Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Mark McCormick was first in line at the classic car rental place, waiting impatiently for the staff to complete its morning routine before coming to serve their customers. The evening before, he and Hardcastle had agreed that a twelve-hour round trip in either the pickup or the Coyote might be a little more than the judge could handle at one sitting, so rather than go by train, they had decided a high-end rental car was the best solution.

McCormick knew exactly what he wanted; it had been displayed in all its automotive glory in the showroom window the last time he had come here to rent the usual venerable Studebaker for the aunts' last visit. The clerk looked a little dubious at McCormick's request, but once the owner learned of his interest – and the credit line assigned to the VISA Gold card proffered at the outset of the negotiations – he displayed a remarkable alacrity in producing the keys and demonstrating all the car's amazing attributes, and it was only a matter of minutes before the paperwork was completed and the charge slip signed.

Shortly thereafter, McCormick was rolling down the Pacific Coast Highway, clipping along at a satisfactory sixty-five miles per hour before being alerted to the upcoming speed trap by a series of ever-faster chirps emitted by the device attached by a suction cup to the center of the windshield, just below the rearview mirror. Slowing down to the double nickel well in advance of the nick of time, he smiled and waved nonchalantly to the traffic cop staring at him from his strategic position behind a billboard.

At length arriving at the estate, he drove serenely down the drive and around the fountain, braking smoothly to a stop in front of the main house. Hardcastle stood waiting on the stoop, staring doubtfully at the vehicle in which he was expected to travel for the better part of the day. As McCormick climbed out of the car, he gestured gracefully down its impressive length and announced regally, "Your chariot awaits, milord."

"You expect me to go to a funeral in that?" Hardcastle asked in a wondering voice as he walked down the front steps, carrying his jacket and overcoat across one arm. He stopped at the edge of the curb and took a closer look at the red-and-black behemoth masquerading as transportation. "McCormick, this thing looks like the Coyote on steroids."

McCormick smiled proudly at his rented pride and joy. "She's a big beauty, isn't she? I know she's a little gaudy..." He ignored Hardcastle's derisive snort and continued with an air of smugness, "Frankly, I didn't know if they even rented it out, maybe they just displayed it for show. I figured we'd have to make do with a Caddy or a Lincoln, but no, there she was, just waiting for me." His face clouded briefly. "It woulda been kinda nice if she were a color that's a little more, uh, restrained, but let's face it, beggars can't be choosers."

"'Beggars' is right," Hardcastle replied as he cautiously opened the passenger door and peered inside. "I don't even want to think about what the rental is gonna be on this thing. I know, I know," he added, before McCormick could say a word. "It's just for one day, and I did say you could get whatever you wanted. Famous last words." He glanced up suspiciously. "You did get insurance, right?"

"Yes, Oh Frugal One, I did indeed," McCormick replied, retrieving a thin sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket and waving them in Hardcastle's face. "Complete with all the riders. No way was I driving off the lot without 'em. Do you know, I could replace the Coyote three times over for what this car is worth? It's a classic!"

"For God's sake, McCormick, it's an Edsel."

McCormick looked briefly affronted. "Well, yeah, but it's not just any Edsel, Judge, it's a top-of-the-line 1958 Edsel Citation two-door hardtop that goes for about seventy grand on the open market." McCormick smiled as he gazed proudly at the gleaming red finish, quickly pulling out his handkerchief and polishing an invisible spot just below the wipers. He continued dreamily, "Y'know, I've always wanted to drive an Edsel. They just don't make 'em like this anymore."

"I expect there's a reason for that," Hardcastle said dryly as he settled himself into the passenger seat, leaning over to inspect the rather odd-looking steering wheel. "I hope you know how to drive this thing. Wasn't this model one of those push-button jobs where the gear shifts are located where the horn's supposed to be?" He poked gingerly at the array of buttons set in a circle around the center hub of the wheel.

"Yes, Judge, it does have an electric Teletouch push-button transmission, and yes, I do know how to drive it," McCormick replied in a patronizing tone as he slid into the driver's seat and swatted Hardcastle's hand away from the wheel. "I managed to get it here, didn't I?"

"Sure you did, but you'd still better be careful," Hardcastle replied absently, as he began prowling through the glove compartment, huge by 1980's standards. "As I remember, those steering-wheel transmissions didn't go over so hot. Seems people kept trying to hit their horns, and ended up shifting their cars into reverse instead." He glanced up at the windshield. "What's that thing?"

"That thing, my dear Hardcastle, is a radar detector. It came with the car."

"An Edsel with a radar detector? You gotta be kidding." The judge examined the contraption more closely. "Looks pretty modern to me."

"I'll have you know that my new friend Jack, who owns the Rent-A-Classic place, has 'an excellent reputation for modifying his timeless automobiles to suit the needs of his valued customers'," McCormick answered in a sing-song chant as he read from the brochure he'd just discovered tucked neatly in the corner of the dash. "As a matter of fact, it's one of the modifications on this particular car that I thought just might come in handy on this trip. It'd take us a hell of a long time to drive up the coast going fifty-five miles per hour."

"Well, you're not gonna use it while I'm in here, I can tell you that," Hardcastle replied tartly as he inspected the lap belt that seemed to be part of the original equipment. Shaking his head in resigned bemusement, he snapped it into the closed position as he continued, "If you have to speed, you can take your chances just like all the other schmucks out there."

"Yeah, sure, Judge," McCormick muttered under his breath as he fastened his own safety belt and tapped the button marked 'Dr' for 'Drive'. "Like I won't be the only schmuck out there not using a radar detector."

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The sun was already well past its zenith when a less-than-happy McCormick pulled the Edsel out of an east San Francisco funeral home parking lot and into its allotted slot in the cortege, one of a long line of vehicles snaking its way toward a small private park located well north of Vallejo. In making his plans the evening before, Hardcastle had assumed the services would be held in the funeral home chapel; the discovery that George had requested his ashes to be scattered along a favorite fishing stream in the Napa Valley had been an unpleasant surprise. The unforeseen detour would add at least a good two hours to their journey, turning what had already seemed a very long day into an almost interminable one.

Up to that point, it had been an uneventful trip. Hardcastle had spent most of the time staring out the window, seemingly engrossed in the passing scenery, the whiteness about his mouth the only outward sign of his discomfort, while McCormick fiddled with the A.M. radio in a fruitless search for a decent station. Their only stop had been at a service station/convenience store combo, where McCormick topped off the tank with premium before grabbing a soft drink and a bag of chips on his way to the checkout counter. Hardcastle had refused any food at all, only drinking a little water from the fountain just inside the station office, taking no notice of the worried look McCormick darted at him as they climbed back into the car and resumed their journey, finally reaching the San Francisco suburbs some four hours later.

Now, as they loped along Interstate 80 at a rather higher rate of speed than was normally associated with funeral processions, McCormick removed his sunglasses and noted the position of the sun in the winter sky, remarking sarcastically, "I expect this'll just about take us right into the five o'clock Bay Area rush hour." The expression on his face was eloquent of his thoughts on the subject. "Judge, I'm beginning to wish I'd locked you in the bathroom and made you stay at home."

Hardcastle was sitting slumped in his seat, eyes closed, his head leaned back at an uncomfortable angle, the Edsel having been designed long before the concept of headrests was even a twinkle in the eye of some long-forgotten automotive engineer. Turning his head without actually raising it, he opened his eyes and returned McCormick's acid glance, before replying with an unexpected and weary candidness, "Kiddo, I'm beginning to wish you had, too."

McCormick took his eyes off the road for a second to look at the judge in surprised concern. "Judge, why don't you let the seat back?" he asked quietly. "You'd be a lot more comfortable, you know, and it is one of the newfangled perks that came with the car."

"I don't know, there's just something strange about a 60/40 seat-back that reclines – it's just not natural in a car this old." Hardcastle caught the look of real worry in McCormick's eyes, and so, in a grudging effort to please him, Hardcastle pulled at the lever and let the seat lean back at a slight angle. He glared at McCormick from his skewered vantage point. "There, satisfied?"

McCormick grinned cheerfully. "Yep."

Once more donning his sunglasses against the glare, McCormick returned his attention to his driving, as Hardcastle began to doze in his corner. Silence reigned until they reached the outskirts of the Napa Valley, when Hardcastle roused from his restless sleep and began gazing out the window again. Suddenly, without warning, he burst out in a tone of irritated disbelief, "I can't believe Stella didn't tell me she was having George cremated!"

"She probably thought you wouldn't come if she did," McCormick answered, his eyes shielded by his sunglasses as he watched the road ahead, only a faint dimple at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement. "Let's face it, Judge, this is an awfully long way to travel, just to say some nice words over a quart of ashes."

Hardcastle offered no reply as he stared through the windshield with a moody absorption. Eventually he stirred and remarked at random, "Somewhere up there, George is laughing his fool head off."

McCormick glanced across in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that I've probably done my last round of fishing up in these parts. Dad blame it, I liked that trout stream, too." Hardcastle lay back in his seat, staring at the roof as he simmered gently. "From now on, every time I hook a nice fish there, I won't be able to eat it for thinking I might be eating a little speck of George, too."

"Yeah, well, in that case, let's just hope George is biodegradable," McCormick answered with a straight face.

Hardcastle shot him a caustic glance. "Oh, that's funny, McCormick. Real funny."

"You started it."

After a brief meditative silence, Hardcastle remarked thoughtfully, "I guess we'll know for sure if the water starts bubbling up when Stella spreads the ashes, won't we?"

McCormick shook his head sadly as he flicked on the turn indicator and prepared to follow the cortege down an approaching exit ramp. "Poor old George. From public defender to public health hazard. What a way to go."

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It was late afternoon by the time George Mangell's nearest and dearest were finally assembled together, standing at solemn attention in a beautiful glade, the sun streaming through the lower branches of the surrounding trees, its rays sparkling on the clear flowing water of an honest-to-gosh babbling brook. A gentle but chilly breeze ruffled McCormick's hair as he stood by Hardcastle's side, keeping an anxious eye on his pale and exhausted charge while absently listening to the minister's mellifluent voice drone on and on and on. The judge had already spoken his few simple words, as eloquent if not quite so longwinded, and now it only remained for the minister to complete his endless remarks. Then the ashes could be scattered, and they could finally head for home.

Eventually the minister finished speaking, and Stella Mangell stepped up to the edge of the brook to toss her son's ashes gently over its shimmering surface. As the glittering dust began to drift down toward the water, McCormick saw that Hardcastle had had almost as much as he could bear, his marble features and rigid stance revealing the enormous effort expended in remaining upright and motionless. Instinctively, McCormick moved closer to the judge's side and stood in silent readiness, prepared to offer any necessary support, physical or otherwise, should the judge's indomitable will begin to fail before this waking nightmare finally came to an end.

Mercifully, the remainder of the service was brief, with the ash-scattering marked only by an effervescence natural to a fast-moving stream, McCormick was absurdly relieved to note. Mrs. Mangell then turned to Hardcastle, and in her grief, she did not notice the judge's unsteadiness as he embraced her gently, or the haste with which McCormick kissed her cheek. As she moved away to greet the other mourners, McCormick lost no time in hustling the judge back to the car, hurriedly divesting him of his jacket and tie before safely depositing him into the passenger seat of the Edsel.

"God, I thought that would never end," McCormick groaned as he rested his forehead against the car's black vinyl roof. He studied Hardcastle through the open window. "How ya doin'?"

"Ready to get home," Hardcastle answered wearily, as he slid down and rested his head against the seat cushion. "I've about decided that you were absolutely right."

"Right about what?" asked McCormick, pulling off his own tie as he prepared to cross to the driver's side.

"It really didn't matter to George whether I was here or not," Hardcastle said shortly. "Oh, well, too late now. C'mon, let's get out of here."