The funeral was the following day, and proved to be one of the more oblique and utterly macabre times of Drake Mallard's life.
Dressed in a full suit and tie, he drove Gosalyn, Honker, Launchpad, and Morgana all to the funeral home. The whole fifteen minutes it took seemed plagued in a thick, cumbering silence that loomed on forever.
Drake walked along with three other men as an usher required to carry the casket; two of the guys, he realized, were Binkie's cousins and the third, an eighteen year-old guy, was someone he couldn't quite put his finger on as to where he stood in the family tree.
The church was clearly over capacity as people literally piled onto one another to allow room for the casket to come through. Drake was on the front left-hand side and used all the strength he could muster to grip the casket as he involuntarily brushed shoulders with people struggeling to keep clear of the men and their precious cargo.
The service went as well as any funeral could, yet the air of the funeral home chokingly thick as it impendingly floated above. Drake and his family sat just behind the front pew, where the immediate family took their place. Honker stayed back with Gosalyn, their hands locked tenaciously together.
The priest began with Binkie's birth, her life, growing up in St.Canard with two brothers and a single mother. Graduating high-school, so on and so forth. One of Binkie's brothers, a heavy-set goose with glasses, stood at the podium and told a humerous tale of Binkie when she was young. The crowd forced a laugh, most it caused to cry even harder. The other brother came up- a thinner goose about Drake's height-and talked a little and read a poem he had written for his "baby sister." Anyone with a soul would have cried, and as Honker leaned against the inconsolible Launchpad for support, Gosalyn took a hankerchief and wiped the tears falling from her father's eyes.
He looked over at her, drew her close and kissed her lovingly on the forehead.
The service was abruptly halted when a police officer walked in and towards the balding priest, trying his hardest to seem unphased at the sea of eyes staring him down. He leaned over and whispered something in the priest's ear, they exchanged uncomfortable glances and the priest came to the microphone.
"Please forgive me for interrupting this funeral mass, but I have just been informed that Herb Muddlefoot is here, and would like to say a few words. Now under the,um, circumstances, Herb will be handcuffed, so please do not be alarmed."
The priest nodded to the officer as he stepped down and away from the podium, allowing ample room for the entry. A hushed silence swept over the church as Herb appeared, handcuffed in front and clothed in a jailer's orange jumpsuit. Police officers escorted him on both sides as they led Herb up to the podium. He took one glance at Binkie's casket and had to grip the stand for support.
Everyone looked shocked, bewildered, even belligerent. Angry faces were the easiest to read, despite the red eyes and the tears running forcefully down. Gosalyn looked up at the pew ahead of her to see Herb's mother gripping the arm rest with what strength she still had. Gosalyn then turned to her father, who had Morgana's hand in his left, her hand in his right, and his expression seemingly unsurprised.
"You did this, didn't you?" Gosalyn whispered to him. He looked over at her and whispered back, "I talked the chief into giving him the option."
Gosalyn looked at him a moment, her brow furrowed in perplexion. The black-strapped, knee-length dress with a black open sweater she wore was finally losing it's edge on getting on her nerves.
"You think he's innocent, don't you?" She whispered, realizing the reason for her father's anomalous request. He simply looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling with life.
Herb took a deep breath at the podium, his heart racing. He had no speech prepared for this, simply because one can never fully prepare oneself for something like this.
Never.
As he stepped forward, he sat his bound hands onto the podium. A shrill noise instantly erupted from the speakers, and everyone shielded their ears until Herb dropped his hands and the teeth-gritting noise ceased. Everyone in the church immediately began murmering heatedly, conversing amongst themselves. Drake growled low and had to restrain himself from standing and yelling at everyone to shut the hell up and let the man speak.

"Please-" Herb pleaded at the crowd as he stood, alone, on the elevated alter of the looming church. The crowd immediately began to quiet, most still defiant and crossing their arms.
"Please..I..I know what you all must think of me, now. Me standin' up here all cuffed up. I was accused of something I honestly didn't do-" He was cut off as the church erupted into argumentative screams and incredulous tones. One guy standing behind Drake decided to yell "bull shit!" in which Drake turned and glowered at him, "Keep your opinions to yourself."
"Oh, and what exactly are you going to do about it if I don't-" he didn't have time to finish before Drake had his arm twisted and the bastard was wilting on the floor.
"Want to say it again, asshole? I'd love to show you what I'm capable of."
The man uttered a pain-wracked 'no' as Drake gave his arm one last jerk for good measure before shoving him loose.
"Now be a nice man and act civilized, hmm?"
The man was holding his arm protectively, and did nothing but nod. Drake turned back around, making sure to keep his voice loud enough for the man to hear. "Stupid son of a bitch."
Morgana and Gosalyn both stared at him in disbelief, their mouths open. He acknowledged Honker's look of gratitude.
The police officers present calmed the crowd enough for Herb to continue, in which he was more frazzled than ever.
"I know now what you all think. Yet, I am not up here to change your minds. I am up here to say..." he looked down longingly at the glistening casket that held the body of his wife.
"I loved that woman. Loved her more than all the bowlin' trophies n' Pelican's Island episodes put together. She was my life. Mother of my kids." He stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes, his sniffling amplified by the microphone.
"She was my everything. I'd never do a thing to hurt her, not one thing." He couldn't hold back any longer and the tears fell freely, splotching his prisoner's garb.
"But it doesn't matter, now. Doesn't matter what any of you's thinks. I know the truth, and so does Binkie. And if you cared one bit for us at all, you'd know the truth, too."
He backed away from the podium so his hands could go freely to his face. Running his hands across the casket's smooth surface, shimmering in the noon-day sun coming from the stained glass windows, he knelt and placed a kiss on the casket's top.
"I love you, Binkums. I will always love ya." With that said, he was allowed to once again be taken away, leaving a crowded room so silent one could easily hear the 'clank, clank' from his handcuffs as he walked.

The drive home was once again blanketed in a depressing silence, the sunny day had abruptly given way for a harsh storm.
During the drive out to the cemetary, the sky had clouded over and immediately began to storm, rain falling in enormous drops as thunder boomed ominously overhead. Now, as they pulled up into the driveway, the rain had dissipated and the sun was struggeling to once again show.
"Stupid weather." Drake grumbled as everyone except himself and Morgana exited the vehicle and sloshed up into the house. Everyone was drenched, and Drake's feather's produced a shaggy-style hairdo under the weight of the water. Morgana looked over at him from the passenger's seat and giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"Your head."
He flipped down his visor to inspect himself. "Wow," he murmered as Morgana took his hand in hers. "It looks like how I wore it in high school."
Morgana's hair had also fallen from it's bob and hung loosely around her shoulders.
"You cut your hair." Drake speculated as he ran his fingers delicately through it. It used to hang to the middle of her back when down, now it dangled elegantly just below her shoulders.
"Yeah. I think I'll start wearing my hair down more." She looked over at him. "What do you think?"
Drake smiled as he leaned in to kiss her. "I think you're beautiful either way." She smiled at him and gazed into his baby blues, so powerful and full of life.
She gave him a saddened look and he leaned in and held her gently, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in his delicious cologne. He wanted so despertly to leave this mess all behind; whisk away to a faraway land and forget that Herb or Binkie Muddlefoot ever existed. Sadly, he knew he couldn't. As much as he wanted to deny ever having any interest in the two, he was overcome with sympathy for Herb, and remorse for Binkie.
Obviously Morgana was thinking the same thing, and murmered as she rested her head on her lover's chest, "I feel so terrible. It's like walking around in a war-zone after a nuclear blast. Just so depressing."
Drake nodded, kissing her gently atop her head.
"I guess you'll be concentrating on the case for awhile." She said disspiritedly as she sat back up in her seat. Drake sighed and looked over at her.
"I guess so."
"I won't see you for awhile, will I?" She looked over at him, her features were lifeless. He shook his head.
"No, Morg, I promise we'll see each other this time-no more months spent on cases." He couldn't help but to touch her and reached forth and took her hand.
"You sure?" She asked, dubious.
"Positive." He assured her. Leaning into her, their eyes locked and he whispered. "I can't be away from you that long."
They kissed oncemore before going into the house, a kiss that signified love more than passion. It was going to be difficult for Darkwing to tear himself from his crimefighting long enough to see her, but she knew he'd do it. He was good about keeping his promises, just as he would on finding Binkie's notorious murderer.
Yet as they walked into his home, she felt a twinge of fear springing up her spine. She knew he'd find the killer. That was certain.
But what's going to happen when he does?

******************************

"Dad! Honk's grandma called. She wants to stop by." Gosalyn said as Drake and Morgana entered the house. Gosalyn looked at them both curiously and added, "Why'd it take so long for you guys to come inside?"
"I...uh...we..." Drake trailed off.
"Uh..contacts! Yeah, I lost a contact lens. Darn things." Morgana rubbed her eye for support.
"You wear contacts?" The redhead asked, incredulous.
"Yes-"
"Since when?"
"Gos, do you have to be so nosey?" Drake scolded, simotaneously changing the subject as he shook his head in a dog-like fashion to remove the water. Gosalyn didn't reply, but sighed ostentasiously.
"Anyway, I'm going to the tower." Drake announced as he removed his rain-dampened suit jacket from around his body, his hair still frazzled.
"Dad, what about Honker's grandma?"
"So? Invite her in and Honk can-"
"She wants to talk to you."
Drake looked at her a moment before his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar chime. Gosalyn bolted to the front door, opening it to find an elderly lady-Drake deduced to be about 70-hobble in with the aid of a walker. Taking no time to introduce herself, she closed the door and lowered her umbrella.
"Drake Mallard." She croaked sternly, like a battering school teacher that induces fear as she snaps your hand with a ruler.
The woman looked about with muddy eyes as she stood hunched over her rather large frame.
"Yes, I am he-" he was cut off as she raised a knarled finger to silence him.
"Young man, I need to speak with you."

Drake and Mrs. Eliza Muddlefoot sat at the breakfast booth in the dimly lit kitchen as she explained to him her intentions of barging into their home as she did. Yet first, she told him she needed some brew.
Still dressed in a white shirt and tie, Drake placed a steamy cup of black coffee into her feeble hands before he poured his own and took a seat across from her. A shaky hand supplied her body with the heated fluid as Mrs. Muddlefoot sighed, content.
"Mr. Mallard, I apologise for my interrupting your day, but I'm in dire need to know-" she trailed off and Drake looked at her closely.
"Know?"
"Your thoughts on my boy's wife, and this whole murder business."
Drake took a sip of his coffee and leaned back, suddenly feeling too warm for comfort. He loosened his tie from around his neck, allowing it to drape over his shoulders as he unbuttoned the top three buttons on his collared shirt. "You're curious of my opinion?"
"Well, you are one of Herb's good friends, aren't you? Both my son and daughter-in-law talked of you all the time."
'Herb's concept of a friend must be a vague one.' Drake thought, remembering all of the rather egregious attempts he made to deter and detach himself from their mindless lifestyles. "Well, we do live next door to one another, and my daughter and Honker are best friends. I, uh, guess..." his torpid speech did nothing but annoy the older mother as she sighed impatiently.
"You heard what I said." she snapped.
"What?" He was taken aback by her hatefulness. Did this woman really birth the happy-go-lucky Herb Muddlefoot he knew and hated so well?
"Young man, I am not senile. I've seen it all and done it all. I had Herb when I was almost 37. I am not a naive spring chicken that you can finaggle with your intellect. Now you tell me, were you or were you not good friends with my son?" Her interrogating skills proved to be as solid as her patience as she removed a flask from her floral dress top and poured the brown liquid into the cup of half drank coffee. Drake looked at her, shocked.
"Drinking?"
"Get over it." She muttered as she took a long sip from the cup.
"Whisky before noon...how old are you again?"
"I can still out-last your shrimpy ass in the sack, that's for sure." She snapped venemously.
Drake, shocked beyond words (and realizing that Herb didn't get his genetics from her side of the family) couldn't help but smile as he leaned closer over the table. "You're Herb's biological mother?"
"Enough questions. Tell me how close you and my boy are."
Drake sighed and leaned back. What to say? Well, he didn't make attempts to be around the guy, yet he knew a lot about Herb and his lifestyle. Most of the knowledge was acquired while attempting to get rid of him. Drake wondered idily how much Quackerware crap he owned. Surely enough to own stock in the damn company.
"We're friends." Drake replied, deciding to take a simpler route.
"Good friends?"
Drake shrugged. "Sure."
Mrs. Muddlefoot nodded, ironically satisfied with what he had said. Glancing momentarily at the coffee cup, she brought it to her lips yet thought against it. Instead, she removed the whiskey flask from her brassire and drank straight from it.
"Well, I'm going to get right to the point, Mr. Mallard. I know what you saw. I also know that Herb is currently being held for his only wife's murder. Do you have any idea how I feel?" She looked over at Drake for an answer, her calloused eyes clearing into a pain-wracked gaze. Drake didn't reply. He honestly didn't know.
"I don't." He admitted. The old woman took another drink of her whiskey, her eyes watering as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.
"Feels like shit. Simple as that. Everyone's pointing the finger at my son, without even knowing him. Can I smoke?" She asked as she withdrew a plastic bag from her purse. Drake didn't usually condone smoking in his home, yet he was willing to make an exception considering the circumstances. That is, until he saw what she held in her hand.
"Marijuana?" Drake croaked in dis-belief.
"It's for medicinal purposes, trust me." She said as she held the joint between her lips. Drake shook himself from his daze and snatched the thing from her mouth.
"Yeah, right! Look, I've got a very impressionable fifteen year-old daughter. I do NOT want her influenced to smoke an illegal narcotic because she saw a little old lady do it!"
He kept the joint from her reach, and looking annoyed, she rapped her nails on the table and said, "Well, give it back."
"No!"
"Come on, I need it."
"You'll go to jail, don't think you won't."
Mrs. Muddlefoot growled, exasperated. "Oh this is ridic--So I smoke a little pot here and there? Is that such a crime?"
Drake looked at her, astonished. "Uh, yeah. Is the term 'illegal' a foreign concept to you?" He replied with obvious mockery thick in his voice.
She sighed as she collapsed her face into her hands. "Okay, okay. I'll go. Leave you be with your family. I just want to ask, to fulfill my entire journey into your home and within too little feet of my son's home, where he raised my grandbabies. I want to know if you think he's guilty of the crime he's accused of." She looked back up at him and it was then he noticed just how much she resembled Herb. Looking down at his hands and then back into her eyes, encassed with wrinkles of age, he replied solemnly, "I think there's more to this case than what meets the eye."
Unsatisfied, Mrs. Muddlefoot took his hand and grasped it, her grip surprisingly tight and stern. "Please give me a straight-forward answer. Yes, or no. Tell me I'm not alone." Her eyes pleaded him to tell her exactly what he felt, and taking the marijuana cigarette and placing into her palm, he gave her a revered response.
"No. I do not believe Herb Muddlefoot killed her."
That was all she needed, and she soon left.

This chapter and story is copywright Lesley H. 4/11/04 (Happy Easter, everybody!). The song above..I really do not know who sang it but it's not mine, just like all of the Disney-based characters I used. Now, Herb's mom was created by me, but if Disney wants her, they can go on with their bad selves. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. Keep 'em coming!!! I bet you didn't think that Herb's mom would be like that, huh?? :)