"You're doing very well," Laura Holt said as she entered the office alongside the man she knew as Lord Harrison Michael Bryce-Davies, the eighth Earl of Bensonhurst, and that the Los Angeles media knew as up and coming private detective Remington Steele.
"Why thank you, Laura," Harry said. "That's one of the nicest things you've said to me."
"I mean it," she insisted, pausing to take a stack of messages from Bernice. Harry took the ones that Bernice held out to him, giving her a wink. Since he was spending most of his time at the offices of Laura Holt Investigations, most of his personal calls were being forwarded here as well, via a private line. "A bit - unorthodox, the way you figured out that Carl Cragen was the one who killed his wife -"
"Unorthodox?" he questioned, following her into the main office in the suite.
"Yes, but it got the job done," she said, and then stopped in her tracks, a telephone note in her hand. "Damn."
Harry barely kept from running her over. "Laura? Is there something wrong?" he asked, concerned at the way the color had drained from her face.
"N-no," she said quickly, moving to her desk. "Uh, didn't you say something about having to make a trip back to London?" she asked.
The sudden change of subject startled Harry. "No. There's nothing there that requires my physical presence at the moment -"
"Are you *sure*?" she asked, finally looking up at him, and Harry was surprised to see desperation in those dark depths. "Nothing that requires you to be there ASAP?"
"Laura, are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Finally come to your senses, Laura?" Murphy Michaels asked, joining them via the door from his office. The question was obviously rhetorical as he continued, "How did things go -"
Laura jumped up from her chair and started pacing - a sure sign that she had a problem, Harry decided from past experience. But not knowing what that problem might be he turned to look at Murphy in silent inquisition. Murphy lifted his shoulders, also at a loss.
"What did you do?" he asked Harry, his tone accusatory.
"Me? I didn't do anything. Everything was fine until she got a note from Bernice -" Harry moved toward Laura's desk, trying to find the reason for her apparent distress.
But Laura was quicker, almost leaping in front of Harry to retrieve the slip of paper before he could get it. "That's *my* personal business, if you don't mind." She turned suddenly to Murphy. "I need that museum research before our meeting with Mr. Coxworth, Murphy."
"Sure," he said. "It's nearly done. Are you okay?"
"Just - *great*," she muttered, crushing the pink slip of paper in a fist. "Wonderful. We have work to do, gentlemen."
Still frowning, Murphy disappeared back into his office, leaving Harry standing there, watching Laura.
"Museum?" Harry questioned.
She was pacing again. "What?" she said, and then realized what he'd said. "Oh. Edward Coxworth. He's the curator of the Grant Museum. They're having a showing of Middle-Eastern art, and there was an attempted theft of one of the paintings last night."
"Oh my."
She whirled to look at him again. "Are you *sure* you don't have to go somewhere?"
"You *are* trying to get rid of me," he realized, moving closer to put his hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"My -" before she could speak, there was a knock on the door, and then it was opened by an attractive, middle aged blonde who swept into the room, fixing Laura with an air of disapproval.
"Laura, darling! I hoped you'd be at the airport to meet me -"
Laura's eyes closed for a moment as she seemed to hide behind Harry before she opened them and pasted a clearly faux smile on her face. "Mother," she said, moving forward to accept a light peck on the cheek from the older woman.
"You look pale," Mrs. Holt declared, holding her daughter at arms' length. "And why do you have to wear your hair that way?" she questioned, frowning at the tightly wound bun of hair atop Laura's head.
"I'm working, Mother," Laura explained through clenched teeth, and Harry had the feeling that it wasn't the first time the question had been asked - or answered. "I only got your message about visiting a little while ago or I would have been at the airport to meet you -"
"That's all right, dear. The cab fare wasn't *too* exorbitant. It's a good thing that I have a return ticket, though."
Harry almost winced at the woman's blatant attempt at making Laura feel guilty. "Mrs. Holt," he said, moving forward, hoping to give Laura a bit of a respite. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you are -?"
Laura lifted her eyes toward the ceiling before making the introductions. "This is - Remington Steele, Mother."
"Of course. I remember reading about you in the papers. You - work with Laura, isn't that right?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed, giving her a bright smile and turning on the charm. "I must say that I would have taken you to be Laura's sister, Mrs. Holt."
She preened under his gaze. "Please. Call me Abigail." Suddenly her eyes narrowed slightly. "I have the feeling that I've seen your picture somewhere -"
Laura came to life at her words. "Uh, Mother, I really hate to rush you, but Mr. Steele and I have a client to meet -"
"I was hoping that we could spend some time together," Abigail sighed. "Really, Laura. You'd think that as the owner of - whatever this is - you'd be able to take a *little* time off to visit with your mother when she comes for a visit."
Seeing Laura's shoulders tighten, a sure precursor to a blow up, Harry moved between mother and daughter. "Why don't we all go out to dinner tonight?" he suggested quickly in an effort to keep Laura from responding.
"We couldn't possibly impose, Mr. Steele -" Laura began, but Abigail smiled.
"It sounds lovely," she insisted. "What time?"
"Why not -" Harry refused to wince as Laura's heel found his foot. "Say - seven-ish?"
"Seven-ish," Abigail confirmed.
"Why don't you take my car and driver to Laura's and rest before dinner?" Harry continued, trying not to limp as he escorted Abigail to the door. "I'll call and have him meet you downstairs."
"Your car and driver?" Abigail questioned, her eyes wide. "I couldn't -"
"Oh, I insist," Harry said, lifting her hand to his lips and bowing. "Until later, Abigail."
Abigail almost giggled.
He led her out to Bernice's desk, then waved goodbye before picking up the phone to call the limo. "Fred, Miss Holt's mother is coming downstairs. Blonde, middle aged. Rather attractive, I suppose. . . Yes. Take her to Miss Holt's, if you would, and then come back here . . . Oh, and Fred, no mention of Lord Harry . . . Good man." He hung up, and saw Bernice's gaze locked on the doorway of Laura's office.
Turning slowly, he found her standing there, glaring at him. "Yes?"
"My office," she said, turning on her heel to walk away from him.
"I think you just made a tactical error, sport," Bernice informed him.
"Now, Harry!" Laura called out.
Using his real name in the office wasn't something that Laura did as a rule, and hearing it made him realize that she was *really* angry. So he moved into her office and closed the door, leaning back against it. "Your mother seems rather -"
"Pushy," Laura finished, pacing again. "Disapproving of what I do for a living," she continued as she stopped in front of him. "How *dare* you -"
Harry held up his hands in a defensive posture. "Honestly, Laura. I was only trying to help - "
"*Help?!* By suggesting that the three of us go out to dinner this evening?"
"And that's a problem because -?"
"Because my mother reads the gossip columns *religiously*. She follows the famous and near-famous with a *passion*. The more time she spends with you, the sooner she'll recognize you as Lord Harrison Michael Bryce-Davies, the eighth Earl of Bensonhurst!"
"Laura, I managed to fool Lt. Halloran, remember?"
"He's not my *mother*!" Laura countered. "The woman is *relentless*. She'll ferret out every little secret and twist it to her advantage - the moment she figures out that you're an Earl -"
Deciding that it was safe for the moment, Harry put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing the tension from them. "She won't. Trust me?"
Laura sagged slightly, lowering her forehead to rest on his chest. "If only you'd had some reason to be gone before she *got* here."
"I suppose I could find some excuse to be gone before this evening," Harry said slowly, but even though Laura's head came up so that she could see his face, she shook her head.
"No. Then I'd have another set of problems to deal with. Now that she's seen you, we might as well see it through." She sighed deeply. "We'll have dinner."
"I would hope you'd be more enthusiastic at the prospect of spending the evening in my company by now," Harry noted with a wry smile. "Rather than acting like you're headed toward the Tower of London."
"Let's wait until *after* dinner before we say that, shall we? *You* don't know my mother."
"No," Harry admitted. "But I know her daughter. Admittedly not as well as I'd *like* to know her, but well enough to know that she's a remarkable young woman."
Laura finally smiled and leaned closer - but the movement was halted as Bernice's voice filled the room from the intercom on Laura's desk. "Mr. Coxworth and his assistant are here."
Harry and Laura both drew deep breaths and pulled away. "Back to the grindstone, Miss Holt?" he asked with a tinge of regret.
"For the moment," was her reply, watching him open the door for her before stepping through it to greet the new clients. "Mr. Coxworth. I'm Laura Holt. Won't you step into my office?"
=======================================
"I'll see you at the gallery this afternoon, Miss Holt,"
Edward Coxworth said as he rose from his chair. "It was a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Steele," he added, motioning to
his assistant, Achmed Khalil, who still looked frightened and
upset that his concerns had been pushed aside by his employer.
Harry nodded absently, while Laura saw them out of the office. When she returned, he was standing at the windows overlooking the street, hands in his pockets. Talking to a client about their case had calmed her after the earlier incident with her mother, and he wasn't sure that what he had to say would help to continue that calm demeanor.
"We'll go by the gallery and check it out before dinner," Laura said as she came back into the office.
"Laura, that hardly gives either of us enough time to be ready for the evening," he insisted. "Why don't you go to the gallery and -"
She was looking at him. He could feel it even though his own gaze was focused outside of the thick glass before him. "What's wrong?" she asked, moving to stand beside him, as if the answer might be in the view.
"The painting that was nearly stolen last night - Khalil's right: There's a bloody curse on the damn thing."
"You *know* the painting?" Laura questioned, now looking *at* him.
He sighed and nodded. "I've - heard of it," he confirmed without giving out too much more information.
"Well, *I* don't believe in 'curses', Mr. Steele," Laura informed him in a crisp tone. "We're *taking* the case. And as for this evening, I don't think it requires a great deal of time to 'get ready' for dinner."
"That all depends on where we're going," he pointed out, deciding that perhaps distraction would be the better option. Anything rather than having to tell her the long, sad tale of *how* he knew about this particular painting. He was pleased to see uncertainty flicker across her lovely face. Keeping Laura off balance was part and parcel of his attraction to her, he sometimes thought. Wreaking disorder in her oh-so-orderly world to see how she handled it was a constant source of delight for him. "I thought I'd make reservations at Che Rive," he announced, picking up the phone.
"Che Rive?" Laura repeated, grabbing the phone from him. "No."
"No?"
"That's *far* too elegant. Mother would be *sure* to recognize you as Lord Harry there. What if someone else were to recognize you?"
"They haven't yet," he reminded her. "What do you suggest, Laura? That we have dinner at the local Burger Barn?"
Laura giggled. "I could just see my mother's face if we did," she admitted. "She'd be horrified!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh as well. "How about a compromise?" he suggested. "How about Luigi's?" he said, mentioning a small, family owned Italian restaurant that he and Laura frequented.
"Luigi's," Laura said, and then nodded. "I think she'd like that. Of course, she'll find *something* to complain about. Just wait and see. She always does."
"You know, Laura, I'd never realized how deep your 'mother issues' went."
"Almost as deep as *your* 'father issues'," she countered, and Harry knew he'd taken one step too many.
"Fair enough." The last thing he wanted to talk about right now was Daniel. Because that might lead to further revelations about his miscreant parent's activities - especially his activities in Rome several years ago. "I'll call Luigi, ask him to keep a table open for us." He picked up the phone again, and this time Laura didn't stop him.
=======================================
The Grant Museum was known for their 'unusual' exhibits. Before the Egyptian one that was due to open in two days, they had shown artifacts from the Mayan Empire, replete with a scale facsimile of a pyramid.
But this showing was obviously even more important to Mr. Coxworth, because he met them at the entrance at precisely three pm with an elderly man using a cane to support himself. "This is Mr. Amos Garner," Coxworth explained. "One of our board members. It was he who suggested this exhibit - and hiring your agency for extra security." Turning to Garner, he raised his voice slightly. "Mr. Garner, may I present Laura Holt and Remington Steele."
"Miss Holt," the old man said in a gravelly voice, taking her hand in his shaking one as he lifted it to his lips. "I've heard a great many good things about you and your agency. Mr. Steele." As he moved to shake Harry's hand, the old man faltered and would have fallen if not for Harry's quick reflexes.
"Steady on, there, Mr. Garner," Harry warned, and met the old man's eyes for a brief second. There was something *very* familiar about them, he thought as he released the old man back onto his feet.
"Thank you, Mr. Steele," Garner wheezed. "Forgive my clumsiness," he said to Laura. "I'm an old man and really should be in bed, but this showing is so important to me that I simply had to be here."
"I understand, Mr. Garner," Laura said, taking the arm that he offered her as Coxworth turned to lead them into the museum. "You can rest easy now that we're on the case, so to speak."
Harry remained where he was, still replaying that second of eye contact with Garner, trying to puzzle out why it had affected him. Laura missed him and turned in the doorway. "Are you going to join us, Mr. Steele?" she called out.
"Uh, yes," he acknowledged, moving to catch up and held the door open for them. "Sorry. Wool gathering. Bad habit that I need to work on."
They went directly to the room where the painting was being kept. It was the only item in the room, standing on an easel in the center of the floor. "That's the only door into the room," Coxworth told them. "And there are heat sensors built into the floor around the easel that work when the system is armed."
Harry moved closer to examine the painting, finding a wire leading from the metal frame onto the easel down to the floor. He turned toward Coxworth with a raised eyebrow. "And this?"
"The heat sensor runs around the frame. It picks up the slightest change in temperature -"
"Such as the heat from a human body?" Laura suggested.
"What an ingenious idea," Garner declared. "Don't you think agree, Mr. Steele?"
"Very much so," Harry agreed, studying the old man again, putting his hand into his pocket as he did so.
"How did the would-be thief get in here?" Laura wondered aloud, not seeing Harry pull a slip of paper out of his pocket. She pointed at the camera in a corner. "You have video surveillance -"
Coxworth looked angry. "The guard was distracted," he explained. "Apparently whoever tried to steal it knew when the man usually had his evening meal, because it was timed precisely for that moment."
Harry surreptitiously turned so that he could open the folded note and read it. The writing was only too familiar and read, "You apartment, 10 pm. Matter of life and death." He looked at the old man again, and understood the reason he looked so familiar. Amos Garner was Daniel Chalmers in disguise. And he was probably there to steal the damn painting.
"So it could be an inside job," Laura was saying.
"All of the museum staff are carefully screened, Miss Holt," Coxworth insisted. "They're all extremely trustworthy."
"What about - someone not on the staff?" Harry suggested in smooth tone. "But someone familiar with the inner workings of the museum and its security? Perhaps Mr. Garner would be kind enough to share any ideas he might have with me while Miss Holt continues to examine the - 'scene of the crime'?"
Laura frowned, but Harry merely smiled at her, taking the old man's arm to lead him out of the room and down the corridor. "Okay, Daniel, what are you involved in this time?" he asked once he was sure they were out of Laura's sight and hearing. "I know you tried to steal that painting last night - *again*."
"Harry, my boy, didn't you read the note?"
"I read it. What 'matter of life and death' are you referring to?"
"Mine, of course," Daniel replied. "I don't think that this is *quite* the place to discuss this. I'll meet you later, as planned," he suggested quickly before slipping back into character as Laura and Mr. Coxworth appeared in the corridor and moved toward them, still talking about the attempted theft and what Laura planned to do to stop it from happening again before the exhibit opened on Monday morning.
Harry had no choice but to keep quiet about Amos Garner's true identity. If he'd unmasked the con man, it would no doubt reflect badly on Laura with Mr. Coxworth. He had to try again to talk Laura out of this case.
He'd known the moment Coxworth had mentioned "The Five Nudes of Cairo" that things weren't going to go well. He'd had no idea how right he'd been.
====================================
"You've been very quiet since we left the museum," Laura said.
"Just thinking, Laura. Do we *really* need to take this case?"
"Not that silly curse again," she sighed. "What *is* it with you and that thing?"
"It just doesn't feel - right, that's all. I can't - really explain it more than that."
"You know, if I were a suspicious person, I'd think that maybe you'd had a run in with that *particular* piece before."
"It's a lucky thing that you're not a suspicious person then, isn't it?" Harry replied, managing a smile.
"It's really a simple job for *very* good money. And the publicity will be wonderful for the agency. Murphy's going to go undercover as a security guard in the museum for the night - just in case the thief or thieves decide to have another go at stealing the painting."
She picked up the mobile telephone. "May I?"
"By all means, Laura," Harry insisted. "Whatever means I have is at your disposal."
"Bernice, is Murphy there? . . . Murph -" she began, but stopped when the man apparently began speaking. "Murphy -" Harry saw her glance at him before continuing. "Okay, okay. I'll be there as soon as I can." Hanging up, she gave Harry a regretful smile. "Slight change of plans. I need to go back to the office for a little while."
"How little?" Harry questioned.
"Oh, not long, just long enough to talk to Murphy."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Murphy needs to talk to me about something he says is important and can't be discussed over the phone."
Seeing an opportunity to keep the impending talk with Daniel from disturbing the rest of the evening, Harry decided to take it. "Fred, change in plans, mate. We're taking Miss Holt back to the office. Why don't you and your mother meet me at my place and we'll go to dinner from there?"
"Sounds good," Laura agreed, sitting back in the seat. "You're not in the least bit curious about whatever Murphy wants to see me about?" she asked.
"Laura, if I spent every moment worrying about what bothers Murphy, then I wouldn't have time to do anything else. Such as take you and your charming mother out to dinner this evening." He picked up the phone and asked the operator to connect him with Luigi's, confirming the reservation to seven o'clock "or perhaps a tad later", half in Italian and half in English.
"You speak Italian very well," she noted.
"Misspent youth, remember?"
"So you spent time in Italy. In - Rome?"
"A little while, perhaps," Harry confirmed quickly, glad that they were approaching Century City. "Here we are," he said, waiting for Fred to come around and open Laura's door. "I'll see you no later than six forty five. That will give us ample time to get to the restaurant."
"Mr. Steele -"
"Don't want to keep Murphy waiting, Laura. You know how upset he gets when he's allowed to stew over something for too long." He sat back as Fred closed the door. Harry waved to Laura as the car moved away from the curb, and then he sat back, feeling drained.
"Where to, sir?" Fred asked.
"My apartment, Fred," Harry announced, reaching for the telephone once more, this time to call the Grant Museum. "Is Mr. Garner there, by any chance?" he asked the young woman who answered the telephone.
"May I ask who's calling?" she wanted to know.
"His - executive assistant," Harry fibbed. "I really need to reach him. It's something of a financial emergency -"
"Just a moment. He just walked in with Mr. Coxworth."
The line went quiet for a moment before it was answered. "Hello?"
"Daniel, can you get away now?"
"Now? I suppose I can. Where?"
"My flat. I assume that you know the address."
"Yes. I'll meet you there."
Harry hung up the phone and sat back. Daniel was the last thing he needed right now. Especially if the man was up to his old tricks again.
But Harry was equally sure that he was *not* going to allow his father to ruin what he'd found here in Los Angeles if he could find a way to stop it.
===================================
"Okay, Murphy, what's going on?" Laura asked her associate as soon as she entered the office and found him talking earnestly to Bernice.
"This," Murphy said, holding out a piece of paper. "That painting was stolen ten years ago in Rome."
"Rome?" Laura questioned, remembering Harry's words in the limo as she scanned the neatly printed report. "All it says is that one of the thieves was caught hanging upside down by a rope and the other one escaped with the painting. All they know about the one that escaped is that she was a woman. They don't even identify the one they *did* catch."
"Other than the fact that he did six months for the theft, no," Murphy agreed. "And the thief they caught was heard calling his fleeing partner 'Felicia', Laura. Remind you of anyone we know?"
"There are a lot of 'Felicia's' out there, Murphy," Laura insisted. "And Harry's never spent time in jail - his grandfather -"
"Covered up most of his past. Paid a *lot* of people off to keep things quiet," Murphy reminded her. "How do we know he didn't pay to keep this quiet, too?"
Laura knew that Murphy could be right. Combined with Harry's attempts to keep her from taking this case, it was damning evidence.
Bernice spoke up. "Didn't you and he have dinner last night, Laura?" she asked.
"Yes, we did," Laura confirmed, giving Murphy a triumphant smile.
"What time did he drop you off at home?" Murphy countered in a challenging tone.
She was tempted to say that maybe he hadn't dropped her off, but honesty prevented her from lying to him, and her exuberance faded. "Ten-thirty."
"The robbery took place around midnight," he pointed out. "More than enough time for him to have dropped you off, gone back to his place and then gone to the museum. How far can we trust him on this one, Laura?" Murphy wanted to know.
"Right now, I don't have any evidence to cause me *not* to trust him, Murphy. Just hearsay and theories. We'll just keep a close eye on him - and on the painting. Speaking of which - you're going undercover."
"What?"
"Mr. Coxworth is having a security uniform sent here for you to wear. You'll spend the night at the museum, making sure that whoever tried to steal that painting last night doesn't try again tonight."
"And if I had plans for tonight?"
"Did you?"
He shook his head. "No. Okay. I'll play security guard."
====================================
"Nice digs, Harry," Daniel noted as he entered the apartment only a few minutes after Harry got there. "Almost as nice as your London flat."
"I didn't ask you here to talk décor, Daniel," Harry noted, indicating the sofa.
"Not even going to offer your father a drink, my boy?" Daniel questioned. "I really thought your manners were better than that -"
"Daniel, don't try my patience. I don't have time to play your little games," Harry insisted, removing his jacket and loosening his tie. "What's going on? Why on *earth* would you try to steal that painting again? Especially after the *last* time when *so* swimmingly."
"In defense of Felicia, Harry, she was right to have escaped when she did. I was the one who got tangled up in that damn rope and couldn't extricate myself before the guards found me. At the time, I was more than a trifle upset by the whole thing - especially after I found out that the insurance company we were stealing it for refused to pay her for it."
"Ancient history, Daniel. I'm more interested in the here and now. And if you're counting on my covering things up the way my Grandfather did - don't."
He thought Daniel paled slightly at the idea that he might be left hanging again - this time by his son. "You remember Guttmann, don't you?"
"I've heard the name," Harry recalled, thinking. "He's a loan-shark, isn't he?"
"Unfortunately. I had a bit of bad luck at the table in Monte Carlo and -"
"Oh, Daniel. A loan shark? Why didn't you call my agent instead of taking that route?"
"I didn't want to trouble you, Harry. And I really thought I'd win it all back, including the interest. But the tables weren't with me, I'm afraid," he said with a sigh.
"How much do you owe him?"
"Well, adding in the interest -"
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand American dollars," Daniel said slowly, watching Harry's reaction.
Harry sat down heavily in the chair. "Fifty thou-? Daniel's that's not bad luck. That's insanity!"
"Anyway, I didn't want to involve you in something so seedy, so I reached an agreement with the man."
"You agreed to steal the Five Nudes for him."
"He says he has a buyer that will pay twice that. It will clear my debt, and he'll give me ten thousand for doing it."
"Ten thousand."
"Sixty, when you add in what I owe -"
"You're not going to do it. I'll get Guttmann his money, Daniel."
"But if I don't get the painting, he'll kill me."
"Nonsense." Harry glanced at his watch. He'd hoped to get this settled before dinner, but that wasn't going to happen. "I have a dinner engagement -"
"Indeed? With Linda, I suppose?"
Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "With *Laura*," he corrected. "As I was saying, after dinner, we'll contact Guttmann. About Laura, Daniel, Felicia told me that I have you thank for telling her where I was."
Daniel winced. "I might have- mentioned it in passing," he confessed. "Why? I know she was here in Los Angeles for a visit -"
"You told her and didn't think she would come here?" Harry questioned. "Daniel, you know Felicia as well as I do - probably better," he said pointedly. "You knew that the moment she heard that I was here and that there might be another woman involved, she'd come running to check things out and to cause trouble."
"I hope she didn't cause too much trouble, Harry," Daniel said. "Although I can see how she might think she had a *right* -"
"I've never given Felicia any reason to think there was a long-term future for she and I, Daniel," Harry pointed out. "Truth be told, I think she'd be more right for you, than for me, considering that she shares some of your own - interests. As for damage, she managed to convince Laura that I'm only here because I'm bored with her and looking for greener pastures before going back to Felicia in London."
"No wonder she looked like the cat who had just swallowed a canary when our paths crossed in London last time and she found out I was on my way to Los Angeles. No doubt she thought to cause more trouble between us, as well."
"We don't need Felicia for that, Daniel," Harry sighed somewhat sadly.
Daniel watched him. "You're totally infatuated with that slip of girl, aren't you?"
Harry refused to answer that question. Instead, he stood up to announce, "I'm going to go take a quick shower and change for dinner. I'm sure you'll be able to find something to occupy yourself here while I'm gone. But you'll stay here, won't you?"
Daniel looked as though he might argue, but apparently something in Harry's look made him rethink that decision. "I'll stay," he confirmed. "At least Guttmann probably won't find me here, anyway."
"Why did you want my help if you didn't want me to repay him for you?"
"I was hoping to convince you to - steal the painting for me," Daniel admitted carefully."
"Daniel, I haven't done anything like that in ages," Harry insisted. "And I don't *do* that kind of thing anymore, remember?"
"But you had such potential, my boy," Daniel said with a deep sigh of regret. "When I think of how we could have turned the world on its ear."
"Best not to think about it, Daniel, old man," Harry replied. "I'll be out in a moment." He went into the bedroom, and into the bath, turning on the hot water. There were times he wished he really *was* simply Remington Steele, and not Lord Harrison Michael Bryce-Davies with all the baggage that entailed.
Life would be so much simpler.
======================================
Harry came out of the bedroom, pulling on his jacket, when the doorbell rang. Daniel, who was sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea and a sandwich, looked at him. "Shall I get that?" he asked.
"No," Harry responded quickly. "Take your tray and go into the kitchen."
"What?"
"Daniel, the last thing either of us needs right now is for Laura to find out that you're in Los Angeles. Just do as I ask without arguing, okay?"
Sighing, Daniel grabbed the small tray and headed back toward the kitchen. Harry spotted Daniel's jacket and grabbed it as the doorbell rang again, tossing it into the bedroom out of sight. "Coming!" he called out, glancing around the room once again to make sure there were no further sign of anyone else being there.
At last he went to the door, smoothing his hair as he opened it. "Laura. Abigail! Do come in. I'm almost ready to go -"
"What took you so long to answer the door, Mr. Steele?" Laura questioned, and Harry realized that she was suspicious. For a moment, he wondered what Murphy had dug up that would have caused that reaction.
"I was in the shower," he told her. "Let me call Fred and have him pull the car around, eh?" He picked up the phone and did that, hanging up as Abigail spoke.
"I need to take a pill. Laura was in such a hurry to leave that I wasn't able to do it before we left. Do you mind if I get a glass of water from the kitchen?" she asked, looking around and moving in that direction.
"Actually, Abigail," Harry began, trying to think of some reason why he might object to the innocent request, "the kitchen's a mess -"
"I don't mind," Abigail replied airily. "You should have seen Laura's kitchen when I got there this afternoon -" her voice trailed off when she entered the other room.
"You seem a bit - nervous, Mr. Steele," Laura commented, watching him.
"Nervous? Why would I be nervous?" His question was punctuated by a surprised scream from Abigail, who reappeared a moment later, shaking.
"There's a man. In your kitchen. Lurking behind the refrigerator."
Harry gave Laura a nervous smile as Daniel appeared in the doorway. "I'm so sorry for surprising you, dear lady," he told Abigail in his most charming manner. To Laura, he said, "And it's a pleasure to see you again, my dear."
Harry felt Laura's accusing eyes on him and turned to look at her. "Oh, I didn't mention that Daniel arrived this evening did I?"
"No, you didn't, Mr. Steele," she confirmed.
"Daniel?" Abigail questioned.
Daniel bowed to her. "Daniel Chalmers, at your service. I was a friend of Remington's dear father."
"A very *close* friend, if I'm not mistaken," Laura said in a cool voice.
"I knew him as well as I know myself," Daniel confirmed in a droll tone. "And you are?" he asked Abigail, who was clearly impressed by his courtly manners, causing Laura to roll her eyes in silent disgust.
"Laura's mother," Harry said quickly. "Abigail Holt."
"Abigail. What a lovely name."
"Why don't you join us for dinner?" Abigail suggested, and Harry tried to signal to Daniel to refuse the invitation. But Daniel, being Daniel, ignored the attempt, his attention wholly focused on the woman whose hand he still held in his.
"I'd be delighted," he told her. "If Remington doesn't mind, of course."
"Are you sure you're feeling up to it, Daniel?" Laura questioned. "I seem to remember something Mr. Steele mentioned about your not feeling well lately?"
"I hope it's nothing serious," Abigail said, clearly concerned.
"Just an - old war injury," he informed her, rubbing his shoulder. "It's much better now, in such lovely company."
Abigail giggled, and Laura shot Harry a look that promised he would pay for this later.
Harry managed to smile as he said, "Why don't we - go to dinner?"
==================================
Harry tapped the roof of the limo. "Off you go, Fred." He could see Laura's still - angry face in the window as he stood with Daniel on the curb.
"Lovely woman," Daniel said of Abigail. "Very charming, don't you agree, Harry?"
Daniel shook his head, turning toward the building. "I shouldn't count on that happening, old man. Laura doesn't exactly - approve of you, remember?"
"How could I not?" Daniel replied. "She wasn't exactly - friendly this evening."
"Noticed that, did you?" Harry commented, tugging at his ear as they neared the doors. "I wasn't sure you did, considering how much attention you paid to her mother."
"There you are," a man said as he suddenly appeared near the doorway.
Harry sensed Daniel's flight response a moment too late as his father spoke. "Sorry, Harry, but you're on your own," he said before taking off in the other direction.
Harry called after him and would have followed, but the stranger pulled a gun. "No you don't, pal. You're coming with me to see Mr. Guttmann."
======================================
"Daniel's very charming, isn't he?" Abigail asked.
"If you like smarmy, I suppose," Laura noted sourly as they entered the house.
"With an attitude like that," Abigail sighed sadly, "it's no wonder you've never found a man."
"Maybe because I'm not *looking* for a man," Laura insisted. "Look, Mother, I have to go out -"
"At this time of night? I suppose it has something to do with that job of yours, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does -"
"Very well. I'll finish cleaning the bathroom -"
"Mother, I'd rather you didn't -"
Abigail wasn't listening as she continued on toward the bathroom, picking up a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves and cleanser. "I simply don't understand your job, Laura. Why you couldn't settle for a *normal* job -"
Laura was very close to screaming as Abigail continued telling her how she was making a huge mistake with her life, comparing her to her sister Frances - who was happily married to a dentist who owned part of a shoe store chain as an investment - and how she was going to end up alone and unwanted if she didn't change her ways soon.
"You mean like you?" she wanted to say - but before she could give voice to the words, there was a knock on her front door.
Going back into the front hall, she peered through the peephole, frowning when she saw Daniel Chalmers standing on her front porch. Yanking the door open, she said, "Now, look, Daniel, I've had just about enough of you this evening -"
"Laura, dear, I'm afraid that Harry's been kidnapped," he announced, cutting off her tirade.
"What?"
"Who is it, Laura?" Abigail called out.
"No one, Mother," Laura called back, pushing Daniel out of the house and joining him. "What are you talking about?"
"Just as we were about to enter the building, a man appeared with a gun - I managed to get away, but I'm afraid that Harry wasn't quite as lucky. I saw the man forcing him into the back of a white van before it drove away."
"And you didn't follow them?" Laura questioned.
"I flagged down a taxicab, and tried, -"
"Does this have anything to do with "The Five Nudes of Cairo", Daniel?" Laura wanted to know, wanting her suspicions confirmed as to who *really* stole the painting ten years ago with Felicia.
"It might."
"It *might*??? Daniel, I want the truth and I want it now!"
"He was kidnapped by the minion of a particularly nasty man by the name of Guttmann."
"Let me guess: You owe him money?"
"A few pounds," he confirmed slowly. "None of this matters, Laura. He's got Harry, and he'll kill him if we don't bring him the painting."
"Do you know where they might have taken him?"
"Guttmann is operating out of a small warehouse in the downtown area," he said, and then gave her the address. "The painting -"
"Forget the painting," Laura said. "We have to find some other way to get him out of there."
The door opened behind her, and Abigail stood there, the gloves still on her hands. "Laura, do you have any bleach?" she asked, before she saw who was standing on the porch with her daughter. "Why Daniel," she said, smiling and quickly removing the gloves. "Forgive the way I look, I was cleaning Laura's bathroom."
"You look lovely, Abigail," he told her.
"Why are you standing on the porch?" she wanted to know. "The least you could do is invite him in, dear," she told Laura. "I'll go make some coffee."
"You made your mother clean your bath?" Daniel asked Laura.
"It's a long story," she answered. Grabbing his arm and the keys to her car from a nearby table, she said, "Come on."
"But-but your mother," Daniel objected. "Won't she wonder where we've got off to? Perhaps I should stay here and keep her company."
Laura opened the passenger door of her Rabbit. "Do you really think that I'm going to leave you here alone with my *mother*?" Before she could get into the car, her attention was caught by the sight of another vehicle as it came down the street in a very erratic manner, weaving back and forth. "What on earth -" she muttered when the car finally came to a stop in front of her house. The hair on the back of her neck was starting to stand up, which was *never* a good sign.
The driver side door of the other car opened, and a familiar man appeared, his dark features a mask of pain. "It's Achmed Khalil," Daniel told her, stepping toward the car as Khalil staggered and almost fell. "There, there, what's -" Daniel's voice faded as he grabbed the younger man to keep him erect, only to have him collapse anyway, dragging Daniel to his knees.
Laura quickly joined them, glancing toward the house, hoping that her mother wasn't going to look out here and see them like this. "Mr. Khalil! What's wrong?" she asked, kneeling beside them.
Khalil opened his eyes and grabbed her sleeve. "The -curse," he breathed, and then relaxed against the cool grass, obviously dead.
"Oh my," Daniel sighed. "No one was supposed to get hurt in this."
"Well someone *has*," Laura pointed out angrily. "And if we don't rescue him, your *son* will be next!"
From inside the house, Laura heard her mother's voice. "Laura? Daniel? Where are you?"
Laura grabbed Daniel's arm. "My mother can *not* find a dead man's body on my front lawn!" she insisted.
"Don't worry, Laura. I'll just put him back into his own car, and once we're away from here, we can stop and inform the proper authorities about the suspicious vehicle in front of your house." He stood up, pulling the dead weight of Khalil's body with him, staggering slightly under the load, causing Laura to slip under Khalil's other arm to hurry the process along. "Thank you," Daniel said, grunting a bit from the strain. "The man is quite a bit heavier than he looks, hmm?"
"Let's just get this done before my mother -" she froze as the front door of the house opened, and then ducked down behind the parked car, forcing Daniel to follow her.
"Laura? Where *are* you?!"
When the door closed again, Laura carefully peeked out from her hiding place. Seeing that her mother was safely back inside of the house, she took a deep sigh of relief. "Okay, it's clear," she informed Daniel.
Daniel opened the driver door of the car and they managed to deposit the body into the vehicle before closing it again. Daniel took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the door and handle to remove any traces of their 'assistance'.
Laura shook her head. "Come on. We have to find Harry."
==================
"That's not Daniel Chalmers, Sherman," Felix Guttmann said with obvious disapproval when Sherman opened the back of the white van he'd been driving.
"You're very observant," Harry replied.
"He was with Chalmers," Sherman informed his employer. "Chalmers got away, but I figured this one would be able to tell us where he might be. They looked pretty chummy."
"Who are you?" Guttmann asked of their prisoner.
"Remington Steele," Harry replied. The last thing he needed was for this man to discover the truth. Leeches like Felix Guttmann were almost impossible to get rid of.
"He's a damned detective, Sherman!" Guttmann declared angrily. "No use to us."
"Wait a minute," Sherman insisted. "He might be. Isn't he involved with that lady detective? The one that Chalmers suggested for security at the museum?"
Guttmann's face lost its angry glow, replacing it with one of interest. "You're right, Sherman. Tie him up and bring him over there," he said, indicating another section of the warehouse." A gun appeared in his hand. "I wouldn't try anything, Mr. Steele."
"Never crossed my mind," Harry answered, holding out his hands. "But you should know that I can make sure you recoup the money that Daniel Chalmers owes you - including interest."
Sherman paused as he wrapped a length of rope around Harry's wrists, glancing sideways at his boss.
"Keep working, Sherman," Guttmann ordered. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Steele?"
"Scoot forward, out of the van," Sherman ordered, and Harry obliged.
"I can get you the entire fifty thousand dollars that he owes you. No questions asked."
Guttmann surprised Harry by laughing loudly, the sound echoing eerily around the building's interior. "You - a private detective - want me to think you can get your hands on that kind of money?"
"I can get the money. How I get it shouldn't be of interest to you," Harry replied easily.
"And why would you do something like that for a mouse like Daniel Chalmers?" Guttmann wanted to know as Sherman led him to a spot in the middle of the room.
"He's a client," Harry lied. "I've agreed to assist him in this mess."
Guttmann didn't speak as he reached for a control box hanging from the ceiling and pressed a button, lowering what appeared to be a hook of some kind. Sherman grabbed Harry's bound hands and placed the hook between them before Guttmann pressed the second button, raising the hook until Harry's hands were above his head and his feet were barely touching the floor.
Even though his shoulder muscles were protesting, Harry refused to give the big man the satisfaction of showing it.
"I'll ask you again: why are you willing to pay the gambling debts of a third-rate conman, Mr. Steele?" Guttmann questioned, releasing the control.
"He's a client," Harry repeated, not surprised when Sherman's fist impacted into his stomach. "Oomph!"
"Not good enough, Mr. Steele."
"Daniel's an- old friend," Harry hedged. "I've known him for years, and I owe him a great deal." It *was* true, in a way. He had Daniel to thank for his learning about the seedier side of life - and his deciding that he wanted to steer clear of that life if possible.
"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Steele," Guttmann noted. "More than most people would be willing to pay."
"That's true," Harry agreed. "But I *am* willing to do it - for Daniel."
"I hope Chalmers appreciates having someone like you as a friend."
"So do I."
Guttmann eyed Harry for a long moment. "You're a puzzle, Mr. Steele." His smiled faded. "I don't like puzzles."
"You want your money; I'm willing to see that you get it. It's as simple as that."
"Nothing is ever *that* simple, Mr. Steele. Besides, if I take the fifty thousand that Daniel owes me from you, I'll still lose the fifty thousand that I could get for the painting."
"I thought ten of that was going to Daniel for his trouble?"
The smile reappeared, this time sending shivers down Harry's spine. "He believed that, did he?"
"You never intended to give him a cut of the profits, did you?"
"It's far easier and smarter to not leave any witnesses."
"I see. So in addition to taking the money and running, you were going to kill him."
"Unfortunately," Guttmann confirmed. "Now, once he's aware that you're here, I'm sure I'll have no trouble in convincing him to complete the assignment he agreed to."
"You might be surprised," Harry replied.
It was this scene that Laura and Daniel saw as they hid behind nearby crates to listen.
"You're not saying that your 'old friend' would leave his apparent best - and probably only - friend to die while he runs away like a dog with his tail between his legs?"
Harry somehow managed an uncaring shrug of his aching shoulders. "You know how he is. Always more concerned about his own skin than someone else's."
"Unlike you, who will go to any length to help a 'friend'." It wasn't a question.
"Well, I'm not sure I'd say *any* length," Harry argued.
"Come now, Mr. Steele. If Daniel Chalmers were here instead of you, you'd be willing to do practically anything to secure his safety. Wouldn't you?"
Laura frowned as Daniel leaned close to her. "Stay here. Don't come out no matter what happens," he whispered, and before she could stop him, he was gone - coming out of cover.
"I'm here, Guttmann," he announced, strolling toward the scene, hands in the air.
"Well, well, well," Guttmann said as he and Sherman both turned guns on Daniel. "You surprised me, Chalmers. And your friend here as well, I believe. We were just discussing the idea that you might have run away to save your own skin rather than attempted a rescue."
"I'm not here to rescue - Remington," Daniel announced. "I'm here to take his place."
"Daniel -" Harry said, somehow knowing what his father was about to suggest.
"I know, Remington, but there's no other way."
"What are you suggesting, Chalmers?" Guttmann asked.
"Keep me here as security - and let Remington go."
"Hardly a good trade, in my opinion, Chalmers. Steele offered me cold, hard cash in return for his freedom."
"I'm offering cash - and the painting, Guttmann," Daniel announced. "Remington will steal the painting - it was my reason for asking him to bring the Holt Agency into this - because I knew he could steal it with far greater ease than I could have."
Guttmann turned to look at Harry, a new respect in his eyes. "You've been holding out on me, Mr. Steele. *If* Chalmers is telling the truth - and you *are* an experienced thief as well as a detective."
"I've a - bit of experience in that area, yes," Harry acknowledged, glaring at Daniel as he spoke. "Bit out of practice, as well, however."
"Nonsense, H-Remington," Daniel insisted, and luckily Guttmann didn't notice his near slip. "Talent like yours isn't something you lose."
Guttmann grabbed the control again, this time hitting a second set of buttons, lowering another hook. "Tie him up, Sherman," he told the henchman.
"Does this mean you approve of the plan?" Daniel asked, extending his arms.
"I won't do it," Harry announced.
"Then your friend won't be alive the next time you come here," Guttmann replied in an even tone that belied his seriousness. "And if you send the police - well, I'd say my goodbyes now, if I were you." He waited for Sherman to place the hook between Daniel's wrists before raising it, leaving Daniel in the same condition as his son. "Well, Steele? It's your choice. Either I release you to steal the painting and bring it back here and secure Chalmer's release - or I kill both of you now." He punctuated the statement with his gun, pointing it directly at Daniel's chest.
"It would appear that I have little choice in the matter," Harry said.
"Then you'll do it?"
"I'll do it," Harry confirmed.
"Excellent choice," Guttmann praised. He lowered the hook, keeping his gun on Harry. Once he was free of the hook, Guttmann told Sherman, "And just to show you that I can be generous, you have thirty six hours to come back with the painting. Any longer, and you'll never see your friend alive again. Put him into the van, Sherman, and take him home."
"Come on," Sherman said, poking Harry in the back with his own gun.
"Daniel -" Harry said, remaining where he was at first.
"I understand, my boy," Daniel replied. "I'll see you when you come back with the painting."
"Go on, Mr. Steele," Guttmann said in a firm tone this time. "Before I change my mind."
Harry moved when Sherman pushed him this time, going back to the van, glancing behind them to see Guttmann's gun still directed toward Daniel's chest. If he even *tried* to make a move on Sherman, Daniel would be dead. Harry got back into the rear of the van, sitting down as before while Sherman closed the doors and locked them. He'd already discovered on the trip over that the interior latches had been removed, and there was grill between himself and the front of the van.
Laura considered trying to get the jump on Guttmann, but didn't want to risk Daniel's life in the attempt. So as quietly as she'd entered the warehouse, she left, sprinting to her car just as the white van exited the building and disappeared around a corner.
To Episode 2