Chapter Ten

As the visitation wound down and most of the mourners left in groups of three and four, McCormick scanned the room for Hardcastle, only to find the older man was missing. Hoping that Russ Wyngate hadn't cornered him, Mark headed for the smaller side room in search of his friend. He was worried Russ would tell the judge about how he had believed Mark to be Tommy, and while the mistaken identity was not his fault in any way, McCormick still felt guilty. There had been other times when he and Hardcastle had been mistaken for father and son, but in all of those cases it had been by someone who didn't really know them, or of their unique relationship. He had never before been identified as Tom Hardcastle. To McCormick, that seemed almost like blasphemy.

The small side room held the coffee machine, a couch and chair, and a coat closet. Many of the mourners had hung their coats in another closet at the front of the funeral home, so Mark found the smaller room almost deserted – except for Hardcastle and Constance. The two were seated on the couch, embracing. It was not an embrace of sympathy, or one of friendship. There was a definite intimacy to the hug.

McCormick immediately backed up, apologizing simultaneously – or trying to, anyway. "I – Sorry – I'm . . . Yeah." As he fled the room he ran into Marion, who was on her way to the restroom. He soon found himself stumbling over another flustered apology.

Marion lifted her hands in a "stop" gesture. "Mark, calm down. Why are you so nervous?" She had barely finished her inquiry when Hardcastle came out of the side room, an expression of unease on his face. "You didn't have to take off, kid," he informed Mark. "It's about time I introduced you."

Mark went from tongue-tied to speechless. He looked from the judge to Marion, and back again. Milt huffed, then turned back to the small room. "Well, when you learn how to talk again, come meet her."

Mark took a step toward the side room, then hesitated. Marion pushed him firmly on the shoulder. "Go. Before he changes his mind."

This time when McCormick entered the room, Milt and Constance were sitting side by side on the couch, but no longer in an embrace. Even so, there was little space between the man and woman. Mark had only a brief moment to notice that before Hardcastle rose, extending a hand to help Constance up. She regarded McCormick with good-natured curiosity.

Hardcastle indicated Mark. "Connie, this is that friend of mine I mentioned, Mark." He looked hard at the ex-con. Don't make me regret this.

Mark held out his hand, and Constance gripped it warmly. "Constance Bender," she said. "Used to be Wyngate."

"Mark McCormick. It's good to meet you."

"McCormick?" Constance's face twisted into a grin that she was obviously trying to prevent. "Really?" She lost the battle, and the grin turned into peals of laughter. Hardcastle joined in, and from the looks the two traded, Mark felt he was the butt of a private joke. "Am I getting teased again?" he asked moodily.

Constance shook her head, gasping back another laugh. "No, no, I'm sorry. It's a little funny, that's all – my son, his wife's maiden name is McCormick. When I mentioned that to Milt yesterday, he got a kick out of it. I get it now."

"Your son's wife? So your daughter-in-law's a McCormick?" Mark wasn't sure he saw the humor. He looked anxiously at the judge.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it kid. Hate to tell you, but your name's pretty common," Hardcastle chuckled. "Unless you think you have relatives in Minnesota."

Mark shrugged, realizing how unlikely it was that he was somehow related to Constance's daughter-in-law. "Wait," he said, suddenly concerned again, "her name's not Annie, is it?"

Constance shook her head. "No, Colleen."

"Ah. Okay then," McCormick said, satisfied. He sat down in the chair, and gazed up at the couple. "Now why don't you two youngsters tell me just how serious you are about each other." He crossed his legs, folded his hands together and placed them on his lap, and then nodded at the couch. "Sit. Let's talk about where you see this relationship going."

Milt dropped to the couch, and lowered his forehead into his hand. "This was a mistake."

Constance looked down at the ex-jurist. "Excuse me?" she asked, her tone suspicious.

Milt looked up, and seeing the woman's displeased face, immediately became contrite. "No, not you – I mean him," he waved a jerky hand at McCormick, "and me, bringing him and his smart mouth into the mix."

Mark sighed. "Uncomfortable situations, Judge." He passed a hand in front of himself from head to torso, as if he were an item in a showcase. "I warned you."

Constance looked between both men, shaking her head. "Well, if you two are done. . . " She sat down next to the judge. "I think we need to talk. Mark brought up a good point."

Proudly: "I did?"

Suspiciously: "He did?"

Constance shook her head again, this time with a laugh. Then she became serious. "Milt, where are we going with this relationship? I deserve to know. Is this going to be another case of you being interested in me when you're here, but then you go back home and I become an afterthought?"

Mark whistled softly. "Jeez, Judge, I know I've called you 'Hunt 'em, Hear 'em and Hang 'em Hardcastle,' but I never thought to label you as 'Love 'em and Leave 'em Milt'."

Hardcastle swiped at McCormick's crossed foot. "Knock it off!" he ordered, his voice rising. Mark pulled his foot back and sat up straight, grinning. When the judge didn't return the smile, and if anything, became more hostile, the younger man quickly rose. "Uh, maybe I should go, let you two talk privately, huh?"

Milt glared. "Maybe you should."

McCormick backed toward the door. "I'm gonna go." He was almost out when he remembered why he'd been searching for the judge in the first place. "Oh, wait." He held out a placating hand, warding off another angry stare. "Judge, the reason I came to find you is because it's getting late, and the Aunts are bushed. They're ready to leave."

Hardcastle's scowl faded somewhat. "So take them home. I'll catch a ride with Warren and Mary."

"Okay. Good." Mark took a breath, looked around aimlessly, and then smiled briefly at Constance. "It was nice to meet you, Constance."

"Connie, please," she said, smiling as well. Feeling reassured, Mark grinned back, until the judge cleared his throat significantly. The young man's grin disappeared. "I'm going, I'm going." He hurriedly left the room.

After McCormick exited, Hardcastle felt a mix of relief and panic. He had been glad to get the young man out of the room before he'd said something really inappropriate, but at the same time, as he now looked at Constance's expectant, slightly impatient expression, Milt realized that maybe the kid could have been a good advocate. Or at least a buffer.

"I'm waiting," Constance said. Her arms were folded, and "slightly" was no longer a good description of her impatience. Milt took a deep breath, smiled, and reached for the woman's hand. She let him, unfolding her arms and lessening her frown.

"Connie," he started, "I like you. You're smart, and fun, and kind, you don't put up with any nonsense – and you're not bad to look at." The last part was delivered with a small grin. Constance returned it, laughing softly. Milt continued. "I liked you pretty much the moment I met you. Maybe I was scared how much I liked you, I don't know. . . There are a lot of reasons why I stopped calling you back then, why I didn't stay in touch. Lousy reasons, most of them. But I guess maybe the distance was the big thing." He sighed. "It still is."

She nodded slowly. "I know back then you were still on the bench, so you couldn't stay out here. And it wasn't like I could afford to fly to California to visit, at least not enough to keep up any kind of a true relationship. I realized that. But I liked you too, Milt. I had put up some pretty high walls after Phillip died, and I knocked them down for you. So even though I understood that we couldn't really be together, it still hurt." She gazed into his eyes, and he did his best to not look away. After a moment, Constance lowered her eyes and sighed sadly.

"So what do we do, Milt?"

He lifted her hand, kissing it softly. "I don't think I can ask you to move out to L.A. You grew up out here, you still got family in the area. I couldn't ask you to leave that. Plus, California's a big change from Minnesota."

She nodded again. "I know. We have snowstorms and an occasional tornado. You have crime, and earthquakes, and wildfires, and mudslides, and, and . . . traffic."

He laughed, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Smart aleck. Now you sound like McCormick." His eyes became distant but his smile remained. Constance looked at him thoughtfully.

"He's not just your friend, is he?"

Hardcastle's eyes snapped back in focus. "What? What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

"Relax, Milt." She caressed his shoulder. "I just meant, he's your 'work in progress,' right?"

"Oh," Milt breathed out, "that." Then: "You know about that, about him? Let me guess: everyone's gossiping about him this time, instead of talking about us." He pressed his lips together in a tense line.

"No, I don't think so," Constance said. "I already knew who he was – I mean, I knew he was the ex-convict you've been working with. I don't think Marion ever told me his last name. I'm sure if she had I would've remembered it." She smiled in remembrance of the coincidence.

Milt's frown remained. "Marion already told you about him? When?"

"Well, she's mentioned him once or twice, but I think the last time was back in February. We'd gotten together for Rick's birthday, and like I usually did, I'd asked Marion about you." She blushed, and Milt felt his heart beat a little faster. She was damn pretty when she blushed.

Constance went on. "Marion told me she hadn't talked to you since Christmas, but that she had recently heard from your aunts. And that they had told her your friend – I think Marion just called him Mark – had been badly hurt. During some sort of investigation the two of you were doing? So naturally I asked her what that meant, and she was somewhat vague. . . She said that you were following up on some of the cases that came through your courtroom." She looked closely at the judge. "It seems you've been busy the last five years, too."

He waved a hand, feeling his own face grow warm. "Well, the last three since I retired, anyway." He smiled faintly. "Hardly feels like retirement. If I'm not busy 'following up' on my cases, keeping an eye on the kid definitely takes up some time." The wan smile faded. "Probably shoulda told Mary myself when he got hurt, but I guess I thought since she hadn't met him yet. . . I suppose Warren told her, too."

Constance studied the man's grave expression. "But he's better?" she asked. "He doesn't look ill."

"Nah, he's okay now." Milt's persistent frown belied his words. Constance didn't reply, and when he looked at her, noticing her silence, he saw a doubtful look. He fought to clear his own expression. "He's physically okay. Maybe still some after-effects. Bad dreams. You know."

Constance watched Hardcastle for a few moments, then shook her head with a resigned smile. "Well. Then I guess you moving out here to Minnesota isn't a possibility either. You've got your own family I couldn't ask you to leave."

"He's not – it's not like –" Milt broke off, wondering why he automatically denied it. Hadn't he just told the kid last night (technically this morning) that he was family? "You picked up on that, huh?" he asked with a look of chagrin.

"Even if Marion hadn't told me that you were good friends, I probably would've figured it out. Especially considering he's here. I don't think you'd bring a casual acquaintance to your brother-in-law's funeral." She tilted her head with an amused smile. "And the way he acted after he met me. That easy way he settled into the smart remarks? I don't think you'd let just anyone talk to you like that."

"I don't let him talk to me like that!" Hardcastle blustered. "That's why I kicked him out!"

"Oh. Okay." Constance nodded, still smiling.

Milt gradually stopped demurring. He looked down, shaking his head. "So we're back where we started. Distance."

Constance reached out, touching Milt's face so that he looked up. When she had his attention, she sidled closer. His breathing quickened, and when he inhaled he could smell her perfume – a sweet musk. It was intoxicating, and he drew her close. He leaned down at the same time that she lifted her face, and their lips met in a soft, long kiss. When they parted, Constance drew back, and Milt was dismayed to see tears in her eyes.

"This is it, then," she said, her voice shaking a little. "Two ships passing in the night."

"Aw, Connie," he mumbled, pulling her into an embrace.

When Marion, Warren, and Hardcastle returned home, all three quickly retired for the night, exhausted by their respective interactions at the funeral home. Additionally, they all needed to be up relatively early for the funeral the next day.

Hardcastle descended the stairs into the basement, expecting McCormick to already be in the small bedroom, again laying claim to the privacy and the nicer bed. Instead, he found his friend siting on the sofa in a tee-shirt and his nice slacks, watching television. Mark looked up at the judge's entrance, and quickly grabbed the remote to click the TV off.

"Hey. What happened with you and Connie?"

Hardcastle stood at the base of the stairs, his hand still on the banister. "Damn it, McCormick, give me a minute!"

The young man grinned mischievously. "I gave you plenty. We've been back close to an hour. And no, I didn't speed. Ask May and Zora, they'll vouch for me."

"Yeah, I'm sure they will," Hardcastle muttered. "And you're wrinkling those pants!"

McCormick ignored the nagging. Instead, he reached over and patted the other sofa cushion. C'mon. Sit down. Dish."

Milt lowered himself to the sofa with a tired exhale. "Not much to tell you, kid. We're not going to try any kind of relationship. It's too hard with the distance. We'll still be friends, but it doesn't make sense to be anything more right now."

Mark sat back with a disgusted expression. "Doesn't make sense? Judge, when you're attracted to somebody, when there's chemistry, 'sense' doesn't figure into it. If the chemistry's strong enough, you find a way to make it work." His grin returned. "And when I saw you guys together, it looked like some pretty strong chemistry."

Hardcastle tried to glare at the delighted man, but Mark's grin was so infectious Milt soon found he was also smiling. "Okay," he allowed, "I feel pretty strongly about Connie. If things were different – if she wasn't so far away – I could see me getting serious about her. And she told me she feels the same way." He toyed with a loose thread on his jacket. "But she's not going to leave her home to move to California, and I've got reasons for not moving out here, so that's that." He stood up, then removed his jacket and folded it over his arm. "Now I want to get some shut-eye, so head on out of here so I can make this thing into a bed."

McCormick rose obediently, but he stood and watched the judge with a thoughtful frown. Hardcastle had taken the cushions off of the sofa and had pulled out the bed frame before he realized he was being watched. He looked up at Mark. "What're you staring at me for?" he demanded.

"I was just thinking. . . Judge, you're not personally responsible for wiping out all crime in Southern California. If you left – I mean, if you moved out here – it's not like the criminals would take over. There's plenty of good people on the law and order side to take care of things. You know, like Frank and Delaney and. . ."

Hardcastle was regarding the young man, perplexed, and McCormick trailed off. He tucked his hands in his pockets and lowered his gaze to the floor, then spoke again in a soft voice. "I know what we do is important. Busting the bad guys and all that." Mark lifted his head. "But it doesn't have to be your whole life. You deserve to think about yourself, too, Judge," he said sincerely.

Now the judge was shaking his head, trying to decide if he was amused or irritated. "Kiddo, it's not your job to worry about my love life – "

"– or lack thereof –"

"– but," Hardcastle growled as he continued, "I didn't exactly say I was giving up on her. Just that it isn't going to work out right now. Maybe sometime in the future, things could change, who knows."

McCormick shook his head. "You don't keep a woman like Connie dangling on a string, Judge. I'm surprised she waited five years for you as it is."

"She wasn't 'waiting' for me!" The irritation was taking over. "And what do you know about it anyway?" Hardcastle looked evenly at the younger man. "How do you know about it, anyway?"

Mark raised his eyebrows and returned the judge's look with a smug smirk, but didn't answer. Milt snorted, then said it for him. "May and Zora."

"And Warren."

"Warren?" Hardcastle exclaimed, his voice holding a note of betrayal.

McCormick shrugged humbly, but his words soon negated the gesture. "Well, you know I've got a way with your female relatives. I bet I can find out even more from Marion. You think?"

"No, I don't think –" Milt broke off, refusing to take the bait. "McCormick, I want to get some sleep. We got a lot goin' on tomorrow. What do I need to say to get rid of you?"

"I don't know. . . " Mark drawled. "Maybe. . . that you'll come out here more often to visit your sister. Who just happens to live about a half hour away from Connie. I mean, you are retired, Judge. Do the things normal retirees do. Collect stamps. Play bingo. Travel."

"Travel, hmm?" Milt repeated. He rearranged the sheets and blanket on the sofa bed, then slowly straightened. "I guess I could do that. I'm sure Mary wouldn't mind hosting us for Christmas."

"Christmas?" McCormick whined. "It's cold enough here in April. What the heck is it like in December?" In response to the judge's infuriated scowl, Mark immediately changed his tune. "Right, yeah, we'll come visit at Christmas. Great. Hell, why stop there? There's Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, Arbor Day . . . "

Hardcastle swung a pillow at the younger man, who danced back out of range with a wide grin.

"Go to bed, McCormick!"