric might be a better word. Stubborn fits pretty well, too."

Aggie smirked just a tiny bit, but the judge noticed anyway.

"You're thinking about the pot calling the kettle black, huh?" He slowed a bit, easing the truck into and out of a dip in the road. "Yeah, maybe. Hey, did I tell ya we put in an alarm at the beach steps? McCormick got all bent out of shape, thinking about people climbing up and raiding the place. Me, I figured they'd be too out of breath to do anything but lie on the lawn and pant."

Aggie laughed. "I've climbed those steps, and you're right! Actually, you're probably both right." She turned toward the judge and rested an arm on the back of the seat. "You probably did need some kind of security there, especially now that the beach is open to the public. And you can't blame him if he worries a little. It's his home, too, you know."

"Well, he wasn't worried about people breaking into the gatehouse. He was worried about me, dumb kid."

"And it really bothers you when people worry about you, doesn't it? You old bear, you." She reached over to pat his arm affectionately. "But you're not going to make us stop, either of us."

"Yeah, I know. It was a good idea." Hardcastle swiped at his chin, then looked out of his side window. "There. See the light through those trees? That's the Allenby place. We'll turn around up here and sit for a bit to make sure everything's okay. I told her we'd be up here about this time."

"Surely this would be a little too far for your peeping tom? I mean, if he's sticking close to home? How in the world would he get up here and then back again if someone were chasing him?"

"It's a long shot, but I worry about her being so far out all alone. I figured she'd feel better if we checked her out, and it only costs us about ten extra minutes."

"You're a nice man, Milt Hardcastle." Aggie leaned her head on her hand. "You're thoughtful and caring and totally decent. I like that in a man."

The judge smiled wryly. "What're you buttering me up for now?"

"Not a thing."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the pine surf and a few night birds. The trees hid most of the stars, but the moon was up and nearly full.

Suddenly Hardcastle said, "What investments do you have out here, anyway?"

"Well, that's kind of out of the blue, isn't it? Here I was thinking how romantic this is, and you're thinking about investments?" Aggie shook her head sadly. "Oh, Milt. I'm so disappointed."

"Oh, yeah? C'mere, you."

After a few more minutes, the judge spoke again. "I was just curious about how often you needed to come to L.A., that's all."

Aggie ran a hand through her hair and straightened her jacket. "Need? Probably just once a year. But Harry and I bought some property here on the edge of the financial district years and years ago and it's getting close to the time when I should sell it. My agent is telling me he wants to put it on the market next month and I wanted to check out the area for myself before giving him the go-ahead."

Hardcastle pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You ever think about moving back to the States? Maybe moving to L.A. permanently?"

"Sometimes. Not yet, though." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "My home's still San Rio for now, Milt. But there'll come a time, maybe a couple of years, maybe a little more, when it'll be right for me to sell the charter business and then . . . I could see living here. I'd still have the palm trees and the ocean breezes." She laughed. "The chicken mole'!"

"Well, when the time comes," he cleared his throat, started over. "When the time is right for you . . ."

"When the time is right, you'll know it." She looked at him with moonlight glinting from her eyes. "You'll be the first one I'll tell and then we can decide what to do. Is that a deal?"

"That's a deal."

Twelve minutes later, the last light in Mrs. Allenby's house went out.

Four miles away, a shadowy figure perched on an electric meter was peeping into a bedroom window.

ooooo

"Well, yeah, but we're civilians," Hardcastle tapped his fingers on his desk irritatedly. "You know there's only so much we can do." He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone line for a moment. "Of course, I understand that. All I'm saying is people are starting to get really bent out of shape about this and they'd appreciate a little show of support from the authorities." He listened again, then shook his head in resignation. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll keep in touch. But I'm telling ya now, the folks around here are getting upset and angry, so let's hope we get this guy soon. Yeah, 'bye."

Just as he cradled the receiver, he heard the Coyote pull up in front of the house, the muted growl of the engine dying almost immediately.

"Milt, we're back! Come and help!"

"Yeah, yeah," he called back and made his way, grumbling, up the steps to the hallway.

Aggie was balancing a bag of groceries on one hip and fumbling with the doorknob.

"Here," the judge opened the door and scooped up the bag just as it slipped from her grasp. "Oof! What you got in here anyway, bricks?"

"That's the one with the potatoes. On the counter's fine." She turned back to the Coyote for another bag.

Hardcastle carried the bag into the kitchen and unloaded a twenty-pound bag of potatoes plus two six-packs of beer.

"So," Aggie preceded Mark into the kitchen, each carrying two more grocery bags. "What did Lieutenant Murphy say? They have any leads yet?"

The judge helped them distribute groceries over the counter. "Nah. The only description anybody's come up with is a kinda tall guy, who might be short, and an idea that he's on the young side, since he can run so fast. That's a whole lotta help!"

"Here," Aggie handed him a carton of eggs. "Fridge. Well, we had an interesting experience at the store."

Mark cleared his throat meaningfully. "Ah, Aggie. I thought we weren't gonna say anything about that?"

She shook her head at him. "No, I said I understood why you didn't want to bother Milt about it." She turned to Hardcastle and glared at him. "Mark was getting the beer while I was over in the produce section and a couple of your neighbors had the infernal gall to hint to me that he was the peeping tom! Just because he has a record!" Her outrage was growing as she recounted the incident.

McCormick put the cereal boxes away and reached for the plastic bag of apples, saying nothing.

"Do you even know the Thompsons? Big gawky guy with a sneering, frumpy little wife? Not a brain between the two of them? The nerve of those people!" She snatched up the bag of tomatoes and waved it threateningly at the judge. "They tried to warn me about Mark! They thought I'd better know what he was! You better believe I told them where to get off! The idiots!"

Mark sighed and spoke up. "Well, I don't have an alibi yet, you know. They're . . . upset. And nervous."

"Hah!" Aggie looked at the tomatoes in her hand and said wonderingly, "I don't remember buying these."

Hardcastle rubbed his chin morosely. "The Thompsons, huh? Well, they're kinda on the dim side. But, I'll have a little talk with 'em."

"No, you won't!" McCormick closed the cabinet with a snap. "You'll leave it alone! I'm not the only guy without an alibi. You just catch the peep and everything'll be fine. You hear me? I don't want you going around defending me, okay?"

"Yeah, but--"

"I mean it, Judge." Mark put the onions in the bin at the end of the counter. "Besides, how do you know it isn't me?"

The judge made a face at him. "Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot you like to go out at night through the weeds and sneak up on people's houses. Come on, give me a break here."

"Well, I'm just saying maybe you can't blame people for suspecting me. They probably suspect a lot of other guys, too. The Windles said they were --" McCormick broke off suddenly.

Aggie and the judge looked at him consideringly.

Judge Hardcastle spoke first. "The Windles said what? They been talking to you about this? They say something about suspecting you?"

Mark shrugged and put a loaf of bread in the breadbox. "They just said Ricky Windle was sitting up late with a shotgun 'til this is all over and they wanted a few specific people to know that. See," he smiled at the other two. "It's not just me."

"Not just you. That's terrific," said Hardcastle in disgust.

"Milt," Aggie put a hand on his arm. "Would it help if you called another meeting and made a list of all the people who don't have alibis yet? Maybe it would narrow down the field and we could --" She tapped at her chin with a thoughtful finger. "Or would that just make things worse?"

"Well, you're too late with that idea. Phil Anderson's already called another meeting." The judge sighed. "See, the problem here is that only about half of the people in the area come to the damn meetings, and only half of them have alibis that are worth anything. So, all he's gonna do is get people riled up about how the cops ought to've caught the guy already and now we've got that idiot Windle waving his shotgun around." He sighed again, deeper. "Well, maybe we can get enough folks in the clear that we can set some more watches and run some more patrols."

"The meeting's at seven-thirty again?" asked Aggie practically. "I've got to get dinner going. Shoo!"

"Dammit," muttered the judge, scratching his head.

ooooo

By seven-thirty, the community center was filled with a raucous, animated crowd of frightened and angry people.

Hardcastle took one look at the mob and muttered, "Oh, boy!" Then, forcing a smile, he strode to the front of the room, closely followed by Aggie and Mark.

Mark made sure Aggie was seated comfortably and then looked casually around the room before sitting himself. An almost complete quiet had fallen as most of the crowd realized he was there.

The judge cleared his throat ominously and glared indiscriminately from one side of the room to the other. "Well. I understand Phil Anderson called this particular session. Phil, you got something you want to say before I start in?"

"Yes, I do, Milt." Anderson stood and glared right back at Hardcastle. "This has gone on long enough and people are tired of the police doing nothing to help us! We sit around every night, now, listening for footsteps outside. We keep our shades drawn and some of us keep . . . well, we keep a little protection close at hand. What are the cops doing anyway? We pay more in taxes than most people in this state and what do we get for it?"

Murmurs of support were rising throughout the room.

"Nothing! That's what!" continued Anderson. "We get the big run-around. We get told 'handle it yourselves'. Well, by God, we're ready to handle it ourselves! I, for one, am not going to live in fear any longer!"

The murmurs had changed into muted shouts of approval and agreement.

"It's time we put a stop to this situation by identifying the creep and putting him where he belongs!" Anderson nodded defiantly at the judge, who'd held up a hand, palm out.

"You're right," said Judge Hardcastle, mildly. The angry conversations and mutters died down in surprise. "But now it's my turn to talk for a minute. First, you know the police are stretched pretty thin right now and I don't think anybody here thinks that burglaries and arsons and murders are less important than a peeper problem." He looked at the crowd intently. "I talked to Lieutenant Murphy again this morning and he's doing his best with the staff that he's got. Remember, guys like this rarely hurt anybody, steal anything, cause any property damage. Now is catching this guy more important than going after burglars or arsonists or murderers?"

A few heads were shaken, but a voice from the back shouted, "We only have your word for that! How do we know this isn't some crazy killer scoping out his next target?"

"You don't. Nobody can tell you exactly what's going through the guy's head, but we're going on probabilities here. We don't even know for sure it's someone from this area, but again, that's what's probable."

Anderson, who had resumed his seat, now stood again. "Well, Milt, I'm sorry to say it, but probabilities just aren't good enough any more. We need to take action and I have a suggestion to make that you're not going to like."

Aggie closed her eyes, bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Mark sat, stolid, with a conspicuous lack of expression.

Hardcastle folded his arms across his chest. "Then you better save it 'til you've heard the rest of what I have to say. I didn't want to do this, but it looks like it's necessary at this point." He grimaced. "We're going to have to check alibis." He held up a palm again against the renewed murmurs. "I'm going to ask every one of you to put down the date and time of one of the incidents where you have a stone-cold alibi, and that means no family members, no spouses, no close friends, nobody who'd lie for you. There are pencils and pieces of paper on both those tables over there. We'll check out the alibis and once we've verified --"

"Hold it!" called the voice from the back again. "Who's 'we'? Who checks the checkers? We know you've got an alibi for that night at Phil's, but what about McCormick? Is he going to be checking my alibi? He's not in the clear himself."

More raised voices and arguments erupted, but the voice from the back of the room rose over all the noise. "How do we know it's not him? He's been in prison for other stuff and you know that's got to warp a person."

"That's it!" thundered the judge. "All of you, sit down and shut up! Now!"

Most of the crowd quieted. The remaining few were abashed into silence by the angry stares from Hardcastle, and from Aggie, who'd turned to face them.

"You, Windle! You sit next to a window with a shotgun at night, ready to shoot anybody who comes into your yard, don't ya? Well, let me tell ya something, sport. It's illegal in this county to shoot anything without a permit, or even just to fire a gun into the air. How's that grab ya? You think I oughtta have the cops keep an eye on ya? And, you, Anderson. You talk about taking action. Exactly what action did you have in mind? You gonna just railroad whoever you think it might be? You ever hear of something called evidence? Demonstrable proof? If you have any, I'd sure like you to share it with the rest of us."

"You've got to be kidding, Hardcastle! You set yourself up as the Lone Ranger and then accuse us of being a lynch mob. That's sheer hypocrisy! And I'll tell you what else," Phil Anderson was so angry, he was nearly stuttering. "I've had enough of your being in charge of this! You sit there on that estate of yours, knowing you're perfectly safe, while the rest of us are out here, being preyed on by this sicko! I've had it! How many of you are --"

Aggie stood, looked disdainfully at the crowd, threw a glance at Milt and said to Mark, "I don't know about you, but when people get crazy, I leave them to it. Let's go."

The meeting dissolved into a multi-person shouting match, with not a few remarks directed toward the judge and McCormick as they left.

The ride home in the truck was silent until Mark spoke up. "Yeah, they sure found a common interest, didn't they?"

Aggie patted his arm gently. "They're just afraid. What's happening is a terrible invasion of privacy, and everyone's afraid of the unknown. And besides, they're idiots."

The judge snorted. "That pretty well sums it up."

"So, what do we do now, Kemo Sabe?" McCormick rested his head on the back of the seat. "Do we still go on patrols? There's no point in my sitting around waiting to get an alibi. Nobody'd believe it anyway."

Hardcastle thought for a moment. "I'm really tempted to just let 'em stew in their own juices, but there are a lot of good people here and they don't deserve a guy like Anderson or that Windle running the show."

"But," objected Aggie, "it sounded to me like you just got fired."

"Hah! They can't fire me; I don't work for them. But I think we'd better keep an ear to the ground and stick together for a while." He looked across at McCormick. "You don't go anywhere alone 'til I say so, got it?"

Mark took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. "Judge, look. I'm not a little kid. I can take care of myself and this is nothing that I haven't gone through before. Remember the fine folks in Arkansas? Hell, they even turned on you when the going got tough."

Judge Hardcastle snorted, then said, "Yeah, but it would make my job a lot easier if I didn't have to be wondering what mess you'd gotten into, okay? If I just knew where you were and what you were doing for the next coupla days. That's not asking too much."

McCormick thought about that, then agreed glumly. "Yeah, okay. Hey, Aggie. You gonna help me mow the south forty tomorrow?"

She smiled, nodded. "You betcha."

ooooo

When they arrived home, McCormick said he was headed straight to the gatehouse. "Another four chapters due," he explained.

"What is it this time?" asked Aggie.

Mark smiled briefly. "'Seventeen', by Booth Tarkington. It's really pretty funny."

"You gonna be okay?" The judge asked gruffly.

"Yeah, yeah. Aggie's right, they're just scared." McCormick shrugged casually. "Most of them probably feel guilty now anyway. Besides, they have to blame somebody. Why not me?"

"How about 'cause you're innocent? That seems like a decent reason to me." Hardcastle scowled fiercely.

Mark shrugged again. "But they don't know that. It's okay. Really. I'll be done by patrol time."

"Oh, good," said Aggie thankfully. "I really need to go over some of the paperwork for that real estate deal, Milt. Could I beg off tonight? I'll make it up to you tomorrow." She winked suggestively.

Hardcastle cleared his throat and blushed, while McCormick pretended to find something interesting in the grass.

"Yeah, well, sure." The judge recovered his self-possession and took charge again. "You," he pointed at McCormick, "go read. You," he pointed at Aggie, "into the house. We're gonna make sure you know how the alarm systems work if you're staying here alone."

Aggie took his arm as they walked toward the main house. "Do I really embarrass you, Milt, when I tease you? If I do, I'll stop."

"Uh, yeah, a little. I don't mean it's a big thing, but . . . I guess I'm not used to it, that's all." He harrumphed and added, "I mean, what I'm trying to say is . . . um, it's not . . . I mean, I suppose I kinda like it, that's all. Don't worry about it." He patted the hand on his arm.

"You're secure enough in your own manhood to be teased, is that it?" Aggie grinned wickedly. "I like that in a man, too."

"You're a real firecracker, you know that?"

"Yep." She reached for the screen door and pulled it open. "You want a snack or anything? A beer?"

"Nah. I figure I'll drive tonight. The kid's still a little upset." The judge led the way down the steps into the den.

"He's really a nice person, isn't he? I don't understand how people, even what's commonly called 'good' people can be so cruel at times." Aggie dropped into the leather chair at the end of the judge's desk. "I know they're frightened and nervous, but don't they know him well enough by now?"

Hardcastle sniffed disparagingly. "Apparently not. They're still thinking in stereotypes. The peeper can't be one of them, so it has to be somebody else. Who's the outsider here?"

"Well, it's totally unfair." She ran a hand through her hair irritatedly. "How in the world did Mark not end up being bitter and twisted? Instead he puts up with stuff that would make me scream and tries to understand why people are being such jerks. How does he do it, Milt?"

"I dunno. I've wondered that myself a few times." He rubbed a hand idly across the desktop. "We've never talked a lot about his mother – she died when he was twelve, ya know – but I think she may've had something to do with it. Or it could be inborn, I suppose. You know, part of his personality. I guess it's the old nature versus nurture thing, where it's probably a combination of both." He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Or maybe it's a kind of defense mechanism; don't tick anybody off, don't take anything personally because you might get hammered for it. It would take a psychiatrist to figure it out, I guess."

"Well, all I can say is you have some really pathetic neighbors. And don't try to excuse them to me." She glared at him. "There's no excuse for that kind of thing."

He raised a hand peaceably. "I'm not gonna defend them. There isno possible defense for the mob mentality."

"Stupid," she muttered.

As they brooded over prejudice and injustice, the phone rang.

ooooo

"You set those alarms now, you hear me?" the judge told Aggie sternly.

"Yes, Your Honor," she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Big bully." She turned to McCormick. "How was the book?"

"I finished it. Went pretty fast. You ever read it?" He was climbing into the truck.

"Nope. You recommend it?" She stepped back onto the sidewalk.

"Yeah, it's hilarious in parts." He raised his voice to a saccharine squeak. "'Berp werp. Berp werp werp.' That's my favorite line from the whole book." He grinned down at her through the truck window as the judge turned on the ignition.

"Well, that's certainly intriguing," she grinned back at him. "Now, you two be careful!"

Hardcastle waved from the driver's side as he drove around the fountain.

"Hey," he said, "you remember Professor Sturgis? From the potluck a coupla years ago?"

McCormick stirred uneasily. "Yeah. Why?"

"He called about an hour ago. Said he was delayed at the university and missed the meeting, but he heard all about it from some of his neighbors who'd been there." The judge looked both ways, then drove slowly across the PCH and up into the hills. "He said it sounded like they all acted like a bunch of lunatics and he wanted you to know that not all of the folks around here have brains the size of lima beans."

Mark chuckled. "I bet that's not exactly the way he put it."

"No, but it was pretty close. He used words like 'deplorable' and 'mass hysteria' and he offered an apology on behalf of the people who weren't there to back you up."

"He's a pretty nice guy." McCormick thought for a moment, then added slowly, "I've met him a few times, you know . . . um, downtown."

"Yeah, Bob's one of the good guys." Hardcastle peered through the windshield at a movement in the road ahead. "Ah, just a deer. Yeah, and he said there were a bunch of other folks who felt real bad about what happened."

"I know, Judge. Really." Mark fiddled with the flashlight on the seat between the two men. "I'm not upset."

"Well, if you're not, you got a problem. You oughta be upset! These people are supposed to be your neighbors. They acted like uncivilized nut-cases back there and you ought to resent it at least a little." Hardcastle stopped and teased at a thought for a moment. "You don't resent it, do you? Because you think you don't have the right to resent it?"

McCormick said nothing, just stared out the windshield.

"Hmm." The judge was silent himself for a short while. "If that's the reason, then you got a brain the size of a lima bean. I'm not looking to set up as some kinda therapist here --"

"Good!" Mark interjected.

"But, you got the same protections and safeguards as everybody at that meeting tonight, ya know." Hardcastle thought for another moment. "You're probably just not used to thinking of the law being on your side, instead of the other way 'round." He glanced over at the quiet McCormick. "I know you've heard my little talk on 'the law's for everybody'. Weren't you paying attention? Or didn't you believe it?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The law protects all of society, not just the rich or the powerful, blah, blah, blah. I got that, Judge. But this isn't about the protection of the law. This is . . . I dunno. The law can't fight prejudice or distrust. Not if it doesn't affect my job or . . . or my health or something." He shook his head. "You know what I mean. Slander and libel and stuff, there are specific laws about that, sure. But the law can't do anything about people talking behind your back and looking at you like you were something sticky on the bottom of their shoe."

"No, that's true. And it's not much help telling you to just ignore them, is it?" The judge took a deep breath, then released it slowly. "But, remember one thing. You're not standing out here all by yourself now. Professor Sturgis is just one of a lot of folks around here that only think of you as one of their neighbors . . . somebody to have over once a year for a potluck, or to send a Christmas card to every year." He paused briefly, then continued, "And ya got me."

McCormick thought about that, then smiled. He looked at Judge Hardcastle, who was staring stolidly straight ahead, and shook his head wonderingly. "Yeah. I guess I do."

ooooo

The judge was furious. "Aggie! Aggie! Where the hell are ya?" he shouted, stomping down the hallway toward the kitchen.

"Gracious, Milt! I'm not in the next county!" Aggie stuck her head out the kitchen door. "Mark, come look, brownies!"

McCormick edged past the judge, who was standing in the middle of the hallway, arms akimbo, still spoiling for a fight.

"You made brownies? Look, Judge. Brownies." Mark saw that wasn't going to work, shrugged and went to the fridge for the milk.

"Agnes Marie Wainwright, I told you to set those alarms when we left," uttered the judge coldly.

Aggie looked at him condescendingly. "I know. And I did. But then that nice Mrs. Hendry showed up with these for Mark. I had to let her in, Milt." She reached into a cabinet for three glasses, then cast the judge an inquiring look. "Are you going to join us or would you rather stand there and be a donkey?"

"Stick to what you do best," Mark murmured. Aloud, he said, "Mrs. Hendry brought these for me?"

"Yes, she did," said Aggie, pouring milk. "She said she felt terrible about the meeting and hoped you didn't think everybody felt the way the stinkpots did. And yes, that was the word she used and I think it fits. Oh, and she also said to tell you that you were the only one Milt's had here that was worth a darn."

Hardcastle had unbent far enough to accept a glass of milk and a plate with a brownie on it. He put them both down on the kitchen table and sat. "Okay. But why didn't you set them again when she'd left? That gate was wide open when we got home." He looked at her sternly.

"Well," Aggie joined him at the table. "I had an idea."

The judge groaned; McCormick grinned.

Aggie grinned back at him impishly. "Now come on, Milt. Eat your brownie and listen to me for a minute." She took a sip of her milk, then licked off the white mustache. "Do you two remember when that Anderson jerk said something about you being safe here on the estate?"

Both men, mouths full of chocolate and walnuts, nodded.

"Right after that, I stood up and turned to face your fine friends and neighbors, and I noticed one guy in the back with a funny look on his face." She leaned her chin on a hand. "It bothered me because I couldn't identify it at first, but once we got home, I realized he looked self-satisfied. Smug. Like someone had just bet him a thousand dollars he couldn't get the pickle jar open." She stopped to take a bite of brownie.

"I gotta thank Mrs. Hendry tomorrow. Maybe I could change her oil for her," said Mark blissfully.

"So the guy was smirking. So what?" Hardcastle looked at Aggie intently.

Aggie swallowed a bite of brownie and said, "He'd just heard you were safe here. That you didn't need to worry about the peeper. I think he saw it as a challenge, so I sat and waited to see if he'd show up here tonight. I think he's the guy, Milt!"

"Hold it." Hardcastle pinched the bridge of his nose. "First, we don't even know who he is --"

"He's Ricky Windle. Mrs. Hendry told me."

"Oh, boy. Okay, you think Windle's the peeper because of a look on his face?" The judge assumed an expression of resigned patience. "Aggie, listen. We all want to find the guy, but we can't be jumping to conclusions like Anderson and his pack of mad dogs. Windle probably just had a case of indigestion or something."

"Hah! Well, listen to this, then." Aggie sat up straight and tapped the table with her index finger. "After Mrs. Hendry left, I turned the system on, but left the alarms off and got your shotgun and waited next to the alarm console to see if any of them would light up. And guess what! Somebody came up the beach steps and touched the window of my bathroom! I mean, the bathroom in the housekeeper's suite!" She sat back proudly. "So there!"

The judge was stunned. "You what?! You . . . you . . . what?!"

Aggie put a hand on his arm coaxingly. "Now, Milt. I was in absolutely no danger at all. That's what you've been telling us all along, right? And I had the shotgun with me, although I didn't load it. It was just too good an opportunity to miss."

Breathing deeply, Hardcastle glared at her and said bitingly, "Don't you ever --"

McCormick momentarily stopped exterminating brownies. "Wait a minute, Judge. Windle wasn't home tonight, remember? We went by their place and heard Mrs. Windle yelling where was he."

The judge nodded, reluctantly diverted. "Yeah, true, but come on. He's the guy who's been sitting on his porch with a shotgun waiting to fill the peeper full of lead." He looked thoughtful. "But we only have his word for that, don't we?"

"Yeah, and," McCormick reached for his milk, "his only alibi was his wife, remember? And you keep telling me the best defense is a good offense. Maybe all that stuff about the shotgun was just a cover."

"I don't know about this. It's pretty thin."

"It's worth checking into."

Aggie smiled at them both patronizingly. "Oh, I have a better plan than that." She laughed. "Now, Milt. Remember your blood pressure!"

ooooo

Mark had left for the gatehouse in the middle of a heated argument the night before and, rounding the corner to the patio for breakfast, was curious to see how the situation had resolved itself.

The atmosphere at the table was distinctly frosty.

"Brrr!" he said, as he sat. He chafed his arms and added, "I think I'll dig out my ice skates."

Aggie chuckled faintly as he reached for the bacon. "It is a mite chilly out here this morning," she offered him the plate of eggs, then peeked discreetly at the judge.

Hardcastle was doing a little peeking of his own over the top of the sports section. The peeks met, both retreated, and Mark sighed.

"Come on, you two. I can't eat like this."

"If you'd been on the Titanic, you'd've been eating when the ship went down." The judge put the paper down and rubbed his nose. "Okay, maybe we're not exactly acting like grown-ups here. But I was upset last night." He sighed and looked directly at Aggie. "You took a chance with that idea of yours, and it would've been nice if you'd told me ahead of time. Okay?"

McCormick turned to Aggie. "Your turn."

She nodded. "You're right, Milt. I probably should've told you. But I thought it was such a long shot that you'd laugh it off. And you kept saying the guy wasn't dangerous."

Mark turned to the judge. "Your turn."

"Yeah, but we're not sure. Suppose he'd been a crazed-yogurt killer or something?" As Mark turned back to Aggie again, Hardcastle yelled, "Knock that off, McCormick!"

Aggie looked confused. "A crazed yogurt-killer?"

"Never mind. Tell ya later. The point is," the judge moved his coffee to one side so he could rest his elbows on the table, "you took a chance, no matter how small, and you didn't even tell me first."

Aggie smiled at him. "So you're not saying I can't decide what chances to take, as long as you're not surprised when something happens."

Hardcastle wrinkled his nose in thought. "Um, yeah. I guess. It'd be nice if maybe we consulted on some of the big chances beforehand."

"Milt, you are one of a kind." She extended a hand and he took it. "I suppose I've been on my own for so long I'd forgotten what it's like to have someone else around who'd be concerned. I didn't mean to upset you. And I promise we'll consult on the big chances."

"Okay. And I promise I'll try not to hold you back and treat you like a 'little woman'. Fair enough?"

McCormick sighed happily and reached for the bacon again.

"You wanna leave some for the rest of us?" growled the judge.

"Nope."

ooooo

That night, at eight o'clock, McCormick stood just inside the arch leading from the side lawn to the patio. He could hear the judge and Aggie squabbling on the balcony above his head.

"But you can't just say a guy's expression . . ."

"He showed up; that's the proof!"

"Coulda been coincidence . . . not evidentiary . . ."

"Don't call it feminine intuition!"

"-- difference between that and gut instinct -- "

"Oh, yeah?"

When it reached that point, Mark hissed, "If I have to come up there, you two'll be sorry!"

A complete silence fell.

Everyone waited in the darkness. The quiet was broken only by the faint sound of the surf on the beach.

By nine-thirty, McCormick was so bored, he was checking his pulse to make sure he was still alive.

A metallic tap sounded above his head: the signal from the judge that meant the beach steps alarm had tripped.

Mark knew that Aggie had immediately headed for the stairs to the housekeeper's suite, where she would, supposedly, act as bait in the tiny bathroom there. The light had been left on and was a source of great pleasure for every moth within miles.

The silence was unbroken for several more minutes, then McCormick heard the tiniest rustle in the grass from the other side of the stone wall. He waited.

Aggie's scream, the signal to move, coincided with an astonishing shatter of glass. The judge's bellowed "Hey!" came just a split-second later.

McCormick was already through the arch and reaching for the shadowy figure huddled in front of the now-glassless window.

"Hold it, don't move!" Hardcastle shouted. "I got a shotgun pointed right at your head!"

Mark grabbed the whimpering, moaning figure by the shoulders, spinning him away from the house and pushing him onto the ground. "Aggie," he shouted over his shoulder, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she called back to him. "But I think the glass got him when I broke the window."

By the time the judge and Aggie had joined them on the lawn, Mark had begun wiping the blood from Windle's face and checking for any glass in the distraught man's eyes.

"How's he doing?" Hardcastle peered at Windle. "Does he need the paramedics?"

"I don't think so. I think the cuts are pretty shallow, and the cops will have him looked over, right?"

"Oh, no. Please, no." Windle touched his face delicately with his fingertips. "Not the police. I never hurt anybody."

Aggie had been silent up that point, holding her bathrobe closely around her throat. "Never hurt anybody? Never hurt anybody! You sick bastard. You have no idea what you've done!" She shivered involuntarily and stepped back a foot or so. "I'm going inside."

The judge looked after her, somewhat surprised by her reaction. Mark wrestled Windle to his feet and said, "Help me get him into the truck. You can cuff him to the seat belt and I can take it from there. Just be sure you call the station before we get there."

Hardcastle found Aggie in the den, on the couch with an enormous glass of brandy. She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "Did you find my jar of cold cream?"

"Is that what you threw at him?" The judge lowered himself next to her and reached for the snifter. After a healthy sip, he returned it. "Nope, didn't look for it. It'll be there in the morning." He put an arm casually across the top of the couch behind here. "Besides, you don't need it."

"Hmm. Is this your soothing, there-there manner?" She drank a little more brandy, then set the glass on the coffee table. "I don't even remember throwing it. I was expecting to see someone, but when he pressed up against the glass . . . I guess I snapped."

The judge shrugged and edged his arm a little closer. "Understandable. Your defensive instincts kicked in and you reacted. Perfectly reasonable."

She leaned her head back against his arm and sighed. "Understandable. Reasonable. Huh." She turned her head to face him. "Then why was I so panicky? I don't even remember throwing anything! I lost it, Milt. Until Mark called me, I couldn't move. I knew what was going to happen, but it still affected me . . . I can't even imagine what it would be like if I hadn't been expecting it."

"Well, let's hope you never find out, okay? You want some more of that brandy? Maybe some hot milk instead, or a heating pad or one of the cats to hold?"

She snorted wryly. "What I really want is for you to tell me you would've reacted the same way. That I'm not just a big coward after all."

"You're not just a big coward after all." He pulled her closer and positioned her head comfortably on his shoulder. "I'm telling you it's a normal, healthy reaction. There you are in your home, safe, where things are familiar, then all of a sudden somebody takes it all away. They make it all . . . strange, unreal, dangerous . . . by invading your sanctuary. I remember an expert witness we had for one prosecution. He said it was a violation of personal space and it triggered one of the most basic reactions we have." He reached for the brandy snifter and they each had a little.

"So, you gonna sit here and get snockered? I gotta call the station and let 'em know what's headed their way, but then we can get the bottle out and I can get a glass of my own."

She grinned up at him. "Not on your life. You make your phone call while I'm changing, then you can show me how well you drive that red hotrod. We've got a date at the police station."

Hardcastle grinned back at her. "That's my girl."

ooooo

Aggie sighed. "I can't believe it's my last night here. Where did all the time go?"

McCormick gently waved a hand at a moth attracted by the lights around the patio. "You know, you don't have to go back tomorrow. You could call the airlines and put it off another couple of days."

"No," she said slowly. "I really do have to go back now." She looked at the judge, who was fiddling with something in his jeans pocket. "If I don't, I'll miss the start of the tourist season."

Hardcastle had managed to pull something small and shiny from his pocket and was now turning it over and over in his hand, staring at it thoughtfully.

Mark leaned forward and rested his elbows on the glass-topped table. "So, when are you coming back?"

Aggie shrugged. "Short-term, maybe six months, a year at the most. Long-term?" She smiled contentedly. "I'm retiring in two years, no matter what. There's a nice young couple interested in taking over the charter business, and they'll have the capital to buy me out by then. After that . . . well, we'll see."

"Hey, Judge, did we tell you we saw Phil Anderson at the post office?" McCormick took a peek at what Hardcastle was holding and smiled to himself. "He said he was glad everything worked out okay." Mark snorted ironically. "That was it. No apology, no explanation, no nothing. Just 'hey, how great some poor guy's in the can'. So much for good community relations. Can you believe that?"

"Yeah, I do." The judge closed his hand over the object and looked up. "People believe what they want to believe and one thing they never believe is that they've acted like fools. Just remember, not everybody made jackasses out of themselves. You got some good friends here."

"Yeah, I know." McCormick glanced at Aggie and said, "I think I'll get some more of that pie. You want a piece?"

"Oh, please," she moaned. "No more food. You two just want to make sure I don't have to eat for a week."

Mark looked meaningfully at the judge as he rose, and nodded toward Aggie emphatically.

"Yeah, yeah, go on!" muttered Hardcastle.

The two sat in silence for a few moments, then Aggie spoke. "Milt, I have to thank you for putting me up here again. And for putting up with me, too, maybe! I've had a wonderful time."

He cleared his throat gruffly. "Well, we've enjoyed having you here. I, uh . . . hope you can get back here for the playoffs this year. I don't mean you have to wait until then, but . . . I thought . . . if you didn't come back before then, I mean . . ." He stopped, then tried again. "What I mean is, anytime you can make it back here, you're more than welcome and I've got something for you just in case. In case you come back, I mean. And we're not here or something." He extended his hand to her. "Here."

She held out her hand and he dropped the small metallic object into it. "It's a key," she said in surprise. "What . . .?"

"For the front door." The judge harrumphed loudly. "In case you get here sometime and we're not home. I've got a clicker for the gate for you, too."

"Why, Milt." Aggie beamed at him. "You big cuddle bear! How sweet. Thank you!"

Hardcastle shrugged off her thanks. "Aah, it's nothing. I had McCormick get it this morning. No big deal. Oof!" he said as she landed in his lap.

Mark stood in the kitchen, eating his pie, unashamedly watching through the screen door. He smiled broadly. Now that's good community relations.

Finis