ACT II

FADE IN:

EXT. GULL’S WAY—NIGHT

INT. THE GATEHOUSE—NIGHT

McCORMICK is still at it, with books piled up on the coffee table, now joined by the remains of a pizza—not many remains—in a cardboard box off to one side. In the midst of this tranquility the PHONE rings. He grabs for it.

McCORMICK

Gull’s Way Center for Tort Reform, McCormick speaking.

CUT TO:

INT. A HOTEL CONFERENCE ROOM—NIGHT

ARNIE SANDOVAL, all-around conference good guy, is on the phone at a work table that’s otherwise cluttered with schedules and lists. There’s the usual mayhem in the background. He’s got his finger in his other ear.

SANDOVAL

That you, Mark? It’s me, Arnie. Don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the dark side. Torts paid for all my kids’ orthodontia.

(beat)

Will ya get Milt on the phone for me?

INTERCUT:

McCORMICK

(suddenly a lot more interested)

He’s not there yet?

SANDOVAL

Nope. I thought he might be mad at us ‘cause he didn’t make the cut this year for the Blind Lady of Justice Award. I thought he deserved another whack at it but the nominating committee didn’t want a repeat of the shoot-out.

McCORMICK

(peeved for several reasons now)

You know that wasn’t his fault. You aren’t sharing the hotel with a bunch of mobsters this year, are you?

SANDOVAL

No, got some Tupperware ladies, I think. Anyway, it’s dull as dirt without Milt. When’s he supposed to get here?

McCORMICK

Hours ago.

(beat)

He got stuck in some little hick town that’s on the damn scenic route.

(talking more to himself)

He shoulda called me back.

(glances down at his watch)

Look, Arnie, I gotta run.

(goes hunting for his loafers again, knocks the pizza box off the table and scrambles to grab it)

Gotta go. Might get him there for the banquet. No promises, okay?

SANDOVAL

Okay.

(sincerely)

Tell him I want him to be a presenter—a seat on the dais and everything. That’ll cheer him up.

He hangs up, sitting wistfully in the midst of barely-controlled chaos. A paper airplane sails by.

RESUME SCENE:

McCORMICK has hung up the receiver at his end. After a beat he picks it up again and dials a number. There’s another pause and then,

McCORMICK

Directory assistance? Koganville, California.

(beat)

Yeah. I’m looking for a hotel or a motel.

(beat)

No, I don’t know the name of it. There might be more than one.

(beat, then slightly more impatient)

If I knew the address I’d probably know the phone number, too. Just give me one. Any of them. Hotel or motel. Either.

(beat, looks perplexed)

None? Not any? Not even nearby?

(he’s frowning, then distractedly:)

Thanks.

He hangs up, still distracted. His puzzled frown holds for a beat, and then he spots his loafers, pulls them on, and heads up the stairs to the loft.

ANGLE—THE LOFT LOOKING TOWARD THE TOP OF THE STAIRS

McCormick grabs a small duffle from under the bed and starts packing hastily. This involves at least one item of clothing from the floor, which apparently passes the sniff test. He stuffs the last thing in, zips the bag up with some difficulty, then pulls open the bottom desk drawer, riffles through the contents, and grabs what he needs: a California ROAD MAP. It looks well-used. He unfolds it on the desk, runs his finger up a route and spots what he wants. Then he refolds it, relevant part out, takes it and the duffle bag, and starts down the stairs, dropping out of sight as he thumps on the steps.

ANGLE—OVER THE LOFT BALCONY TO THE ROOM BELOW

McCormick heads for the door and exits. There’s a moment of silent stillness, about a three-count, and then the door bangs open again. McCormick hustles back in, snatches up the nearest textbook to hand and, barely breaking stride, is gone again.

Hold on the still-cluttered coffee table for a beat and then,

CUT TO:

EXT. THE McCRAY HOUSE—MORNING

By daylight it looks less run down, mostly on account of the profusion of flowers growing in the yard. There are trellis-climbing clematis, and beds of zinnias and black-eyed Susans. The effect is rustic rather than elegant, but things are clearly being tended.

INT. THE McCRAY KITCHEN—MORNING

HARDCASTLE is seated at the table, a plate of eggs and bacon, with toast and jam. KITTY McCRAY is fetching the percolator from the counter.

McCRAY

(eager to please)

You sure you don’t want some pancakes? I make a mean stack of pancakes. Even Maggie says they’re good.

HARDCASTLE

I’ll be stuffed as it is. I won’t be able to buckle my belt.

McCray finishes pouring the coffee and puts the pot back on the counter.

HARDCASTLE

You oughta sit down and have some, too.

She stands by the counter, facing him but not making any move to sit. She wipes her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture.

HARDCASTLE

(eyeing her carefully)

Still no idea who your midnight visitor might’ve been?

She shakes her head.

HARDCASTLE

(Picking his way into this minefield slowly, with no mention of the word ‘murder’)

You think it has anything to do with your grandma?

McCRAY

(she frowns as though she’s giving it some thought, and finally shrugs and says:)

Maybe.

(beat, then her shoulders sag and she slumps over to a chair)

Maybe I’ve heard stuff before, but I was afraid to tell anybody.

(she cocks her head and looks at him out of the corners of her eyes)

Maybe I figured they’d think I was crazy.

HARDCASTLE

(heaves a sigh, shakes his head)

Okay, so I heard it, too. And I’m pretty sure I’m not crazy.

McCRAY

What about me?

HARDCASTLE

(there’s a beat, and then he starts out slow and absolutely honest)

I think I don’t know you well enough to say one way or another.

McCray quirks a small smile at him. This is the first one we’ve seen on her and it suits her better than her earlier wariness.

HARDCASTLE

Listen, I need to talk to that doctor, the one who was taking care of your grandma.

McCRAY

(neutral tone, but it sounds as if it’s a bit of an effort)

Dr. Springer.

HARDCASTLE

Yeah.

(casually)

He’s your doctor, too, isn’t he?

McCray nods.

HARDCASTLE

Is it okay if he tells me about what happened while you were in the hospital?

McCRAY

(a hint of bitterness)

You mean about me?

HARDCASTLE

(firm)

Everything. I won’t know what’s important until I hear it.

There’s another beat, and then she nods again.

HARDCASTLE

(sits back, looks almost satisfied, but there’s one more thing)

You want me to walk you over to Maggie’s?

McCRAY

(shakes her head)

I’m off today.

Hardcastle doesn’t look too keen on leaving her to her own devices.

McCRAY

I’m fine. Just some stupid guy trying to be funny last night. Some of them are like that. Go on, talk to Springer. I’ve got stuff to do. The spare key’s on the hook by the door.

She sounds very calm—very normal. She’s bustling around now and opens a drawer. She takes out an old-fashioned SCISSORS. It has a black enameled handle that’s slightly chipped. She gives him one last nod and then heads for the side door and out. As Hardcastle shovels in a few last bite of breakfast, we see her through the kitchen window, gathering flowers from the garden. Now her movements seem a bit more anxious and jerky, as she cuts through the stems.

ANGLE - PULL BACK

Hardcastle stands, watching her for a moment then sighing as he gathers up his plate and carries it to the sink. He wipes his hands quickly and lifts the key of the hook by the door, then exits.

Hold on that and,

CUT TO:

EXT. A STOREFRONT OFFICE—DAY

The sign reads: Dr. Lamott Springer M.D., Family Practice.

INT. THE DOCTOR“S WAITING ROOM—DAY

It’s small and utilitarian with the usual posters on the walls exhorting healthful behavior. Hardcastle occupies one of the vinyl-covered chairs in the otherwise empty room, perusing a back issue of Field and Stream. It doesn’t look as if Dr. Springer’s practice is generating much beyond operating expenses. A young mother with a peevish child emerges from the back, being given some last-minute murmured words of counsel by a middle-aged woman wearing a slightly out-of-date nurse’s outfit.

NURSE

Don’t forget the Tylenol. And call if he’s not improving.

The mother nods, gathers her child up, and departs.

NURSE

(frowning)

Dr. Springer will see you now, Mr., ah—?

HARDCASTLE

(smiles as he stands)

Hardcastle, Milt.

NURSE

(seems totally resistant to the ol’ Hardcastle charm)

This way.

(she ushers him back)

ANGLE—IN SPRINGER’S OFFICE.

It’s small, like the waiting room, but the shelves are burdened with well-thumbed medical books and there are the proper certificates and diplomas on the wall. SPRINGER is at his desk, scribbling diligently in a chart. He’s slightly older than the nurse, and perhaps ten years younger than Hardcastle. His hairline, but not his dedication, is receding. He looks up as Hardcastle enters. He doesn’t look particularly surprised or puzzled.

SPRINGER

Mr.Hardcastle is it?

HARDCASTLE

The sheriff gave you a heads-up, huh?

SPRINGER

Have a seat.

(he gestures to the chair and smiles)

It’s a small town. I got a call from Larcom, then I ran into Hank at Maggie’s place this morning.

(beat)

He says the parts should be here by noon or so.

Hardcastle chuckles.

SPRINGER

(an abrupt change of expression—a flash of worry)

How’s Kitty?

HARDCASTLE

(purses his lips momentarily)

I guess I was going to ask you that same question.

Springer frowns.

HARDCASTLE

She knows I’m here. I told her I’d have to ask you about her. She told me to talk to you. Everybody’s told me to talk to you.

SPRINGER

Everybody’s worried about Kitty. She’s had a rough couple of months.

HARDCASTLE

Sound like more than ‘rough’.

SPRINGER

It was.

(looks momentarily circumspect, then caves in to practicality, he wants Hardcastle to understand)

It was a helluva lot more. First her mom takes off, that’s what triggered it—

HARDCASTLE

Triggered what?

SPRINGER

The psychotic break.

(shakes his head)

I’m not a psychiatrist, but it didn’t take a specialist to make that diagnosis: delusional, hearing the voices.

HARDCASTLE

Violent?

SPRINGER

(looks reluctant again)

That wasn’t the main thing.

HARDCASTLE

How was her grandmother then?

SPRINGER

Shaken.

(beat)

But I don’t think she was ever afraid of Kitty. Afraid for her.

HARDCASTLE

So Kitty was committed?

SPRINGER

The adolescent unit over in Fayette took her on a three-day involuntary. She took the separation hard. Lots of paranoid ideation. I was part of that.

HARDCASTLE

So three days became a couple of weeks.

SPRINGER

And in the middle of that, Erma took a fall on the stairs. Broke her hip, and lay on the floor overnight before anyone thought to look for her.

HARDCASTLE

And we’re sure that was an accident?

SPRINGER

(for the first time, he looks irritated)

That’s what Erma said. She was awake when they found her.

HARDCASTLE

But—

SPRINGER

Pneumonia. Sepsis. That’s probably why she fell in the first place. She was old, and tired, and had been carrying a big load for a long time. First her daughter, then her granddaughter.

HARDCASTLE

And the coroner—

SPRINGER

She died in the community hospital in Porterville. It’s small, but it’s good. I’m not on staff there. Dr. Phelps took care of her and he’s a good man. He signed the death certificate and the coroner said the body could be released.

HARDCASTLE

To who? Kitty was still in the psych ward.

SPRINGER

They were going to handle her as an unclaimed indigent. Kitty wouldn’t have had even had a grave to come home to.

(beat)

It’s a small town. We take care of our own. I don’t expect you to understand that, Mr. Hardcastle.

HARDCASTLE

(his smile is closer to a grimace)

Oh, I’ve spent some time in a small town, Doc.

SPRINGER

(not looking appeased)

We got together, made the plans. Bill Lovell—he owns the funeral home—he did everything at cost and threw in the services for free. We all pitched in on the grave marker.

HARDCASTLE

A community project.

(sighs)

But nobody invited Miss McCray to the proceedings?

SPRINGER

They don’t do involuntary commitments lightly, you know. The system’s bursting at the seams. Erma would’ve wanted Kitty to stay where she was until it was safe for her to be discharged.

HARDCASTLE

Okay, so Kitty’s one of your own and everyone wanted what was best for her. How ‘bout now, since she’s been released and started accusing you all of murder?

SPRINGER

It hasn’t been easy.

(looks like he’s had just about all he can take)

But it had been getting better.

(he’s giving Hardcastle a pointed stare)

HARDCASTLE

All I did was order the blue plate special and make a phone call. If that’s all it took, I’d say it wasn’t buried very deep.

SPRINGER

(frowns for a moment and then gives a reluctant nod)

You have a point, I suppose. It’s the nature of the disease. But you’ll be hauling out of here as soon as Hank puts your truck back together. It’s the rest of us who’ll have to deal with the fallout.

HARDCASTLE

(practically)

Then maybe we ought to make sure Miss McCray has the story right. It’s not too late for an autopsy.

SPRINGER

(cooler)

This is paranoid delusion, Mr. Hardcastle, pure and simple. Everyone here realizes it. The psychiatric staff who evaluated her recognized it. In the face of that, no amount of reasoned evidence is going to do any good.

(beat)

I’m afraid I don’t have any more time to discuss this with you.

Springer stands, bringing the interview to a close. Hardcastle takes the hint. As he leaves, the camera lingers on Springer’s face. There’s controlled anger there, but also an element of concern.

Play that and,

CUT TO:

EXT. THE ROAD AT THE OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN—DAY

KITTY McCRAY is walking along steadily, with a sense of purpose. She’s just past Hank’s service station, heading toward the edge of town. Her head is down. She’s clutching a generous bunch of flowers. We recognize the selection as being from the McCray garden. A dark-colored paneled van is seen coming up the road from behind her. It slows, and now we can see the driver is LESTER KOOMS. He slows as he approaches her, but it quickly becomes apparent that it’s not out of caution over her safety. He’s got his window rolled down and he leans out, his left arm all the way out of the window. He whacks the side of the van. Kitty jumps slightly and then glances over her shoulder. She quickly returns her stare to the ground in front of her, picking up her pace a little and doing her best to ignore him.

KOOMS

(in a singsong)

Here, kitty kitty.

She walks a bit faster.

KOOMS

Aw, come on, Kitty. You’re not scared, are ya?

She is, but she knows better than to break into a run. He’s parallel with her now, just creeping along. He jerks the wheel slightly, forcing her to jump aside. She glances a scowl at him and starts forward again. He reaches out and makes a swipe at her flowers. That, and her attempt to save them, knocks half of them to the ground. Kooms pulls ahead slightly, hits his brakes, throws his car into ”park“ and opens his door, blocking her way.

CUT TO:

INT. THE COYOTE—MOVING—DAY

McCORMICK is driving one-handed and consulting his map. He lifts his eyes just in time to see the ”Welcome to Koganville“ sign. He flashes a momentarily satisfied smile which just as quickly vanishes.

POV McCORMICK

He sees the van at the side of the road and LESTER KOOMS getting into KITTY McCRAY’S personal space. She’s backing up a little. McCormick brakes and pulls onto the shoulder of the road, tight in front of the van.

ANGLE—THE ROADSIDE

Kooms glances up at the intruding vehicle with a look of displeasure. Kitty has stopped backing up. McCormick climbs up out of the Coyote, map in hand and pivots to the ground. He closes the space between him and the other two, smiling and waving his map.

McCORMICK

(hale and friendly, but honing in on Kooms)

Wonder if you could help me out. I’m not from around here. Any idea how far it is to Koganville?

KOOMS

(looking annoyed)

You’re here. It’s right up this road.

(he turns and points, then turns back to find McCormick even closer, holding out the map)

McCORMICK

(still smiling broadly, but rarely have facial expression and body language been more out of sync)

Really?

(glances down at the map)

I thought I took a wrong turn back there. You’re sure this is the right road?

KOOMS

(irritated now)

Sure I’m sure. I’ve lived here all my life.

McCORMICK

(leans in closer—he’s lighter but taller than Kooms)

Guess you must know, then, huh?

(he’s now in the guy’s face—still smiling but there’s an edge to it)

Kooms holds his position for a half beat. He’s uncomfortable but probably hasn’t figured out why yet. He finally wavers, then takes a step back.

KOOMS

(uncertain)

Yeah, well, it’s right up the road, like I said.

Kooms is in full retreat, climbing back into his van. McCormick leans on the door with his free hand, still shoving the map in Kooms’ direction.

McCORMICK

(his tone becomes more menacing, though the words are still banal)

You sure?

Kooms, bolder now from the safety of his car, snatches the map out of the way.

KOOMS

Hell, yeah.

The Coyote is in his way. He looks over his shoulder, puts the van into reverse, and makes an awkward three-point turn, heading back the way he came. In the course of the maneuver we see the lettering on the side of the van: ”LOVELL FAMILY FUNERAL HOME, We’re here when you need us.” McCormick, now empty-handed, stares as Kooms careens off down the road. He finally lets out a pent-up sigh of relief.

McCORMICK

(still looking in the direction of the van, as he muses)

I’ve always figured the best thing to do with bullies is confuse the hell out of ‘em.

(he turns back and sees McCray is stooping and hurriedly gathering up flowers)

Oh, here, lemme help.

(he picks one up, it’s half-crushed and the stem is broken—he frowns at it and hands it to McCray, who accepts it solemnly)

Sorry.

McCRAY

Thank you.

She nods once shyly and then scurries off the way she was previously headed. Mark stares after her for a moment, then shakes his head in bemusement.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE LOVELL FUNERAL HOME—DAY

It’s an older brick building with Doric columns supporting the front porch and dark curtains in the windows.

INT. THE FUNERAL HOME—DAY

We’re in the back room where the embalming takes place. There’s nobody being processed right now. The metal table is wiped down. There’s a heavy-hinged door to a walk-in cooler at the back of the room and an old desk, looking out of place among the metal and porcelain fixtures. BILL LOVELL, a middle-aged man with a look of long-practiced solicitude, sits at the desk. He’s doing some paperwork. The back door is flung open and in stalks LESTER KOOMS muttering something that probably woudn’t pass muster with the network censors.

LOVELL

(looks up, chronic solicitude gives way abruptly to aggravation)

Where’ve you been? I told you I wanted to do inventory today.

KOOMS

Yeah, yeah. I’m here, aren’t I?

Lovell gives him a long hard look.

KOOMS

What?

LOVELL

The sheriff called this morning. He said there’s a guy, some lawyer named Hardcastle, staying with Kitty McCray. He’s asking all kinds of questions.

Kooms says nothing, but a nervous twitch gives him away.

LOVELL

(his expression shifts to disgust)

You pestering her again? You haven’t got a lick of sense. Just leave the girl alone.

Kooms looks sullen.

LOVELL

(shakes his head)

I don’t know what’s the matter with you.

KOOMS

(jerks chin up suddenly)

Me? The hell with it. I don’t know why everybody else puts up with her. The hell with her; she’s the one stirring things up.

LOVELL

She’s…ill.

KOOMS

(smirks)

She’s nuts, like her mom was.

LOVELL

(losing his patience)

Shut up. And leave her alone or—

KOOMS

(interrupts sharply)

Or what? Tell me what you’re gonna do, Mister Lovell.

Lovell’s eyes narrow but there’s a long beat of silence. Even Kooms seems to sense he’s gone too far. He dredges up a fatuous grin.

KOOMS

Anyway, I’m here. Let’s do the damn inventory.

Hold on Lovell’s still silent stare and then,

CUT TO:

EXT—THE CEMETARY—DAY

The same one we saw in the opening sequence. KITTY enters through a gate, still bearing her now-damaged flowers. She passes stately old markers, heading directly for a modest and very recent stone. Her expression is solemn but as she approaches she becomes suddenly more perturbed.

McCRAY

(kneeling)

Oh, damn.

(she glances aside at the marker, which bears the name ERMA McCRAY, there’s a quick flash of embarrassment)

Sorry.

We see what upset her a moment earlier. It’s pieces of green glass, the remains of an inexpensive dime store vase lying at the base of the stone along with some wilted flowers that are similar to the ones McCray bears. She puts the new ones aside, propped against the stone.

McCRAY

(reaching to gather up the pieces then pulling back suddenly)

Ow.

She looks down at her right hand; there’s blood welling from a cut on her index finger. She frowns, reaches in her pocket for a tissue and rises clumsily. She looks forlornly at the mess and shakes her head, still clutching her finger. Looking around, she spots a faded arrangement of plastic flowers on a nearby grave. Ignoring her finger, she takes that display apart, and leaving those flowers lying awkwardly where they were, she puts her fresh ones into the vase and sets it on her grandmother’s grave. She steps back, taking in the makeshift arrangement.

McCRAY

(shakes her head as she turns away, speaking softly to herself, or the dead, or both)

I’ll be back; I’ll fix everything.

Hold on her as she departs slowly, shoulders stooped, then,

CUT TO:

EXT. THE DO DROP INN—DAY

The Coyote pulls into a parking place out front. McCORMICK climbs out of the vehicle and heads for the door.

INT. THE DO DROP INN—DAY

It’s a lazy Saturday morning, with only a few people scattered among the tables in groups of two or three. HARDCASTLE is at the back of the café holding the telephone receiver to his ear. It is apparently ringing ad infinitum. He grows dourer by the second. The door opens and he glances up. There is a momentary pleased and surprised look on his face. We see McCORMICK scan the room and light on him, but not before Hardcastle has swapped his grin for a more sober expression. McCormick tries a quick smile, then a sheepish shrug. Hardcastle shakes his head subtly and jerks his chin toward the door McCormick just came through. McCormick half turns back, looks puzzled very briefly, then takes the hint, exiting again. Hardcastle meanders back to the counter, takes a last swig from the cup, deposits enough money to cover the charge and a tip, and give Maggie, who’s been oblivious to the whole interchange, a quick, friendly nod. He heads for the door and exits

EXT. THE DO DROP INN—DAY

McCORMICK has strolled down the street a little ways. HARDCASTLE steps out of the café and looks around. There’s no one nearby. He joins McCormick, who’s looking at him askance.

McCORMICK

Okay, I’m sorry. I know you said not to come up here, but the least you could’ve done was give me a call. Instead I hear about it from Arnie Sandoval.

HARDCASTLE

It needed more than a flushing.

McCORMICK

I know; I just talked to your mechanic.

Hardcastle narrows one eye.

McCORMICK

What? I’m entitled to take a professional interest.

(quick beat)

Anyway, Hank told me where to look for you.

(he sighs)

Okay, now you can chew me out for driving up here.

HARDCASTLE

(frowns, but it doesn’t seem particularly directed at McCormick)

Well, first off, I did try to call—

(beat, and then a bit sheepish himself)

just now.

McCormick gives him a disbelieving look.

HARDCASTLE

And second—

(this is a little harder)

I think I’m kinda glad you dropped everything and came running up here.

McCORMICK

(continued disbelief—it might be true but he never thought he’d hear it)

Huh?

HARDCASTLE

Yeah, well, I’m not exactly sure yet, but I think something’s going on in this town.

Hold on that and,

CUT TO BLACK

Tonight's episode of Hardcastle and McCormick
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