Steele Can't Let Go
Part 4

When we last saw our heroes, they were careening out of control down a hillside road in a Jeep with no brakes….

Laura braced her hands on the dashboard, dragging her eyes from the sharp drop beside the runaway Jeep to glance at Remington. He was fighting the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the effort. She spared another glance to her right, and swallowed.

"Laura, there's something that I need to tell you," Remington called out over the sound of the wind rushing by.

"What?" she asked.

"I love you."

Laura turned to look at him again. "And you're telling me this now?" she questioned. "Why?"

"Because I'm also going to tell you to unfasten your seatbelt and get ready to jump," he informed her, his hand on the emergency brake in a hopeless attempt to slow the vehicle as he nodded ahead of them.

Laura followed that gaze and opened her eyes wide as she saw the white barricade with black arrows indicating a sharp turn ahead. "We're not going to make it!" she yelled, releasing the seatbelt as he suggested.

Remington made a valiant effort to turn the vehicle to the left, away from the barricade, sending the small jeep skittering across the road on its two right wheels, tilting further and further over.

"Jump!" Remington yelled, and Laura did just that, hitting the pavement as the Jeep crashed through the barrier and disappeared over the edge of the embankment.

Laura regained her breath, and pushed to her feet, ignoring the abrasions on her knees and hands to approach the spot where Remington lay perilously close to the edge. If he'd waited another moment to jump, he would have followed the vehicle down to the beach below. "Are you okay?" she asked as he groaned and rolled over. He had a bump on his forehead, but other than the dirt covering his white linen trousers, he looked fine, Laura thought.

"I'm not sure," he confessed, looking her over. "You?"

"Nothing that a soak in the hot tub won't cure," she assured him. She touched his forehead. "You've probably got a concussion," she warned.

Remington sat up slowly, looking relieved when there seemed to be no pain. Except for a slight headache, it appeared that he'd emerged as unscathed from the adventure as Laura. Or so he thought until he put his left hand on the road for leverage as he tried to rise to his feet. "Damn," he muttered, wincing, cradling his wrist in his right hand.

Laura took the wrist and examined it. "Can you move it?" she asked.

Wincing, Remington slowly moved his hand up and down. "But it hurts like hell."

She nodded. "It's probably sprained," she told him, "Where's your handkerchief?" she asked. When he pulled the perfectly folded square from his pants pocket, Laura shook it out and neatly tied it around the injured wrist. "There," she announced at last. "That should do for the time being."

"Learn that in the Girl Scouts, did we?" Remington questioned.

"Basic first aid 101. Took a course a few years ago when I realized that you tend to attract this kind of thing," she told him. With her assistance, Remington got to his feet, moving to the edge of the cliff to look down at the Jeep below. It was lying on the rock-strewn sand; smoke curling in tendrils into the air.

"Do you see any way down there from here?" he asked.

Laura frowned as she followed his gaze up and down the roadway. "No. We can call a wrecker from the hotel," she told him. Taking his arm, she turned him away from the edge and toward the road. "Look at it this way. It's all downhill."

Remington's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been waiting a long time to get back at me for that one, haven't you?" he asked.

"At least this time you didn't start spouting off about movies," Laura noted smugly as they set off down the road. "What was that movie?"

"*The Big Sleep*," Remington recalled. "I can't come up with one this time. Strange, isn't it?"

"Let's just get back to the bungalow, eh? And spend some time in that hot tub."

"I'm afraid the hot tub will have to wait," Remington stated firmly. "Until I have another chat with our friendly hotel manager."

"Mr. Riansi? Why?"

"Oh come on, Laura. Where's that nose for mystery that I've always found so attractive?" he asked. "You don't think it's more than a little suspicious that our rented car lost its brakes on a dangerous road within minutes of talking to the one person on the island who *knows* that we're investigating Muriel Everson Dawson?" he quizzed.

"You're not suggesting that Mr. Riansi had anything to do with what happened?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh, you *are* paranoid. It was an accident!"

"Just like Harvey Dawson's death was an *accident*?" Remington returned, his voice rising slightly.

"The man had a *heart attack*!" Laura said. "Mr. Riansi was with us just before we left, remember? He didn't have time to do anything to the brakes!"

"He had just come from Muriel Dawson's bungalow, remember? And he had to pass *our* bungalow to get there. He had already seen the papers that Mildred sent. He had motive *and* opportunity!"

"So he stopped on the way back from paying a call on Muriel and rigged the Jeep's brakes in broad daylight? Where anyone could have seen him? Including *us*?" Laura asked.

At the edge of the hotel parking area, Remington turned to look at her. "Laura, I thought you were going to *help* me on this?" he asked.

"I am."

"How? By arguing with every theory that I come up with? By damning me with faint praise whenever someone asks your opinion on what I'm doing?" He sighed. "I thought that almost being killed would have gotten you angry enough to want to find out what's going on. I guess I was wrong. You go on to the bungalow, take your soak." He turned away.

"Where are you going?" Laura asked.

"To speak with Mr. Riansi." Remington refused to look back at her. He hid his satisfied smile when he heard her join him. "Thought you were going for a soak?" he asked.

"I can't let you go in there alone, accusing that poor man with no evidence to back you up. You might do irreparable damage to the agency's reputation. Someone needs to be there to keep a level head."

"That's what I love about you, Laura," Remington drawled, "always ready to repair any mistakes that you're certain I'm going to make."

"Just trying to be helpful," she told him with a shrug.

"Hmm," he said doubtfully as they continued across the parking lot toward the entrance.

Timaru "Tim" Riansi was standing on the sidewalk, talking to an employee, and Remington saw the man's dark eyes widen as he looked up and saw them approach. It suddenly hit Remington that he and Laura probably looked like something the cat had dragged in - dirt streaked, their clothes torn, Laura's hair tangled, and a nasty bump on Remington's forehead.

"Mr. and Mrs. Steele," the manager said, moving to meet them. "What happened?"

He *sounded* sincere, Remington thought. But it could have been an act. "Surprised to see us, Mr. Riansi?" he asked.

"Like this, certainly."

"We had an accident," Laura informed him.

"An accident?"

"Yes," Remington confirmed, watching the man closely. "We were heading into town to make some inquiries, but decided to wait until later and started back down the hill- only to discover that our rented car had no brakes."

"Oh my." Mr. Riansi's dark eyes scanned the parking area behind them. "Where is the vehicle now?"

"At the bottom of the cliff on the beach," Remington said. "A bit worse for wear, I'm afraid."

"Oh, dear," Mr. Riansi said. "Please come into the hotel and sit down. I'll call the doctor and have someone check on your car," Mr. Riansi told them, ushering them toward the building. "And I will personally arrange for another mode of transportation during the remainder of your visit at the hotel." Turning, he barked out some orders to the staff, and several of them moved in various directions to carry them out. "It sounds as though you were very lucky to survive," he told Laura. "You might have been killed."

"Yes," Remington agreed slowly. "We very nearly were. Are you disappointed that we weren't, Mr. Riansi?"

Mr. Riansi frowned and gave Remington a long look. "Mr. Steele, are you implying that this was not an accident? And that *I* was somehow involved?"

"Why don't we go into your office?" Laura suggested quickly, obviously hoping to avoid a scene.

"I think that it would be best if Mr. Steele sees the doctor before we speak further," Mr. Riansi suggested. "Apparently he took quite a hit to the head. Such things can be dangerous if not treated-"

"I don't need a bloody doctor," Remington said, but a sudden wave of dizziness made him sway slightly, giving lie to his statement. "I'll be fine once I uncover the truth."

Mr. Riansi clicked his fingers and a bellhop appeared instantly. "Assist Mr. and Mrs. Steele back to their bungalow, please. I will have the doctor meet you there."

"I need to look at the car," Remington insisted. "Check it out for myself-"

"We have very good mechanics on the island, Mr. Steele," Mr. Riansi assured him. "If there is anything amiss, I'm sure they will find it."

"Are you a good mechanic, Mr. Riansi?" Remington asked, and then lifted a hand to his head as the dizziness became worse.

"As a matter of fact, yes, Mr. Steele, I am. My first job at the hotel was working as a mechanic on the hotel's vehicles. But if you are implying that I tampered with the brakes on your vehicle, -"

"Of course he's not," Laura said quickly. "Come along, darling," she said, putting Remington's uninjured arm across her shoulder. "Let's go and get you cleaned up. Thank you, Mr. Riansi for all your help."

"I will also call Inspector Inoue myself if it will make you feel any better, Mr. Steele," Mr. Riansi offered eagerly as he walked with them to the entrance.

"I don't think we need to bother him," Laura said.

But Remington spoke. "Excellent idea, Mr. Riansi. You can explain yourself to the Inspector."

"With pleasure, Mr. Steele," the manager said in an even tone.

***

Laura sent the bellhop back to the hotel once they reached the car park for their bungalow and Remington insisted on inspecting the area. There was a pool of liquid on the ground beneath where the Jeep had been parked, and he went onto his haunches to investigate. Dipping a finger into it, Remington sniffed it and rubbed it between his fingers, frowning.

Laura joined him, doing the same. "It's oil. Not brake fluid." She stood up again and then slipped a hand under his arm to pull him up as well. "It was an accident. The brakes failed."

"You know, Laura, at this point in a case, I'm usually starting to come around and see things from your point of view," Remington commented, "instead of putting up more roadblocks."

"If this *were* a case, I might agree with you," Laura pointed out, turning them both toward the bungalow. "The Jeep was out here, in plain sight. Mr. Riansi is wearing a white linen suit- and there's not a speck of dirt on it," she pointed out. "If he had done what you're accusing him of, there would have been dirt and streaks from the asphalt."

"Maybe he changed clothes," Remington suggested, letting Laura open the door for him.

"And maybe you're grasping at straws," Laura suggested. "Now sit down and relax until the doctor arrives." She gently pushed him onto the sofa, and would have moved away, but Remington grasped her hand in his.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To get something cold from the refrigerator for your head."

He wouldn't let her go. "Stay here. I'm sorry. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there's nothing going on. Maybe it *was* an accident." His head fell back. "It hurts to think right now."

There was a knock on the door, and Laura pulled against his hold. "I have to answer the door."

"Always a door or phone to be answered. Always an interruption," he muttered, but he released her hand.

Remington stayed where he was, his head back, his eyes closed, fighting the darkness that threatened to engulf him. He needed to stay awake and alert. He heard Laura open the door. "Hello," she said. "You must be the doctor that Mr. Riansi sent for."

"Yes. Dr. Petanu Sutani," he explained. "Where is the patient?"

Remington's heart rose into his throat as he listened to the gruff voice with its gravelly undertone. He opened his eyes, and turned slowly - still fighting the dizziness - to look at the man whom Laura was showing into the bungalow. "Right here," she was saying. "Remington, this is Dr. -"

"Sutani," the physician supplied, and then grinned, revealing even white teeth.

As the doctor reached toward him, Remington shrank away. "Don't touch me."

"I can't help you, Mr. Steele, unless I do," Dr. Sutani explained in his raspy voice. "You likely have a concussion-"

"And a sprained wrist," Laura supplied. "Remington-"

Remington stood up quickly, intending to put some distance between himself and the man he believed to be Harvey Dawson's murderer, but the darkness finally made good on its threat and closed around him…

To Laura's relief, Dr. Sutani caught Remington and then lowered him to the sofa. "What happened, Mrs. Steele?" the man questioned. "Tim Riansi mentioned something about an automobile accident?" he said, sitting beside Remington, checking pulse and heartbeat.

"Yes," Laura answered, her thoughts focused on Remington. "Is he going to be all right?"

Dr. Sutani lifted Remington's eyelid to examine his pupils. "Did he lose consciousness when you had the accident?"

"No. He seemed fine- except for his wrist."

The doctor carefully untied the handkerchief to examine the wrist in question. When he flexed Remington's hand, Remington tried to pull it away and opened his eyes. Upon seeing Dr. Sutani's brown eyes watching him carefully, Remington said, "Laura?"

"I'm here," she assured him, touching his shoulder. "Dr. Sutani was just checking your wrist."

"It's fine," Remington insisted, pulling away from the doctor's grasp as though stung by the man's touch. "I don't need a doctor."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Steele," Dr. Sutani said. "You most likely have a mild concussion. I'd feel better about things if you would go to the hospital in town and let me get some x-rays to make sure you didn't do more damage. That goes for your wrist as well."

Remington shook his head- slowly. "I'm fine."

Dr. Sutani gave Remington a long, considering look, as if he were trying to come to a decision about something. "Mr. Steele. I -"

A knock at the door interrupted whatever the man had been about to say. Laura moved to answer the summons. "Inspector Inoue," she said. "Come in."

"I heard that you and Mr. Steele had an accident," the police inspector said as he entered the bungalow. He nodded in the direction of the doctor, a smile on his face. "Pete. I was told that you were back on the island, but I haven't had a chance to stop in for a visit."

Dr. Sutani rose from the sofa to shake the inspector's offered hand. "Mike. It's been awhile. I'll be looking forward to talking to you." He turned to Laura, handing her a bottle of pills. "I'll leave some pain medication for Mr. Steele- but he should be watched closely for the next twenty four hours. Severe headaches, dizziness, nausea should be cause for concern."

Laura smiled gratefully. "We've been through this before," she told him. "But thank you anyway."

The doctor also gave her an elastic bandage. "Put this on his wrist. I don't think it's broken, but it's a bad sprain."

Laura took the bandage. "I'll keep a close eye on him," she said, walking him to the door.

"You should have your own injuries seen to as well," the doctor suggested.

"I will. Just scrapes and bruises. I've had worse. Thank you again."

Remington's blue eyes followed the doctor until the door closed behind him. "Inspector, you said that Dr. Sutani had just returned to the island?"

"Ah, yes. He left several years ago to attend college in Hawaii. He married a young woman there and lived there until her death. He returned to Paradiso just a week ago, I believe."

"Do you know him well?" Remington asked.

"Remington, what's going on?" Laura questioned.

"A very good question, Mrs. Steele," Inoue agreed before answering Remington's question. "I knew him, of course. On an island as small as Paradiso, it is impossible not to know those around us. We were never close; he was a few years younger than I. His cousin and I were good friends, however."

"His cousin?"

"Tim Riansi. And speaking of Mr. Riansi, he informs me that you believe that he might have had something to do with your accident."

"Remington's not himself," Laura began. "He's got a concussion-"

"Which doesn't change what I believe," Remington finished for her. He sat forward to emphasize what he was about to say. "Mr. Riansi received a facsimile sent to me regarding the background of Muriel Everson Dawson and, even though he passed this bungalow enroute to pay his respects to the woman, he locked the document away in his office until I confronted him and asked him about it."

"Actually," Laura corrected him, "you didn't have a chance to confront him. He offered them to you before you mentioned them-" she raised her hands defensively when Remington glared at her. "Just wanted to keep the record straight," she told him.

"Mr. Riansi had ample time either on his way to Mrs. Dawson's bungalow or on his return to the hotel to do something to the brake line, Inspector."

"And why would he do such a thing?" Inoue questioned.

"To protect his cousin, Dr. Sutani."

Laura lifted her eyes to the ceiling as Inspector Inoue's eyebrows rose. "Pete? I'm afraid you've lost me, Mr. Steele. How is Petanu Sutani involved in all of this?"

"Because Petanu Sutani is the man Harvey Dawson hired to murder his wife," Remington announced.

"Why would Mr. Dawson believe that a respected physician would agree to kill Muriel Everson Dawson, Mr. Steele?" Inoue wanted to know.

"I have no idea. But I intend to find out," Remington stated firmly. "With out without your assistance."

"I should tell you that I stopped on my way here to look at your Jeep before it was towed into town - and I found no sign of anything wrong. The brake line had come lose, causing a loss of fluid and a loss of brake."

"So it was probably just mechanical failure," Laura noted, giving Remington an "I told you so" look.

"Brake lines don't just come lose, Laura," Remington insisted. "Why did Petanu Sutani leave Paradiso Island, Inspector?" he asked. Seeing the man hesitate, Remington said, "Don't pretend not to know. You said yourself that it's a small island."

"I do not deal in rumor, Mr. Steele. I suggest that if you want to know his reason for leaving Paradiso Island you speak to Pete yourself."

"I intend to do just that, Inspector Inoue," Remington promised.

"Why are you so certain that it was Dr. Sutani that you believe that you heard speaking with Mr. Dawson on the day of his death?" Laura wanted to know.

"He has a very distinctive voice," Remington pointed out. "One that's not easily forgotten."

Inspector Inoue shook his head. "I have known Pete Sutani all of his life, Mr. Steele, and I do not believe that he is capable of killing anyone."

"Everyone is capable of murder, Inspector," Remington declared. "Under the right circumstances, of course."

"I will have your car examined further, but I must tell you that I do not believe we will find anything to prove your claims, Mr. Steele. It was most likely an accident, for which the rental agency will no doubt apologize profusely."

"Don't you think it's rather strange," Remington said quietly, "that an apparently healthy man expires from a heart attack, and my wife and I are almost killed in an 'accident'?"

"The coroner has not given me a firm cause of death for Mr. Dawson, Mr. Steele. He is still awaiting the results of various chemical tests. As soon as I have something concrete, I will let you know."

"Thank you, Inspector."

"Yes," Laura agreed. "Thank you." She saw the policeman to the door.

Remington started to rise, but Laura stopped him by placing her hands on his shoulders from behind. "Where do you think you're going?" she wanted to know.

"To secure another rental car and set an appointment with Dr. Sutani to ask him some questions."

"The questions can wait," Laura said, coming around the end of the sofa to take his good hand in hers. "And Mr. Riansi said that he would take care of finding another car." Tugging gently, she brought him to his feet. "Right now, we're *both* going to take that soak in the hot tub. And I won't accept any excuses."

"You're a hard woman, Laura," Remington sighed, starting to feel several aching muscles as he stood up. He stood still for a moment in case the vertigo returned. It was there, but manageable. "But I'll give in- this time."

"Good," she said, leading him toward the bedroom . . .

To Be Continued---


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Original Content © Nancy Eddy, 2002