agreement, winnings crumpled firmly in one hand.

So, go find out what a story is, Joe told himself. He began reading
books on fiction, but they weren't much help. For a change of pace, he
looked up Arthur Soule on the Internet and discovered that a book he'd
written on Roman taxation was still available. Joe ordered it, and when
it arrived he found it interesting and clearly written. There was a
small picture of Soule on the book jacket--patrician with a large jaw
and thinning hair. Mo was a chip off the old block.

A few days before Kate's wedding, the phone rang as he was heading out
the door.

"Hi, Joe."

"Mornin', Mo . . . That's a snappy opening," he said. "Maybe we should
have a radio program."

"But it would have to be in the morning," she said. "When I work."

"Me, too. Good point."

"O.K., that's settled, no show. I was wondering if you might want to
come over for lunch."

"Sure."

"I have an ulterior motive--two, actually. Leaky faucets."

"Say no more. I was born to plumb."

"See you around noon, then?"

"Yup. Wait a minute, where?" She gave him directions to a small street
on the Ewa side of Manoa Valley. "No problem," he said putting the
phone down. "Trouble in Gotham, Batman. Lady needs help." He rubbed his
hands together. This was a test, no doubt about it, a dragon to slay.

He had left his slayer channel-lock pliers in his truck, however, along
with the rest of his tools. They now belonged to Maxie and were
somewhere in New England. He walked to the shopping center and bought a
toolkit cased in aluminum with foam cut out for each individual tool.
It looked like a briefcase. He went to Sears for a package of faucet
washers and some thread sealer.

"Joe Burke, executive plumber," he announced at Mo's door.

"Well, come right in." She looked rested. He took off his shoes and
advanced into a clean living room furnished with a long couch, an
armchair, a wooden rocking chair, a gray rug, several expensively
framed photographs, and two floor lamps. Orchids hung by a large
window. Lush greenery rose steeply behind the house.

"Nice, mighty nice." The house was small, built above and behind a
separate garage that fronted the street. Steps led up to a porch and
the door through which he'd entered. The air was cool and quiet. The
house seemed to breathe in a wooded space just large enough for it and
for the walls of vegetation on either side that separated it from its
neighbors. A sense of