Excerpt of Breaking All the Rules by Sue Civil-Brown

Richard Haversham Wesley, III, Esquire, sat in front of the judge and made a personal argument that never would have been allowed in a courtroom. But he and Judge Dipshot had looked at one another across a lot of courtrooms over the years, and they had shared more than a drink or two. In fact, they had shared so many drinks that, on more than one occasion, Rich had wondered if Freddy Dipshot had been arguing with two of him. This was one of those occasions. Because they were in chambers, and because he felt he could blame whatever happened on the other Rich the judge was seeing, he could let fly a bit. No court reporter was there, and there had to be some advantage to the judge's just having a three-martini lunch, paid for, of course, by the law firm of Richard H. Wesley, III, P.A.

"Freddy, you know why that jerk Linus Todd wants his aunt declared incompetent."

Freddy belched. Gently, of course. He dabbed his cheek, then his chin, before finally locating his mouth with a tissue, then excused himself. "Crab never sits right, for some reason."

"Freddy ... "

"Look, Rich, I've read his motion, and your client sounds wacko. Hiring a Flying Fortress to bomb the beach, for the love of Pete! My wife got pregnant on that beach."

Rich arched a brow, and Freddy answered the unasked question. "Yes. By me. I'm sure."

Freddy paused for a moment, as if waiting for the room to stop spinning, then continued. "And when you think about the value of all that land the Todd woman is sitting on, and how much of it is undeveloped, you really have to wonder. She could be on easy street."

"She's already on easy street,Freddy."

"And all that land is being taxed at its highest and best value. It's insane not to develop it. I mean, just the lots across from her house are being taxed as if they had hotels on them."

Rich shrugged. "That's a decision she's free to make. And she's been paying the taxes."

"Doesn't mean she's sane. All it says is she pays her bills."

"All it says is she likes her ocean view." Rich uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "You're being snookered, Freddy."

Freddy snorted, then loosed another belch.

"Remind me not to have crab the next time you take me out to lunch."

"Consider it done." Not that Freddy would listen to the reminder.

"I'm going to be belching all the way through my hearings this afternoon. Doesn't make a good impression."

Freddy didn't make a good impression in general, but he was the judge. The black robe bought him a lot of leeway. And the gastrononomic theory of law had never been entirely a myth. Freddy wasn't the only judge for whom complex legal questions often hinged on the quantity and location of his stomach acid.

"Freddy ... "

Freddy then did something so unusual that Rich found himself wondering if the judge was getting some kind of payola from Linus Todd.

"Look," the judge said sternly, or as sternly as any man who appeared to be the offspring of Humpty Dumpty and a Weeble could appear, "this conversation is crossing the line and you know it. You'll get your chance to argue in court. And my suspicions about motives aren't grounds for my ruling."

Rich was startled at first by this change of tack, but not for long. He was a good trial lawyer, which meant he was as quick on his mental feet as his cat responding to the sound of his electric can opener. "Your suspicions are grounds, Judge, and you know it. That's why you're the finder of fact. If you think someone's lying ... "

"What I think is that old woman is crazy and ought to be locked up. She's lucky I don't Bacon Act her."

"I believe it's the Baker Act," Rich said dryly. Then added, "Your Honor."

The Baker Act allowed people to be committed to mental hospitals against their will. The Bacon Act, by contrast, described the judge's breakfast activities, judging by the stains on his shirt. Rich had a really ugly feeling just then, substantiated by the fact that Freddy was never loathe to let a lawyer buy him lunch, even if he was sitting on a case in which that lawyer was involved. Today being a case in point.

But Rich knew better than to pursue that suspicion. He opened his mouth, but Freddy cut him off.

"You better have one hell of an argument in court, Counselor. Because I am going to make sure she never hires a bomber to make a run on a populated beach again."

Hell, thought Rich. Hell's bells. He left the judge's chambers a minute later, after playing up to Freddy's ego enough to be sure that things wouldn't get any worse for Mary Todd. Freddy even shook his hand, after only three tries. Rich headed for the courtroom to get ready for the hearing -- not that he had any doubt now about how it was going to come out.

And the thought sickened him, because he would have done just about anything on earth for Mary Todd. Anything legal. He loved that dear old woman.

Miss Mary Todd, social doyenne and all-around troublemaker of Paradise Beach, Florida, was waiting for him at the defense table. A woman in her eighties, Mary had a crown of beautiful white hair, a surprisingly young face for her years, and a backbone of Toledo steel.

But this afternoon, as she watched her lawyer stride out of the judge's chambers and make his way over to her, she could see the handwriting on the wall. Even if it was her own handwriting ...