But the sofa was empty; the cotton comforter was neatly folded and laid atop the two pillows that he had used. Sighing, Laura glanced out of the front window. The rental car was still there- so he hadn't gone very far. Returning to the bedroom, Laura got dressed, and then went out to find her errant husband.
He was walking along the beach below the Dawson bungalow, examining the spot where they had found Harvey Dawson's body the previous evening. There were no indications that anything had happened- the tide had washed and smoothed the white sand. He was holding something in his hand, and as she moved closer, Laura realized it was some papers, rolled up into a tube.
As she moved closer, Laura watched as his gaze moved from the beach to the curling, white capped waves. "Good morning," she said brightly, smiling at him. He glanced at her, then back at the waves. "You're up and about early today," she noted, forging ahead even though he wasn't giving her much encouragement. "Taking a stroll on the beach to clear your head?" she asked.
He still didn't look at her. "Thinking."
Laura's gaze fell to the sand, and she dug a toe into the dampness. "I - want to - apologize," she told him.
"For what?" he asked, at last turning that blue gaze fully on her face.
"For being so condescending, I guess. For not taking you seriously. I was wrong."
"Does that mean you think I'm right about Harvey Dawson's murder?"
"I didn't say that, exactly," Laura said, backpedaling. "But I shouldn't have just dismissed it like I did."
Remington held out the papers he'd been holding. "Perhaps this will change your mind," he said.
Laura took the papers, unrolling them. "What is this?"
"I called Mildred this morning," he explained. "Had her run a check on Harvey and Muriel Dawson. She sent that to the hotel office for me via facsimile machine."
"You've been busy," Laura commented, glancing at the papers.
Remington shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets and looking back out to sea. "I couldn't sleep," he told her. "Guess I've gotten used to having you next to me. Besides, that sofa was about two feet too short," he admitted. Nodding at the papers, he said, "Harvey Dawson, aka Dexter Harvey, aka Harvey Dexter, aka Dexter Dawson was a con man who specialized in romancing and marrying lonely, rich women."
Laura glanced through the papers. "Nothing about murdering them."
"No," he agreed. "But two of the women he married died within six weeks of the marriage. In 'accidents'." He tapped the paper to draw Laura's attention to that fact.
"That still doesn't mean that someone murdered *him*," Laura stated.
"What if Muriel Dawson discovered who he really was and she decided to get revenge?"
"Why not just call the police?" she wondered. "Why go to the trouble to kill him and risk ending up in jail herself for murder?"
Remington took a deep breath. "I don't know. But you know that prickling feeling you get on the back of your neck when something's not right?" Laura nodded as he put a hand to his own neck. "I'm getting the same thing. Right here." He looked into her eyes. "Laura, I know you don't think I'm right, but I'm going to prove to you that I am. With or without your help."
"You're the great detective Remington Steele," she told him. "Tell you what, I'll help- not to prove that Dawson was murdered, because I don't think he was, and it might be interesting watching you prove that to yourself if no one else."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why should I trust you not to sabotage the investigation?"
"You'll be in charge," Laura assured him. "I won't make a single move without consulting the 'boss'," she said with a grin, making air quotes as she spoke. "And once you prove that Dawson's death was the result of an accident, and you have to admit I was right, we stay here another week."
Remington looked her up and down. "And what if I prove that he was murdered?" he questioned. "What do I win?"
Laura thought for a second. "You know that fan dance you've always wanted to see?"
Remington's eyes lit with a definite wicked gleam and he grinned widely as he extended his hand. "You're on."
She took his hand. "Okay, Mr. Steele, where to first?" she wanted to know.
"I think a visit to the Widow Dawson is in order," he decided, offering his arm to her. "Shall we, Mrs. Steele?"
***
As they entered Bungalow Six at Mrs. Dawson's request, Remington and Laura discovered that the woman wasn't alone. Inspector Inoue was there, and greeted the Steeles with a nod in their directions.
"Mr. and Mrs. Steele. What a fortuitous visit. I came to tell Mrs. Dawson the results of the coroner's preliminary autopsy. I intended to pay a visit to you after. But you have saved me a trip."
Laura moved to sit beside Muriel. "How are you doing?" she asked the still tearful woman.
"Still in shock, I'm afraid. I can't believe that Harvey's gone."
Remington's attention, however, was focused on the police inspector. "Isn't it a bit early for a preliminary report?"
"Considering the fact that the coroner had nothing else to do- the crime rate on the island is very slight, Mr. Steele, and that everyone here knows Mrs. Dawson, we wanted this resolved as quickly as possible."
"I see," Remington mused. "And what does the report say?"
"Mr. Harvey Dawson died of a heart attack," Inoue announced in his soft voice.
"A heart attack?" Muriel repeated.
Remington saw Laura's triumphant glance in his direction, but refused to give up the fight. "Mr. Dawson looked to be in excellent physical condition," he noted. "Did your husband have a history of heart problems, Mrs. Dawson?"
"Not that he ever mentioned," Muriel responded. "He was very physically active. Swimming, walking."
"Perhaps more will be revealed when the autopsy is complete," Inoue suggested. "At the moment, the coroner believes that Mr. Dawson went for his swim, but felt unwell and struggled back to shore before collapsing onto the beach. There was some sea water in his lungs, but not enough to have caused his death."
"Poor Harvey," Muriel cried, the tears falling again. "If I'd gone down there with him as he asked, maybe he would be alive now."
Inoue shook his head. "From what the coroner told me, it is doubtful that anyone could have saved him, Mrs. Dawson. Do not blame yourself."
But Muriel refused to be consoled by his words, so Laura gently suggested, "Why don't you go and lay down, Muriel?" as the hotel-supplied maid came forward to help.
The maid led a sobbing Muriel into the bedroom, as the others watched. Once they were alone, Inoue turned to Remington. "So, Mr. Steele, it would appear that this was not murder as you thought it was."
"Are you certain about that, Inspector?" Remington asked.
Inoue waved his slim fingered hand. "A heart attack is not generally induced by outside forces, Mr. Steele."
"There are drugs that create the appearance of a heart attack, Inspector," Laura reminded the man.
Inoue gave Laura a long look. "Are you in agreement with your husband, Mrs. Steele? Do you also believe that Mr. Dawson's death was not as it seems?"
"Remington's in charge of this case, Inspector," Laura informed him. "I was just making a point."
Remington's eyes narrowed as he looked at Laura, but then looked back at the Inspector as Laura's point was answered. "You are correct about the drugs, and if one of them was present, I am certain that it will be found in the full autopsy. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other calls to make."
Laura and Remington followed him outside. "Uh, Inspector, how much do you know about Harvey Dawson?" he asked.
Inoue stopped as he was about to get into his car and looked at Remington. "Only that he was married to Muriel Everson, Mr. Steele. Why? Is there something more that I should know about?"
Remington extended the papers that he'd received from Mildred earlier in the day. "Read this. It might provide a few people on the island with a motive for killing him."
Inoue's dark eyes scanned the document. "Interesting. But- in order for someone on the island to want him dead, they would have to know about this. And to my knowledge, no one on the island knew anything about Harvey Dawson, except that-"
"That he was married to Muriel Everson," Remington finished.
Inoue held out his hand, returning the papers. "Now, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Steele, Mr. Steele, I must go."
Remington took the papers, his frustration evident. "I think we have a problem, Laura," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Even if I find evidence to prove that Muriel Dawson killed her husband, the way everyone on this island feels about her, no one will believe it."
Laura slipped her arm though his. "Why don't we go and have breakfast at the hotel?"
Remington looked thoughtful. "After we stop by the bungalow," he agreed.
She looked up at him. "Now that's an even better idea," she told him, her eyes leaving no doubt as what she meant.
But Remington seemed wholly focused on his "case". "I need to call Mildred, see if she's got the information I asked for about the history of Paradiso Island," he explained.
Laura sighed, but moved toward the path to their bungalow. When they entered, Remington went to the telephone, but Laura paused to pick up some pamphlets on the table near the door. "'A History of Paradiso Island'," she read as Remington continued to dial the telephone.
"That doesn't give me any information about Muriel Everson Dawson," he pointed out.
Laura shrugged and opened the booklet to read. "Paradiso Island, the playground of the South Pacific, was discovered by Commodore Ethan Everson of the Royal British Navy when the ship he was on ran aground on the outer coral reef that runs along the northern side of the island. The native population called the island Timaki Island, and welcomed the strangers into their lives, taking care of the British sailors until they were rescued. Commodore Everson -"
"I know the story, Laura," Remington said, waiting for the line to connect to Los Angeles. "I read the brochures. Everson returned to the island a few years later with his wife and child. During the 1920s, he opened an exclusive hotel for the obscenely rich, employing the natives for labour - " his attention moved to the telephone in his hand. "Ah, Mildred!"
Laura flipped through the brochure, reading again as he tried to converse with Mildred. "Upon the death of Martin Everson, his daughter, Muriel deeded the island resort back to the natives of Paradiso Island, and they continue to run the establishment today with the same understated flair as the Everson family."
"What was that, Mildred?" Remington asked, putting a finger in his free ear. "There's a bit of - interference on my end," he said, glaring at Laura, who merely shrugged and smiled, continuing to look at the booklet. "That's better," he told Mildred. "What were you saying? . . . Are you sure? . . . No. I'm not doubting you, Mildred . . . Who did you speak to when you sent the information via facsimile?" he wanted to know. "I see . . . No, thank you, Mildred . . . Keep digging on anyone else with a motive for killing Harvey Dawson, eh?" He glanced at Laura. "I'll tell her," he said. "Good bye." Hanging up, Remington told Laura, "Mildred sends her best," as he moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Laura wanted to know.
"To have breakfast. And a chat with Mr. Riansi about some papers that Mildred sent to the hotel an hour ago."
Laura gave him a long look. "You're obsessed!" she declared.
"Just following your lead, Laura," Remington assured her as he closed the bungalow door behind them. "Just following your lead."
***
The dining room of the resort was only open for breakfast and
lunch, leaving the guests to patronize one of the various eating
establishments elsewhere on the island. Remington saw Laura to
a chair, then seated himself, looking around for some sign of
the hotel manager as a sarong-clad young woman appeared.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Steele," she said in a friendly tone that was enhanced by her brilliant smile. "What can we get for you on this wonderful morning?" she asked.
Remington heard Laura give Suni her order, and belatedly realized that the girl was looking at him expectantly. "Forgive me," he begged, smiling, and then gave her his order. "Uh, have you seen Mr. Riansi about this morning?"
"I believe that he went over to see how Miss Everson is doing," Suni informed him. "I mean, Mrs. Dawson. Such a tragedy that accident last night, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Laura agreed. "Positively tragic."
"Do you know Mrs. Dawson well, Suni?" Remington queried.
"Oh, no. But everyone on the Island knows who she is. Shall I tell Mr. Riansi that you wish to see him when he returns?"
"Please," Remington said, frowning slightly as Suni left the table. "Probably took the papers Mildred sent with him," he muttered so that only Laura could overhear.
"Now you're sounding paranoid," Laura noted, then took a sip of the orange juice that Suni had placed before her.
"Nonsense, Laura. Just looking at the facts," he replied with a tight smile. "Everyone on this island would likely do anything to protect Muriel Dawson." He looked around, noting that several of the staff was standing near one of the exits, looking their way. "And I wouldn't doubt that some of them might do whatever necessary to make sure that no one endangers her in any way."
Laura's eyes widened. "You're saying that you think someone on the island might have killed Harvey Dawson?"
"It's possible," Remington said evenly.
"And *you* are impossible," Laura sighed, then smiled as Suni returned with their breakfast order. "Thank you, Suni. This looked wonderful, doesn't it, Remington?"
"Hmm," Remington agreed, surveying the food with a wary expression.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Steele?" Suni asked, watching him.
"No," he assured her quickly, picking up his fork, as if eager to enjoy the food she'd placed before him. "Thank you." He watched Suni go to another table, and then, as Laura was about to place a forkful of food into her mouth, reached out to grasp her arm. "Laura! Don't."
She froze, her eyes narrowed. "What now?"
"The Borgias," he said. "Poisoned their enemies."
"Oh come on," she said. "Now I *know* you're paranoid as well as obsessed." Before he could stop her, she picked up her fork and put a bite of the veggie omelet she'd ordered into her mouth.
"Laura-" Remington sat forward, fearfully watching as Laura chewed and swallowed.
"Delicious. Even better than yours, I think," she teased, cutting another piece. "I survived. Not even a twinge. Now eat before it gets cold."
Remington picked up his own fork and took a bite of the eggs on his plate. "Very well. I might have gone a tad overboard, but the theory is still a viable one. Someone on this island murdered Harvey Dawson. And I'm going to prove it."
"Remington, there are at least a hundred guests at the resort- and the native population is at least a thousand and fifty- That's a lot of suspects."
"We'll just have to narrow the list, Laura," he said, taking another bite. "You're right. Their cook is excellent. But my omelets are still better."
***
They were just turning away from Timaru Riansi's empty office when they nearly ran into the hotel manager himself.
"Mr. Riansi," Remington began, only to fall silent as the man spoke as well.
"Ah, Mr. Steele. Mrs. Steele. I'm delighted that I ran into you."
"Indeed?" Remington questioned. "I was looking for you as well, Mr. Riansi."
"Then it's fortunate that we found each other, isn't it?" Riansi asked as he opened his office door. Going to his desk, he sat down. "I believe I have something here which belongs to you," he said, unlocking a drawer in the desk to pull out a folder. "Your associate in Los Angeles sent these to you. A Miss - Krebs, I believe?"
Remington accepted the folder, ignoring the smug smile on Laura's face. "Uh, yes."
"I would have gotten them to you more quickly, but one of my employees mentioned having seen Inspector Inoue leaving Miss Everson - I mean Mrs. Dawson's bungalow and I wished to see if there was anything she had need of. Such a tragedy, for her husband to expire of a heart attack when she had no idea he had a bad heart."
"Neither did he, I imagine," Laura commented as Remington flipped through the papers.
"I did not wish to trust the papers to anyone else- considering what they contain," Mr. Riansi confided. "It's not that I don't trust my employees' discretionary powers,-"
"We understand," Laura assured the man.
"No one else saw these?" Remington questioned.
"No. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Steele, but- may I ask why you are investigating Mrs. Dawson?"
Remington sought for a reason, only to have Laura answer. "Curiosity, Mr. Riansi," she said. "It's one of the drawbacks of being such a well known private detective. Difficult to turn it off even when he's on vacation. Isn't that right, Rem?"
His eyes narrowed warningly. "I suppose so. Thank you, Mr. Riansi. I appreciate your getting these to me."
"Not a problem," Mr. Riansi assured him as Remington opened the door. "Oh, Mr. Steele. What was it you wanted to see me about?"
Remington felt Laura's brown eyes on him again, and glanced at the folder in his hand before answering. "Nothing. It - wasn't important. Good day, Mr. Riansi."
As they left the hotel, Laura asked, "Now, aren't you sorry that you were going to accuse him of stealing those papers?"
"And if we hadn't been at his office door, how do we know that he would have gotten them to me at all?" he returned, studying the documents in his hands. He steered her down the path that led back to their bungalow, but instead of the building, he turned toward the rental car.
"Where are you going *now*?" Laura asked, sounding frustrated.
"Into town. I want to check out some of the people mentioned in this report," he explained, getting behind the steering wheel. As he put the key into the ignition, he looked at her, noticing her hesitation. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to, Laura. Believe me, I understand. Far be it from *me* to drag *you* along on a *case* that's interfering with *our* *personal* time-"
Laura sighed loudly and climbed into the passenger seat. "Let's go, Kimosabe."
"Kimosabe?" he questioned.
"As in you're the Lone Ranger and I'm your faithful Indian companion Tonto," she explained.
Remington looked shocked. "'The Legend of the Lone Ranger'?" he questioned in disbelief. "Klinton Spilsbury, Michael Horse, 1981? A totally forgettable film-"
"I agree," Laura said smugly, fastening the seatbelt around her. "The TV series was much better. Clayton Moore, Jay Silverheels, American Broadcasting Company, 1949-57."
Remington sighed and started the Jeep. "You never fail to amaze me, Laura."
Laura grinned and lifted her shoulders as he turned the Jeep toward the main road, a scenic, twisting band of asphalt that ran along the cliffs that led to the far end of the island where the only real "town" was located. Remington glanced at Laura as she shook her head, allowing her hair to blow in the wind, and reconsidered his determination to pursue this investigation at full-steam.
While he'd been angry and hurt the night before, he was only a man- a man very much in love with Laura. The investigation could wait- for a couple of hours, at least, he decided, pulling the car to the side of the road and watching for oncoming traffic.
"What now?" Laura questioned, frowning.
Remington made a u-turn and headed back down the hillside. "Something I forgot to do at the bungalow," he told her, reaching out to take her hand in his. "Make up with my wife," he explained in a softer tone.
Laura returned his smile and placed her hand on his thigh as he braked for a curve. The Jeep didn't slow down. "Remington-"
"I know. The brakes are out. Tighten your seatbelt and hang on. It's liable to get a bit hairy before it's over."
To Be Continued---