She heard him all the way in the store room and grabbed the clothes he kept for emergencies before she hurried back to his office.
"Don't blame Mildred, Harry," Daniel was saying. "Abigail called the house from Frances' and thought that I was Nate."
"What was she doing at Frances'? I thought she was going to the beach house with Maeve?" Remington questioned.
"Maeve decided that she needed to be with Frances- and that it would make it easier to keep everything from me, since Abigail was so upset. You really shouldn't have tried to keep this from me, Harry," he said.
Remington took the clothes from Mildred. "And *you* might have told me he was here," he said to her.
"You had enough on your mind. I didn't want you to worry about Daniel, too."
"Hmm," he grunted, and went into the bathroom. "What's your story, Jarred?" he called out over the running water of the shower.
Jarred recounted his arrival at the storage buildings, and when he got to there not being a note, Remington called back, "I left one. It was in the lock when I left."
"It wasn't there when I arrived," Jarred insisted.
"That little- "
"Who, Harry?"
"Minor Descoine. The Major's daughter."
"Spawn of the devil is more like it," Mildred added. "Talk about your 'bad seed'."
"She must have been there and watched me leave the note. After I left, she tore it up and then waited for you." Remington stepped into the shower. "Go on, Jarred!"
"Anyway, I figured you might not have gotten there yet, so I decided to have a look around," the younger man explained from the doorway. "I picked the lock on Number 18 and found Laura's car. While I was looking at it, a woman threw a canister of something inside. I started coughing and before I could stop her, she had lowered the door and locked it. I lost consciousness."
"Minor," Remington growled, turning of the water and grabbing a towel from the rack. Jarred returned to the main office to wait for him. "How did you get out?" he asked as he came out, buttoning his shirt. "Did the police see your bike and rescue you?"
"Actually, the bike's missing," Jarred told him.
"So how did you get out?" Remington asked again.
"I found him, Harry," Daniel confessed.
Remington's eyes narrowed. "*You* found him?"
"I wasn't going to sit around on my hands while my brother's son was in trouble, was I, my boy?"
"Are you okay, Daniel? No- chest pains or- anything?"
"I'm fine, Harry," Daniel insisted.
"He's been a big help," Mildred said. "He brought me some lunch, Boss. And he's been keeping the coffee cups filled, and-"
After a glance at Daniel, Remington concentrated on fastening his cuffs. "You can stay. But no more field work. Jarred and I will handle it from here," he said at last, fixing his blue eyes on his father. "Understood?"
"Harry-"
"It's either that or you go back home, Daniel," Remington said. "You're not going to bully me into getting your way on this. It's either my way or nothing."
Daniel took a deep breath. "Very well. I'll mind. But once this is over, Harry, and Laura is safe, we need to talk."
Remington picked up the black leather jacket that Mildred had brought for him. "First, we have to *find* Laura." He looked at Mildred. "Where's that list of addresses, Mildred?" he asked.
***
Laura lay there in her dark, prison-like cell, working the ropes as she tried to remember what had happened. She'd been alone in the office and heard a noise. On further investigation, she'd found Minor Descoine in Remington's office. But before she had been able to do anything, she'd been grabbed from behind and a sweet smelling cloth had been pressed against her mouth and nose.
She wondered how Descoine had managed to get out of prison without she and Remington having been alerted. She recalled that she'd thought he looked ill. Far too thin for his large frame. But none of that mattered, she supposed, since she was now his prisoner- probably a hostage for Remington. If she could just free her hands and release her feet, the next time Descoine came in to check on her, she'd be able to rush him and maybe escape.
She concentrated on releasing her hands from the ropes, wincing in the darkness as her rope burned skin rubbed painfully against her bonds. Why did these things always seem to happen just when things were going well between she and Remington, she wondered idly. At the moment, her fears about what people would think about her sleeping with her supposed boss seemed so inconsequential. Petty, almost. Because it was going to take every bit of the skill Remington had honed at her side to defeat the Descoines and get out of this with their skins intact.
What was it Daniel had once told her? That he'd seen "Harry's" talent right off the bat, and had polished and sharpened it until Harry had surpassed his teacher in almost every way. Remington had shown glimmers of an inborn talent for detective work as well- almost from the first. The two professions weren't that dissimilar, really, she supposed. Both used a lot of the same skills. Lock-picking, using aliases, conning people-whether bad-guys or marks. Hadn't she run the biggest con in the world by inventing Remington Steele and pulled it off? Of course, that hadn't been for the same reasons that Daniel might con some little old lady out of her life savings by pretending to be someone else- Laura smiled, knowing that she was selling the man short. If he'd just applied himself a little harder, he could probably have turned it all around… with a soft grunt, Laura's hand came free and she slipped the other out of the ropes as well, then went to work on the ropes at her ankles. She decided to leave the gag in place, since it would be harder to hide it being missing.
The next time Descoine came in to check on her, she'd be ready for him.
***
Remington sent Jarred over to Bel-Oaks Country Club with instructions to check the newer section of the golf course for anything that might tie into the remaining locations where Descoine might send him. There weren't many left. Palmer Bank was really the last thing on the list, and Remington seriously doubted that Descoine would be holding Laura captive there.
Depending on what he found at the abandoned tenement building, he would check out the bank himself, he decided, getting out of Daniel's car. At least using it kept him from having to worry about his father taking matters into his own hands again. And he hadn't even wanted to consider getting back into the Porsche until the interior had been thoroughly cleaned.
The chain link fence that surrounded the building was broken in several locations, alerting Remington that it could possibly have been taken over by gangs- or even drug users. He saw no movement in any of the windows with their broken panes of glass, but that meant little. How many times in his younger days had he been glad for a place like this in which to keep out of the cold and the rain, he asked himself as he slipped inside the building, his gun at the ready.
Cautiously, listening for any sound that would reveal he had company, he climbed the stairs to the apartment in which Minor had been living. He didn't bother to knock on the closed door, but kicked it open and entered, gun before him in both hands, ready for whatever he found there.
The place was spotless. Unless a person had been there, one would never know that there had ever been a fire in the apartment. The Victorian furnishings were intact- as were the photos of himself and Laura- with a few later ones added to the collection. The little twit had been following them around all this time, he realized, finding one taken of them on the deck at the beach house. There was something fastened to the back of the frame, and he found the next clue. A receipt for a safety deposit box at Palmer Bank, made out in his name- and the key to open said box.
He heard the door out of the kitchen slam shut, and with an eerie sense of déjà vu, he ran in to find the room empty, slipping the key and receipt into his pocket. The back door was locked, and this time, he was more cautious about opening the other door that had once led onto a rear stoop that had long since fallen away from the building. He heard the familiar rattle of a rope and wood ladder being raised to the roof and looked up before he heard another, equally familiar sound at the front door. "Not again," he muttered, racing back to the door, only to see smoke pouring from beneath it. Beyond the fire, he could see Minor running down the stairs from the roof, laughing.
"Come back here!" Remington yelled, pointing his gun in her direction. But he was too late. She was hidden behind the wall of flames. Slamming the door, he tucked the gun back into his slacks and went to grab the mattress from the bed- only there was no mattress that he could use as a magic carpet this time. When he pulled the hand sewn quilt away, he found bare wire springs. "Damn."
Okay. So that escape route was out. Glancing around, he went to the heavy drapes and pulled them from the bricked up windows before the fire could reach them and dragged them into the kitchen. Coughing from the smoke, he tore each drape in half and knotted them securely end to end, looking for a place where he could anchor it in the room.
There wasn't much. A small table caught his eye, but he dismissed it. It was too light and wasn't fastened down. An idea struck and he went to examine the table. It was sturdy, with a heavy wooden center spindle that just might support his weight. He tied the makeshift rope to the spindle and then turned the table onto its side, pushing it to the doorway, where it lay there, the legs and top bracing it against the frame. He had no way to test it, and the fire was getting closer. The smoke was so thick that he could barely breathe at all.
Looping the fabric behind his back, Remington closed his eyes. "Geronimoooooo!" he yelled as he stepped out of the door and started to fall. For a horrifying second, he was afraid he'd misjudged the length of the cloth and closed his eyes, expecting to hit the garbage strewn ground beneath him at any second. But with a jerk, the drapery held, leaving him dangling a few feet above the ground. All he had to do was release the end he was holding- and he dropped the last few feet with no damage. "Have to remember that little trick," he said, and heard a now familiar giggle.
She was at the fence, shaking her head. "I don't believe it." Then she was gone again, and Remington was chasing after her. He ran almost a block before he realized that he was just wasting time chasing after Minor. And that was probably what the Major hoped he would do: Allow himself to be distracted by the occasional glimpses of the Demon Child so that he would be side-tracked from his mission: finding Laura within the allotted time. Minor wasn't about to lead him to Laura. More likely, she'd take him in the totally opposite direction.
He circled the building and retrieved Daniel's silver BMW and headed for Palmer Bank.
***
Jarred was wandering through the grounds of Bel-Oaks, trying to get his bearings. The groundskeeper had assured him that this section of the golf course had been added around the right time- five years or so ago. He'd never heard of Major or Minor Descoine, and had seemed too busy to talk to a young college boy with nothing better to do than to ask silly questions. Something hit a tree behind his head, and Jarred fell face first to the ground, waiting for another shot. "Excuse me? Are you all right?" a woman asked.
Jarred lifted his head and saw a pair of long, tanned legs that seemed to go on forever before they ended in a pair of white shorts. He smiled at the young woman, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I- tripped," he told her, standing up. She was even prettier from here, with her blonde hair and green eyes.
"Oh. Have you seen my golf ball?" she asked. "I hit it in this direction."
Jarred scanned the ground in the direction that the ball would have bounced. "Here it is," he said, picking it up and handing it to her. "You come here often?"
"My parents are members. I'm a student at UCLA."
"So am I," Jarred told her. "What're you studyin'?" His overplayed accent had the desired effect. She smiled with more interest.
"Interior design," she said. "You?"
"Criminology. I'm at intern for Remington Steele Investigations. In fact, Remington Steele himself is my cousin."
"Really?" That got her. It always got them when they found that out. "How interesting. So- you're a private detective, too, then?"
"I'm goin' t'be, once I finish my classes and my apprenticeship." He dug a business card out of his pocket. "Give me a call if you ever find y'self in need of a private investigator."
She took the card and fanned herself with it. "Oh, I will," she promised breathlessly.
"Maybe we could have dinner some evening," Jarred suggested. "That is, if you're not- seein' anyone else steady."
He heard someone clear his throat as the girl lifted her eyes, and knew before he turned who was there. "Jarred, what are you doing?" Remington asked.
"A bit of investigation," Jarred told his cousin.
"Hi there," the girl said, smiling up at Remington.
"If you'll excuse us," Remington said, giving the girl a quick nod of recognition before dragging Jarred away.
"Give me a call," Jarred said, looking back at her.
"Do I have to remind you," Remington said, jerking the arm he held, "That we're here for a *reason*? Other than your social life, that is?"
"I've been looking, Remington," he said, following as his cousin released his arm. "For clues," he added when his cousin gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Jarred had been looking for. "What are you doing here? I thought you were checking out that abandoned building."
"I did," Remington told him. "It led me to Palmer Bank."
"And that led you here?" Jarred asked.
Remington held up a golf ball with the name "Bel-Oaks" imprinted on it. "It did. This was in a safety deposit box there that was opened using my name."
"So the next clue will be here, then."
"Unless you've already missed it while you were busy with other pursuits," Remington nodded.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? It won't happen again."
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," Remington said, his anger evaporating as he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Jarred was a younger version of himself. Tall, dark haired, blue eyed, charming when he wanted to be - and with a huge chunk of the Blarney Stone tossed in for extra measure. "I'm just worried about Laura." He paused to get his bearings again. "This way."
***
Laura heard someone fumbling with the door and lay still, her arms behind her and knees bent to hide the fact that the rope was just laying over them. When the door opened, she blinked in the bright light. "Still with us, I see, Miss Holt," Descoine said.
She moaned as if she were in pain. She needed him closer to her if this was going to work.
"Theatrics won't move me, Miss Holt," he warned.
Laura started to wheeze, as if she were struggling to breathe. It had worked once, maybe- just maybe-. He took a step closer- and then another, bending over her.
Laura made her move, kicking at Descoine's legs, intending to knock him down so she could escape. But while he fell to his knees, his hand came out to grab a handful of her hair as she jumped to her feet and started around him. Her cry of pain as muffled by the gag. "Oh, no you don't, Miss Holt. Our little game's not quite finished." She felt the cold steel of a gun barrel against her neck. "Sit down," he told her in a quiet voice. When Laura didn't move, he said it again, only this time loud enough to wake the dead. Laura barely hid her flinch as she did as he ordered her to do. "That's better." He kept the gun against her neck as he untied the gag. "I suppose it doesn't really matter whether you're tied up or not. There's no way out. For you- or Mr. Steele."
"You won't get away with this, Descoine," she told him, glaring at him. Her scalp felt as if it were on fire where he'd pulled on her hair.
"Very shortly, Miss Holt," he said, going to the door, the gun still trained on her with deadly accuracy, "I'll be beyond the purview of man's laws. I'll be with Lily again. But not before I settle the one score that always managed to elude me."
"You're insane," she accused.
"They say it's a side effect of the illness," he replied. "My daughter is the only one who understands. Even if I can't finish it, she will. Sooner or later. I just prefer it be sooner." His hand closed over the doorknob. "Good-bye, Miss Holt. See you in Hell."
The moment the door closed, Laura was on her feet, pacing off the tiny room, looking for a light switch. Then she recalled seeing something hanging from the ceiling in the light form the doorway. Standing on the iron grate in the floor, she reached over her head, feeling for a cord. When she found it, she pulled- and the room filled with a dim, weak light from the single bulb. At least she wasn't going to die in the dark.
***
Remington almost missed the clue. He noticed the small package sitting on the bench near the eighteenth tee, but his attention was focused on his surroundings. It was Jarred who commented on it. "Looks like someone left a box here," he said.
"Hmm," Remington said, frowning. "We've been over this course with a fine toothed comb and there's nothing here!"
"Maybe it's in the box?" Jarred suggested.
Remington sighed and lifted the lid of the box with a doubtful air. "Sticks," he told Jarred, lifting one of them out. They were thin, with rounded corners and only about a half an inch wide.
"Look like small tongue depressors," Jarred commented.
"Popsicle sticks," Remington told him, putting the cover back on the box. "We'll carry it to the clubhouse. Whoever owns it will look for it there." He glanced at his watch again. Seven. "I've got time for one more quick sweep of the course before dark," he told Jarred. "You go on back and tell Mildred and Daniel what's going on. I'll meet you there when I'm done." He handed the box to his cousin. "And take this as well."
"Why would anyone have a box of Popsicle sticks, Remington?" Jarred wondered, "Here, on a golf course, I mean?"
At that moment something clicked inside Remington's head.
"Popsicle sticks." He smacked his forehead. "Of course. The ice cream truck!" His elation faded slightly as reality set in. "But where would it be? The police impounded it after they got it from storage." He grabbed the box. "Come along, Jarred. Time for Mildred to put her trusty computer to work. And we haven't a second to lose."
To Be Continued---