HARDCASTLE & McCORMICK
"Buried Treasure"
by Kirk Hastings
ACT I
Mark slowly came awake, relishing the fact that he was able to take his time doing it. He didn't get that opportunity often.
Wait - why WAS he getting that opportunity now?
He popped up in his bed and picked up the alarm clock from the night table next to his bed. It read almost 10 AM!
His blood froze. He threw his covers off, jumped out of bed, and ran for his clothes closet, taking the time to stumble over his shoes on the floor in the process. He caught himself against the edge of the closet.
But as he straightened up again he suddenly remembered: it was Monday, and he didn't have law school today. Something about the teacher being away for a couple days.
Whew he sighed in relief.
But that raised another question. Hardcastle generally ran his estate like a marine barracks. If Mark happened to have a day off from school, and he tried to sleep past 8 AM, Hardcastle would usually be pounding on the door of the gatehouse and yelling for him to get busy cutting the hedges, or trimming the flower beds, or cleaning the pool, or some such nonsense. Where was he? Why was everything so quiet?
Wondering what was going on (Was Hardcastle sick? Did he leave the property on some errand and forget to wake Mark up first? Did some disgruntled former court defendant decide to kidnap him during the night and take him somewhere and murder him?), Mark got dressed and went downstairs.
It was a beautiful October day outside as Mark walked across the lawn to the main house. But there was no sign of Hardcastle anywhere. This was getting more mysterious by the minute.
He came up to the front door of the house and tried the handle. It was unlocked.
Okay, now I'm really worried he thought. Hardcase would never leave the premises, on an errand or anything else, and leave the main house wide open.
Mark cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside. Quietly he tip-toed across the inner hallway and flattened himself against one wall. Slowly and carefully he peeked around the corner into Hardcastle's den, afraid of the grisly scene he might see.
What if somebody had broken into the house during the night, dismembered the judge, and left the pieces all over the place?
As he looked into the den his eyes went wide.
"Aw, geez!" he moaned.
Hardcastle was up on the top of a stepladder, hanging some orange and black bunting from the ceiling. There were monster masks and skeletons and bats and spiders hanging all over the walls of the den. Carved jack-o-lanterns were sitting on all the tables.
Hardcastle turned on the ladder and looked at Mark staring at him.
"What?" he replied testily, a disgusted look on his face at being interrupted.
Mark hung his head, shaking it back and forth.
"Don't tell me!" he groaned. "Another Halloween Party?"
Hardcastle went back to work hanging the bunting. "Of course. It's October 31st, isn't it?"
"What's the occasion this year? Another Judicial Club party?"
"Naw - I just thought I'd throw a Halloween Bash of my own this year. After all, Halloween is ..."
Mark shuffled into the room and slumped into a chair.
"I know - I know - your favorite holiday!" he said, waving his hand.
Hardcastle climbed down from the ladder.
"Yeah. What's wrong with that?" he shot back defensively.
"Nothing, I guess," Mark replied sarcastically. "After all, the Great Pumpkin needs someplace to go on Halloween, doesn't he?"
Hardcastle stood behind Mark, looking daggers at him.
"Well, are you gonna help, or you just gonna sit there and vegetate?" he growled.
Mark sighed, reluctantly hauled himself up out of the chair, and started half-heartedly hanging things. As he wandered around the room trying to look busy (so Hardcastle wouldn't suddenly remember that the hedges needed trimming!), he thought about how he might be able to turn this party into something other than a crashing bore, drinking lousy punch and talking to judges dressed up in weird outfits about their briefs.
Then an interesting thought struck him - he hadn't seen Cindy Wenzek for a while. Maybe he could give her a call and have her come over to the party as his date. Then he would at least have someone to talk to.
And if things got really boring, then maybe they could go somewhere and neck for a while.
As usual right before a party, Hardcastle was a wreck, running to and fro trying to attend to every last-minute detail he could think of, driving Mark up the wall.
"The Ghostly Goodies! Where are the Ghostly Goodies?" Hardcastle wailed, throwing his hands up in the air. He was dressed as George Washington, and every time he moved his tri-cornered hat kept flying off.
"They're right on the end table in a bowl," Mark calmly informed him, picking the hat up off the floor. "They're right next to the Potato Poopies and the bottle of Pinky Fizz. ... Try to take it easy, Judge. It's just a Halloween Party, not World War III!"
Hardcastle snorted. He grabbed his hat from Mark and jammed it back on his head. Then he turned and rushed back into the kitchen to attend to some other forgotten triviality.
As guests began to arrive Mark wandered over toward the front door. As he did Cindy came in.
"Hi Mark!" she greeted him. She came over to him and posed in her outfit.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked him.
She was dressed in a tight-fitting pink leotard, with purple leg warmers on her legs.
"I'm supposed to be the girl from Flashdance," she told him.
Mark stared at her curvaceous figure.
"Oh, man - what a feeling!" he said to her, in a manner obviously intended to be a compliment.
Cindy laughed.
"Mark, how come you're not wearing a costume?" she asked him, taking his arm. He was dressed only in a white t-shirt and jeans, since he had taken his outer shirt off earlier after getting overheated from running various errands for Hardcastle.
"Hardcase has kept me so busy all day getting ready for the party ..." Mark started to explain. Then: "Anyway, I am wearing a costume."
"Oh really?" Cindy asked him skeptically. "And just who are you supposed to be?"
"I'm the Fonz from Happy Days!" Mark improvised.
Cindy gave him a look that suggested she didn't quite believe him.
Mark smiled. "C'mon, let's go get some Potato Poopies and Pinky Fizz before it's all gone," he said, hustling her into the den.
The party started to liven up as more guests arrived. Mark went over and turned the stereo on, putting on a record with various Halloween-themed songs on it. Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett started to echo throughout the room.
Suddenly a voice called out behind Mark.
"Hey, Skid!"
Mark turned around to see Teddy Hollins standing there, drinking a cup of punch.
"Teddy!" Mark said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Ah, nothin'," Teddy replied casually. "Just takin' an opportunity to get to know the upper crust." He looked around the room, and then grinned and nudged Mark's arm. "After all, you never know when you're gonna come up in front of one of these guys in a courtroom, do you?"
Mark looked at him.
"Yeah, well, Teddy, just don't do anything I'm going to regret, okay?"
Teddy winked at him.
"Take it easy, Skid. I'm reformed. Honest!"
"Yeah, right. And the Pope just converted to Hinduism," Mark retorted. "Just drink your punch and move along before Hardcastle sees you, all right?"
"Sure, Skid, sure," Teddy replied.
Mark moved away through the crowd. As he did, Teddy pulled an expensive gold watch out of his pocket and quickly examined it. Then he furtively shoved it back into his pants, out of sight. He chugged down his punch and scurried away.
Finding Cindy again Mark pulled her aside, separating her from a pack of judges who were all chatting her up and leeringly admiring her outfit.
"I've got an idea," Mark whispered to her.
"I'll bet you have," Cindy replied, smiling.
"No, really!" Mark replied. "C'mon!"
He took her by the hand and led her out of the room. They went outside, and Mark helped her into the Coyote. Then he ran around and jumped into the driver's seat.
He turned the ignition key, and the Coyote roared off down the driveway.
"Where are we heading? Inspiration Point?" Cindy said to him.
"Nope. Somewhere even better," Mark teased her.
They reached the Pacific Coast Highway, and Mark turned onto it. It had gotten dark, and they headed a few miles south in the direction of Santa Monica. But then Mark pulled off onto a small side road that was barely visible in the darkness. They traveled a mile or so down this dirt road before Mark pulled the Coyote up alongside a long low stone wall.
He turned the Coyote off and jumped out. Coming around to the other side he helped Cindy out.
"Where are we?" Cindy asked, puzzled.
"You'll see!" Mark taunted. He led her over to the stone wall, and he hopped up onto it.
"C'mon!" he said to her, offering her his hand.
Dubious, Cindy nevertheless gave Mark her hand and allowed him to pull her up onto the top of the wall. Once there they both hopped down onto the grass on the other side.
Cindy looked around.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Mark, you've got to be kidding!"
They were in a cemetery!
ACT II
"Isn't it great?" Mark said. "There's this old guy who lives in a little building on the grounds who serves as a caretaker. Let's relive old times and go give him a fright!"
Cindy looked down at herself. "In this outfit?" she said.
Mark stared at her. "Well, maybe not. ... We'll have to keep out of sight. We'll just make some strange noises and make him wonder what's going on."
"Oh, Mark, I can't believe you're doing this! I thought you had grown up and gotten more mature over the years since we were high school kids!"
At this Mark looked a little sheepish.
"You don't think it's a good idea?" he asked.
Cindy put her hands on her hips and stared at him with a smirk of disapproval on her face.
Mark shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, okay, maybe it was a dumb idea!" he apologized. "Hardcase and I haven't had any excitement in our lives for a while now, and I guess all this Halloween party stuff has been scrambling my brain!"
He looked at Cindy in her tight-fitting, fetching leotard.
"However, since we're here, and alone, we could still make the best of the situation," he murmured, sidling closer to Cindy.
Cindy's look softened.
"Now you're talking," she replied, throwing her arms around his neck.
They kissed for a couple of minutes, before Mark stopped and put his nose up in the air, like he was listening to something.
"What is it?" Cindy asked him.
"There's a noise coming from over there," Mark said, pointing behind Cindy's back. "It sounds like someone digging."
Cindy could hear it too. Taking her hand, Mark led her in the direction of the sound.
As they moved along, suddenly they both noticed how dark it was. From somewhere nearby an owl hooted. A slight breeze was blowing, and it made the leaves on the ground rustle as they skittered eerily across the ground. In the sky wispy clouds scudded across the face of the pale sliver of a moon.
As they moved among the tombstones, Mark thought: what a place to be on Halloween night!
However, they continued on. Before long Mark spotted some dark shapes moving just ahead. As one they both ducked down behind a large gravestone.
Mark peeked out from behind the edge of the stone marker.
In the darkness he could just barely make out two men. They both had shovels in their hands, and they were in the process of digging up a grave!
Totally outraged by this discovery, without thinking Mark stood up and yelled "Hey!" at the men.
The men saw him. Immediately they both dropped their shovels and started to run in the opposite direction.
Mark ran after them.
Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to be left alone in the dark, Cindy got up and ran after him.
The chase went on for only a minute or so. Both men reached the stone wall around the cemetery's perimeter and deftly leaped over it. By the time Mark got to the wall he peered over and saw the men roar off down the road in a late model sedan.
Cindy came up behind him.
"Did you get a look at them?" she asked, huffing and puffing.
"No," Mark replied. "It was too dark to see their faces. I couldn't catch a license plate either."
He put his arms around Cindy and held her for a moment while they both caught their breath. Then they both headed back toward where they had seen the men digging.
"What do you suppose they were trying to do?" Cindy asked.
Mark shook his head. He couldn't help thinking about those old late-night movies he watched all the time, where people like Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi were always digging up graves in order to sell the bodies to questionable medical establishments or guys like Dr. Frankenstein to use in horrible experiments.
When they got back to where they had first spotted the men, they stopped at the edge of the hole the pair had been digging.
They looked down. In the hole was a partially exposed coffin.
"Oh Mark," Cindy moaned. She turned away and put her face against his shoulder.
Mark held her for a moment. Then he noticed something.
"Hold on a minute," he muttered. He pushed Cindy away and jumped down into the hole.
"Mark, what are you doing?" Cindy exclaimed, horrified.
Mark ignored her. He studied the top of the coffin, which was sticking out of the dirt. It was one of those types that had a half-lid, where just the upper half of the coffin could be opened.
He examined it as best he could in the dim light. There were some pieces of paper sticking out from under the edge of the lid.
He pulled one out.
It was a hundred dollar bill!
His curiosity now inflamed, he pulled at the edge of the coffin lid. It was not locked, and it came open fairly easily.
Mark stared.
The coffin was stuffed full of money!
When Mark and Cindy got back to Gull's Way they ran inside and pushed their way through the partygoers, looking for Hardcastle. They finally found him near the punch bowl, grimacing as he tasted it.
"Oh - McCormick," he said as he noticed him and Cindy. "Try some of this punch. You'll love it. It's my best recipe yet."
"Never mind the punch, Judge!" Mark told him. "You have to come with us right away!"
Hardcastle stared at him.
"Come with you?" he snapped. "Whattaya mean, come with you? I'm right in the middle of my Halloween Party here!"
"Judge, trust me, this is really important!" Mark insisted.
Just then Lt. Carlton came up to Hardcastle. He was dressed as Wilt Chamberlain, from his days with the Los Angeles Lakers.
"Great party Judge!" he gushed. "But I gotta tell ya, the punch leaves something to be desired!"
With a wave of his hand Hardcastle brushed this comment off. When Carlton shrugged and walked away, Cindy took Hardcastle by his arm.
"Judge, Mark is right," she told him. "You really should come with us. We have something to show you that you're not going to believe."
Hardcastle looked at her. He could tell from the expression on her face that she was deadly serious. He sighed. Then he replied: "Oh, all right. Just let me go upstairs and change my clothes first, okay?"
"Okay, Judge - but hurry it up!" Mark added.
Hardcastle pushed his way through the crowd and headed upstairs. After a minute he came back down, and the trio went outside to where Hardcastle's pickup was parked. They all climbed in, and Hardcastle started the engine.
"I can't believe I'm leaving my own party right in the middle here!" Hardcastle growled as they headed down the driveway. "What in hell is this all about?"
"Judge, you won't believe me if I told you!" Mark told him. "We're just gonna have to show you!"
Mark directed Hardcastle down Pacific Coast Highway to the turn off. They headed down this road to the front gate of the cemetery, where Mark told Hardcastle to stop.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Hardcastle grumbled. "What is this, some kind of a Halloween prank?"
"No, Judge, honest," Cindy told him. "Believe me, this is no prank."
Hardcastle pulled a flashlight out of the pickup's glove box, and they all got out. Hardcastle clicked the light on, and Mark led the way to the still-open grave. While Hardcastle and Cindy stood next to the hole, Mark jumped down into it.
"Oh, geez, McCormick!" Hardcastle groused. "Don't you know digging up graves without permission is illegal?"
"I didn't open this one, Judge," Mark called up to him. "And I certainly didn't fill this coffin with what's inside it!"
Hardcastle shined his flashlight down into the hole. Mark yanked open the lid of the coffin, and the flashlight beam showed it to be stuffed full of money.
Before Hardcastle could say anything a shot rang out, and a bullet glanced off a nearby grave marker.
Hardcastle immediately pulled Cindy down behind the marker with him, just as another bullet glanced off of it. The judge pulled a pistol out of his own pocket, and started to return fire in the direction the shots had come from.
Mark scrambled up out of the grave and joined the other two behind the grave stone.
"You brought a gun with you?" Mark questioned.
"I never leave home without it, kid!" Hardcastle replied.
Another shot whistled overhead.
"Those grave diggers must have come back with some help!" Mark explained to Cindy.
"Yeah, well, help or no help, Henry and me'll give 'em a run for their money!" Hardcastle replied, firing off another shot.
Abruptly the shooting ceased. Hardcastle warily peeked out from behind the grave stone. "They're running for it!" he announced. He scrambled out from behind the grave marker and started off after the shooters. Mark and Cindy both got up and sprinted after him.
"Don't you just love this guy?" Mark told Cindy as they ran. "Any sane person right now would be ducking and covering - but instead ol' Hardcase decides to chase and shoot!"
This time the shooters ran out the front gate of the cemetery, and jumped into a sedan parked not far from Hardcastle's pickup. The sedan's wheels squealed as the shooters turned it about and roared off down the road in it.
Hardcastle reached his pickup first. He jumped into the driver's seat, gunned the engine, and pulled the truck around in a circle. Mark and Cindy managed to grab the passenger side door and jump into the cab just before the pickup took off after the sedan.
"Hang on!" Hardcastle shouted.
"No kidding!" Mark retorted, as he and Cindy hung on to each other for dear life.
ACT III
The two vehicles shot down the small dirt road, the pickup a short distance behind the sedan. One shooter fired some shots out of one of the rear windows of the car back toward the pursuing truck. Hardcastle zig-zagged back and forth as he drove, trying to make himself as difficult a target as possible. He put his pistol out of the driver's side window of the pickup with his left hand and fired back at the sedan.
One of Hardcastle's bullets found its mark. The left rear tire of the sedan exploded with a loud bang, and the car went into a sudden swerve. It skidded some yards before tipping over onto its left side. It rolled completely over once, then came to rest back on its wheels. A big cloud of dirt and dust billowed up around it.
Hardcastle pulled his truck off to the side of the road and jerked it to a stop. He jumped out of the cab and jogged over to the sedan.
Some of the dazed occupants of the car were just stumbling out of the vehicle when Hardcastle came up on them. He pointed his gun at them and waved his arms.
"All right, all of you - drop your weapons, get up against the side of the car, and spread 'em!" he yelled.
The car's occupants slowly obeyed. There were four of them altogether, all dressed in dark suits.
Mark and Cindy came up behind Hardcastle. Mark stared at the dark-suited men leaning against the crumpled-up car.
"Judge, there's something that's giving me a bad feeling about this," Mark said. He walked over to one of the men, reached under the man's arm into the inner pocket of his suit coat, and pulled out what looked like a wallet. He turned and walked back to Hardcastle.
"What have you got there?" Hardcastle asked him.
Mark flipped open the wallet and looked at it. A funny look came over his face.
"It's the guy's ID," Mark said. "Judge, you're not gonna believe this."
"What? Who are these guys?"
Mark held the wallet up. It had an professional ID card on one side of it, and a shiny metal badge on the other side.
"They're feds," Mark announced.
Down at police headquarters Mark, Cindy, and the judge all sat in chairs in front of Frank Harper's desk in his office, waiting. They all had glum looks on their faces.
"Well, Tonto, this is another nice mess you've gotten me into!" Hardcastle snarled.
Mark looked at him.
"Me? What did I do?"
"Oh, nothing!" Hardcastle said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You just dragged me out of the social event of the season to go chasing around a closed cemetery after hours, and made me shoot at some guys who turned out to be federal agents, that's all! We'll be lucky we don't all end up in San Quentin for the rest of our lives!"
Mark shifted in his chair. "Well, if we do, Judge," he said with a wan smile, "I can introduce you to the right guys who can get you all the Potato Poopies and Pinky Fizz you want."
Hardcastle's only response to this was to grimace and growl.
A few minutes later Lt. Harper came into the room. He carefully closed his office door, locked it, and then walked over to his desk. He sat down in his chair.
Mark, Cindy and Hardcastle stared at him. Frank just looked back at them, not saying a word. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair.
"Well?" Hardcastle said.
Harper continued to stare at them.
"You know," he finally said, his voice a monotone, "I've been a cop for a lot of years. But I can honestly say that I've never known anyone else in my life who can get into the scrapes that you two get into almost every day of the week."
"And the translation of that is ... ?" Hardcastle replied.
Harper leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his temples with his fingers, as if he had a crashing headache.
"Milt - those guys you brought in tonight are with an arm of the Defense Department," Harper said. "Specifically, the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command, or JPAC. Their job is to locate and recover the bodies of deceased military servicemen all over the globe, and then ship them back home."
"Then what were they doing digging up a grave in a local cemetery in the middle of the night?" Mark asked. "And why was the coffin they dug up filled with money?"
"Those are good questions, Mark," Harper replied. "I wish I had the answers. Those guys weren't real open with us about what they were doing out there. And I'm not at all sure that I have the authority to question them about it."
"Well, I sure as hell want to know what they were doing out there!" Mark said. "And why they were firing shots at us!"
A 'you're not going to like this' look came over Harper's face.
"What happened?" Hardcastle asked. "Frank, what did you do with those guys?"
"I had to let them go," Harper admitted.
"You let them go!" Mark shouted.
"There was nothing else I could do, Mark," Harper replied wearily. He looked at his watch. Normally he was not up this late. "Those guys have federal immunity. Unless I can prove they've done something illegal I can't hold them."
"What about digging up a coffin full of money? Isn't that illegal?" Mark insisted.
"Not if we can't prove that they buried it there in the first place - and that the money came from an illegal source. The feds, particularly JPAC, have the authority to exhume anyone they want, anytime they want."
"What about that coffin full of money?" Hardcastle asked.
"We're checking on that now. I sent a couple of officers out to the cemetery."
Mark and Hardcastle stood up. Harper knew exactly what was on their minds.
"Go home, all of you!" he admonished. "Try to keep your noses out of trouble, for a few hours at least! We'll take care of this!"
Hardcastle looked like he was going to say something in return, but then suddenly he changed his demeanor. He rubbed his palms together.
"Well, okay, good - then I can get back to my party!" he exclaimed.
"Party?" Harper asked.
"Yeah - my annual Halloween Party," Hardcastle explained. "Didn't you get the invite I sent you?"
Harper thought for a moment. "Oh - yeah. That. Actually, I did," he said. "I've just been so busy lately, I forgot all about it."
"Well, stop by on your way home," Hardcastle told him. "I'll save some of my homemade punch for you!"
"Fine. Wonderful," Harper mumbled.
Back at Gull's Way Mark, Cindy and Hardcastle sat on the couch together in Hardcastle's den while the Halloween Party continued on around them.
"Judge, there's a whole lot of things here that don't make any sense," Mark was saying.
"I know it," the judge replied.
"Federal agents charged with bringing the bodies of deceased servicemen back from overseas don't dig up graves here in the U.S. in private cemeteries in the middle of the night," Mark went on. "And how did the particular coffin they were digging up get stuffed with cash? And where did the cash come from? I'll bet there was almost a million dollars buried in that grave."
Cindy sat between them, now wearing one of Mark's coats over her leotard. She had no idea what was going on.
"You two certainly have some interesting problems," she commented.
Mark chuckled. "Cindy, you don't know the half of it," he replied with a smirk.
"There's got to be some kind of record somewhere of who buried that casket," Hardcastle mused. "... And where it came from."
"Jake McKee," Mark said.
"What?"
"Jake McKee. He's the old caretaker of that cemetery. He lives in a little cottage right on the grounds. I was taking Cindy there to give him a little fright when we came upon those federal grave robbers."
"Does he keep the cemetery burial records?"
"As far as I know. He's got an office right there in his cottage."
"Then let's go see him."
"Now?" Mark protested. "It's almost midnight! And what about your party?"
"It'll keep til we get back," Hardcastle replied. He was already up off the couch and on his way out of the room.
Mark and Cindy looked at each other.
"I guess he really wants to know what's going on here," Mark said, shrugging. He got up and started to follow Hardcastle. Cindy got up with him.
Mark stopped, looking quizzically at her.
Cindy shrugged. "Look, I can't quit now," she told him. "I'm in this too. I want to know what's going on as well."
Mark smiled. He took Cindy's hand, and they both followed after the judge.
ACT IV
Once again Hardcastle pulled up to the entrance gate to the cemetery. There was already a police car parked there. After parking the pickup Mark, Cindy and Hardcastle went over to where the grave in question was. There were two police officers standing there.
"Evening, fellows," Hardcastle greeted them.
"Evening, Judge," one of the officers responded. He knew Hardcastle from when the judge had still been on the bench.
"What do we have here?" Hardcastle asked nonchalantly.
Both officers looked at Hardcastle.
"Not much," the one officer said.
The spot where the coffin had been was now completely filled in. There was no hole.
"Figures," Mark mumbled to Cindy. "They got back here first."
"Is this the spot where the alleged hole was supposed to be?" the officer asked Hardcastle.
"Yeah. But it's probably nothing to worry about," Hardcastle fudged. "It's probably all just a misunderstanding. You guys can both head back to headquarters. We'll take over from here."
The one officer shrugged, and both of them turned and headed back to their patrol car.
When the officers had left, Hardcastle turned to Mark.
"Now, where's this place where Jake lives?" he asked.
Mark grinned. He led Hardcastle and Cindy to the little stone cottage located on the edge of the grounds. It was a creepy-looking little old building, surrounded by untrimmed shrubs and a black, wrought-iron fence, like something out of an old horror movie.
There were no lights on in the cottage. Hardcastle rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden front door.
"Jake!" he called. "Jake, are you in there?"
There was no answer.
"Maybe he's asleep," Mark suggested.
They were just about ready to go looking for a window to break into when the door to the cottage creaked open a couple of inches, and a thin, pale, grizzled old man poked his face through the opening.
"Yes?"
"Jake, it's Mark McCormick," Mark said. "Do you remember me? I met you last year when an acquaintance of mine was buried here."
The old man stared for a moment.
"Yes. I remember you," Jake said slowly. "Who are these other people?"
Mark pointed to Cindy. "This is Cindy, my - uh - girlfriend," Mark told him. Cindy smiled at this. "And this is Judge Milton Hardcastle, a good friend of mine."
"Retired judge," Hardcastle corrected. "Listen Jake, we need some important information about one of the plots in this cemetery for an official investigation. Could we take a quick look at your burial records?"
After taking a moment to digest this information, the old man nodded and opened the door all the way, allowing Mark, Cindy and Hardcastle to enter.
Once inside the old man led the trio to a small room in the back of the dark, cramped little cottage. Strangely, there were no lights on in the building, making it difficult to see any details - but Jake was able to find his way to the back room, where he turned on the overhead light there.
Once inside the room, which was a small office, Jake went to a file cabinet in one corner. Mark described the location of the grave to him. Jake opened one of the file cabinet's drawers, and pulled out a folder. He handed the folder to Mark.
Mark glanced at the sheets of paper in the folder.
"Well?" Hardcastle asked.
"It says the burial was just last week," Mark recited.
"Does it have the address of the owner of the plot?"
"Yeah," Mark said. "It's some business on Wilshire Blvd. in Santa Monica." He borrowed a pencil and a piece of paper from Jake, and wrote the name and address down.
"Then let's go check out these guys," Hardcastle said.
Mark thanked Jake for his time, and the trio headed back to Hardcastle's pickup.
Shortly thereafter, Hardcastle parked across the street from the address that Mark had gotten from Jake. It was in a seedier part of town, and the address in question was a small, dilapidated storefront. A faded sign over the front door read "Cannell Distribution Co.".
"What do you think?" Mark asked.
"Obviously a front," Hardcastle told him.
Before Hardcastle could stop him, Mark got out of the pickup and sprinted across the street. The nearest streetlight was about a half a block away, so it was easy for him to stay in the shadows. As Hardcastle and Cindy watched, Mark flattened himself against the front of the building next to the storefront. He looked around for a moment. Then he ducked down a narrow alley that was between the two buildings. He disappeared from view.
"That dumb kid," Hardcastle grumbled. "I gotta teach him to quit doing that!"
Cindy knew Hardcastle well enough by now to realize that this was his way of expressing concern for Mark's welfare. She was concerned too.
A few minutes later Mark reappeared. He skulked back over to the pickup and quickly climbed back in.
"There's a big empty parking lot behind the building, and there's a large overhead garage door in the back," Mark explained. "I peeked in a window. The four feds - if that's what they really are - from the cemetery are in there, all right. The coffin is there too. They're in the process of removing the money from it and counting it."
"Is there a way for me to get the pickup back there?" Hardcastle asked.
"Yeah. You can get into the rear lot from the side street just up the block," Mark replied, pointing.
"What do we do now?" Cindy asked.
"We can't waste any time!" Hardcastle said. "We gotta corral those guys while they still have the money and the coffin in their direct possession."
He peered down at his watch.
" - And I also gotta get back to my Halloween Party!"
He shifted in his seat, pulling his pistol out of his jacket pocket.
"Get the other gun out of the glove box!" he said to Mark.
Mark did as he was told.
"What are you gonna do, Judge?" Mark asked.
"Go for broke!" was Hardcastle's reply. He started the pickup's engine and proceeded down the street. He turned the corner, and then turned into the driveway that accessed the lot that was behind the storefront. He turned out his headlights, and then he pulled up behind the store, facing the garage door.
"Get your head down," he told Cindy, pushing her down into a crouching position on the seat.
"Judge, what are you -" Mark started to say.
But before he could get the rest of the question out, Hardcastle stomped down on the pickup's accelerator pedal.
The truck shot forward. It crashed right through the garage door, shattering it into pieces that flew in every direction.
Once inside the building Hardcastle jerked the pickup to a stop and snapped on his headlights. He threw open the driver's side door and jumped out, pointing his pistol through the open window at the four blinded men that were so startled by the sudden invasion they froze in position where they stood.
Hardcastle fired one shot over their heads.
"All right, drop your weapons onto the ground and get your hands up!" he shouted.
Still shaken by Hardcastle's nervy maneuver, Mark nevertheless managed to jump out of the passenger side of the truck too. He leveled his own pistol at the men.
The four feds gingerly reached into their suit coats and removed their guns, dropping them onto the ground. Then they raised their hands up into the air.
"Kick 'em over here!" Hardcastle barked, referring to the weapons.
The men did as they were told.
At this point Cindy worked up enough courage to raise her head up and peek over the pickup's dashboard.
As she watched Mark and the judge round up the four grave robbers, she realized that this was a Halloween that she was going to remember for a very long time!
EPILOGUE
Some time later, back at Gull's Way, the judge's Halloween Party was finally beginning to wind down. Frank Harper, who had stopped by on his way home, sat on the couch in Hardcastle's den, talking with Mark, Cindy, and the judge.
"They were real JPAC members," Frank was saying. "But apparently they had turned into rogue agents some time back without the organization realizing it. They discovered a way to channel money confiscated in drug raids and other illegal activities in other countries into their own pockets, and then stash it in coffins that were supposedly carrying the bodies of deceased service personnel killed overseas. The coffins were then shipped back to the United States, where they were able to secretly recover the money. Unfortunately, one coffin filled with money slipped through their fingers somehow, and it was buried with the cash still in it." Frank looked at Mark and Cindy. "That's the one you two happened to see them digging up."
"Well, all I know is, if it wasn't for Jake telling us where to find those guys, we probably would never have located them again," Mark commented.
"Jake?" Frank asked.
"Yeah - Jake McKee, the caretaker at the cemetery."
"What's he got to do with this?"
"He's the one who put us on to where those guys were tonight."
"When was he able to do that?"
"Earlier tonight, when we saw him at his office."
Frank shook his head. "Mark, that isn't possible," he said.
"What do you mean, it isn't possible?" Mark replied. "We all talked to him earlier this evening."
"You couldn't have," Frank insisted.
"Why not?"
"Because McKee passed away over a month ago. As a matter of fact, he's buried in that very same cemetery."
Mark, Cindy and the judge looked at each other. As one they all turned and looked at a cardboard skeleton that was hanging nearby on the wall.
Abruptly Hardcastle cleared his throat and stood up.
"I need to see if I have any vampire coasters left over for next year!" he said. He turned and walked away, making a beeline toward the kitchen.
Cindy got up too.
"I'm going home!" she said. She headed for the front door.
Mark got up as well.
"I'll go with you!" he said. He followed her.
This left Frank all by himself. He looked around.
"Was it something I said?" he mumbled, half to himself.
He shrugged. Noticing an unclaimed cup of punch sitting on the table directly in front of him, he picked it up and took a sip of it.
An expression of extreme distaste spread across his face.
"Whew!" he exclaimed. "That's the worst punch I've ever tasted!"
He put the cup down then got up too, and headed for the door.
THE END