- Forgotten Steele
- Part One
- Laura Holt was smiling
as she left the museum. Another lucrative contract for the agency.
And THIS one she'd done all on her own. Of course, Mr. Steele
wasn't going to be pleased when he found out that she'd agreed
to their providing security for one of the largest rare gem shows
in the country. But it was her agency, after all, not his. She
would simply remind him of that fact- maybe over dinner this
evening. He was usually more amenable after a couple of glasses
of champagne while sitting before the fireplace in his apartment.
She laughed to herself as she considered the irony of the man
she knew as Remington Steele being responsible for the safety
and well being of all of those precious gems. As a former jewel
thief and con man, he was probably the last choice most people
would make. But Laura had learned that his experience gave him
an added edge in setting up security for such things. "It
DOES take a thief," Laura murmured to herself.
The man seemed to come out of nowhere as she passed the alleyway.
Normally, Laura was cognizant of her surroundings all the time.
But thinking about her reformed jewel thief distracted her just
long enough for the man to grab her purse. "Come back here!"
Laura yelled, her attention fixed fully on the here and now.
Her assailant took off through the alley, and Laura gave chase,
pausing at another corner to peer into the darkness before her.
She listened, thought she heard a noise, but wasn't sure where
it had come from. She stayed there, waiting for another clue
as to where the mugger might be hiding.
Above her, the mugger slowly rose from his position on the fire
escape. The rusty metal squeaked, causing her to look up and
find him. He climbed higher, but Laura wasn't about to give up.
She made a leap for the ladder that hung above the ground, and
pulled herself to the first rung before she heard the grating
sound.
The ladder began to slip, swung, and Laura lost her handhold.
She was thrown from the ladder to the ground, hitting her head
on a brick, and lay still.
The mugger paused from his perch, saw his pursuer lying on the
ground, and continued on his way to check out what he'd gotten
by stealing her purse. Joey climbed onto the top of the building,
sitting down, with his back against the outer ledge. Opening
the purse, he found credit cards, about a hundred dollars in
cash. Glancing at the name on the plastic, he frowned. "Laura
Holt." Why was the name familiar?
Digging deeper, he found business cards, imprinted with the words,
"Laura Holt, Remington Steele Investigations." Joey's
hands shook slightly as he found the wallet containing her identification.
A driver's license AND a P.I. license- "Damn!" he muttered.
If Remington Steele found out he'd done anything to that lady,
"Damn." Everyone on the street knew that Steele took
great exception to anyone harming his "associate".
Joey stuffed everything back into the purse, then rose to peer
over the edge of the roof. She hadn't moved. It appeared that
his luck was going to hold. Very carefully, he held the purse
out and dropped it, watched as it fell beside the woman, the
contents scattering around the area. Then he turned toward the
door that would take him to the stairs, wondering if his cousin
Vinnie would put him up for awhile in Frisco. He needed a change
of scenery . . .
***
Remington opened his office door to look at Mildred. "Any
word from Laura, Mildred?" he asked, a frown of concern
on his handsome face.
Mildred Krebs looked up at him. "Nope."
He checked his watch, glancing at the doors. "You're sure
she didn't say where she was going?"
"No," Mildred said, turning her attention away from
those probing blue eyes to relocate a file that was lying on
her desk. "Just something about a new client. That's all.
And that she'd be back by two."
"It's nearly three," Remington said. The telephone
rang, and before Mildred could answer, Remington snatched the
receiver up. "Steele here."
The voice that came over the phone was muffled, sounded as if
it came from a great distance. "If you want to find Laura
Holt, look in the alleyway between Harper and Brookmoor."
CLICK!
Remington frowned. "Hello?" He pushed the button on
the telephone a couple of times. "Hello?"
"Who was it, Chief?" Mildred asked.
"He didn't give a name. But he said Laura was in an alleyway
between Harper and Brookmoor streets." He was heading for
the doors. "Have Fred meet me downstairs, Mildred. And let
me know if she calls in, will you?"
"I will," Mildred called after him, dialing the number
for the mobile phone to contact the chauffeur. "Fred, Mr.
Steele's on his way down, wants you to meet him." She hung
up, then looked up another number from the file that she'd moved
earlier. "Mr. Burton, please. Mildred Krebs of Remington
Steele Investigations." She waited impatiently for the man
to come onto the line.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Burton, is Miss Holt still there, by any chance?"
"Laura Holt? Why, no. She left at least- half an hour ago.
Why do you ask?"
"She's just- out of pocket. I'm sure she's busy on your
case," Mildred quickly reassured the nervous sounding man.
"I hope nothing goes wrong," Burton said. "I've
got almost twenty million dollars worth of rare gemstones here,
and the insurance won't cover a fraction of that if anything
were to happen." Mildred could almost see the man wiping
the sweat from his balding head with a handkerchief as he spoke.
"I assure you, nothing will happen," Mildred said.
"If you DO happen to see her, would you ask her to call
the office? It's important that I contact her."
"Of course."
"Thank you. Good afternoon."
***
She groaned, wondering who was playing the drums inside her head.
Sitting up, she reached up, and gingerly probed the bump on her
scalp, beneath her hair. Grabbing her purse, she rose unsteadily
and brushed off her dark slacks before moving slowly out of the
alleyway and onto the sidewalk. Looking around, she took her
bearings. The street looked generic, like hundreds of others
that she had been on in her lifetime. Short of stopping a passerby,
she had no way of finding out WHAT city she might be in. A car
came by- on the right side of the road. So she wasn't in England.
But it WAS an English speaking country. All of the signs were
in that language. It was too warm for England, at any rate. Perhaps
if she walked awhile, something might come back to her; something
might jiggle her memory.
As she started to put her purse over her shoulder, she paused,
and looked inside. Except for some money- American money, she
noticed- it was empty. No identification, no credit cards. She
began walking, soaking up the atmosphere, when her gaze was caught
by a sign outside of a large building. The building itself carried
the words "Burton Museum". But it was the sign that
drew her like a magnet.
Gems. All kinds of rare gems. Including one in the center that
took her breath away. She KNEW that gem. Its deep blue color
was as familiar to her as- as her name should have been. She
entered the building, hoping that the gems would help her remember
who she was.
***
Remington had Fred pull into the alleyway. This was the sixth
one they had checked out, and he was becoming more and more worried
about Laura with each one. He rounded the corner at the back
of the way, and his foot hit something that skittered away, bouncing
off of the bricks with a metallic rattle. Curious, Remington
moved cautiously toward the fire escape, his sharp eyes noting
that it was rusted and dangerous. The lower ladder hung at a
precarious angle to the ground. The metallic cylinder that he
had kicked turned out to be a tube of lipstick. Opening it, he
discovered it to be the colour Laura used. Looking around, he
found her wallet, credit cards and ID intact. She'd been here.
The question was-where was she now? And why had she left this
behind?
***
Mr. Burton mopped his brow yet again as he walked though the
gallery. The crowd was beginning to thin- he really should have
closed the place until the security for the gems was fully in
place. Maybe then he wouldn't be a candidate for a heart attack.
He stopped upon seeing the dark haired young woman standing before
a display ad for the rare gem show.
"Miss Holt. I didn't expect to see you back here today."
She didn't acknowledge him at all, merely moved on to the Vermeer
that was hanging on the gallery wall beside the entry to the
gem room, which was blocked off by a screen until the show opened.
"Uh, Miss Holt?" he said again, this time touching
her arm lightly.
The woman turned and looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
she responded with a British accent. "Do I know you, sir?"
"Are you okay, Miss Holt?"
She smiled. "I'm afraid you have me confused with someone
else, sir. My name is Tracy Lord."
"T-Tracy Lord?" Burton repeated with a stammer. He
wiped his head again. What was going on here? "I'm sorry.
I guess I made a mistake. Excuse me." He backed away, out
of the gallery, and went to the nearest telephone, buttonholing
a young man who worked for him. "Lenny, keep an eye on the
lady looking at the Reubens, okay? Don't let her out of your
sight."
Lenny, a fresh out of college art major, nodded and went into
the gallery.
Burton fished in his pocket for the card Laura Holt had given
him earlier, then dialed the number on it, waiting impatiently
for someone to answer. "Remington Steele Investigations."
"Miss Krebs, it's Gilbert Burton. Miss Holt's here."
"May I speak to her?" Mildred asked.
"She says she's NOT Laura Holt. Told me her name was Tracy-
something or other. And she's talking with an accent. British."
"Keep her there, Mr. Burton, please. I'll call Mr. Steele.
He should be there momentarily."
Burton hung up the phone, and went back to the doorway, to watch
as the woman who called herself Tracy Lord spoke quietly to Lenny.
At this distance, he couldn't hear the words they were saying,
but his nerves were even more on alert.
"When does the gem exhibit open?" Tracy asked the young
man.
"Oh, tomorrow evening. Mr. Burton's really worried about,
too."
"I'm certain he is," she said smoothly. "That
is a lot of gems to worry about. Especially that blue one, in
the center."
Lenny followed her gaze to the poster. "Yeah. This is the
third time it's been in Los Angeles. Course, art's more my thing,
not gems."
Tracy smiled at him, running a finger up the lapel of his dark
blue blazer, pausing to straighten the triangle of handkerchief
in the pocket. "Art? Like this Vermeer?"
"Oh, yes. Do you like his work?"
"I prefer the impressionists, myself, but I can understand
what you see in it."
"It's not his best work, of course," Lenny began, about
to launch into his full dissertation on the painter.
Tracy laughed softly. "Oh, my. I hadn't realized it was
so late. Will you be here tomorrow? For the opening?"
"Sure."
She touched his cheek with a light fingertip. "I'll see
you then. Ciao."
"Yeah, right. Ciao, Miss-"
"Lord. Tracy Lord," she told him, glancing at his nametag.
"Lenny."
Burton saw her head toward the exit, and started to panic. Where
was Steele? "Uh, Miss- Lord," he said hurriedly, getting
her attention. "Was there anything in particular that you
were looking for?"
"No. I'm a reporter for Gemstone Magazine. I was hoping
to do a story on your little showing of the World's Rarest Gems.
I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of the museum's
owner, could you? I'd be-ever so grateful if you would."
Burton swallowed heavily. She might LOOK like Laura Holt, but
the businesswoman he'd spoken with this morning had been the
opposite of this one. "I'm- Gilbert Burton."
"Oh. Then YOU'RE the man I've been looking for," she
said, linking her arm through his. "I'd really like to hear
all about how you managed this little coup over all the other
museums that wanted this show. You DO realize, I hope, that once
this is done, everyone in the world that knows ANYTHING about
gems will know your name?"
"That's- what I'm counting on," Burton told her, his
eyes on the front doors as they opened to admit Remington Steele.
Remington had taken Mildred's call as soon as he returned to
the limo after finding the license, but no sign of Laura's purse.
He knew now that she had it with her. "Mr. Burton,"
he said now, taking that gentleman's hand with a wide smile.
"How are you today?"
"Fine," Burton said, trying to disentangle himself
from the woman at his side.
Remington was about to say something to Laura when he noticed
the look in her brown eyes. He'd NEVER seen that openly assessing
gaze before. She looked him up and down, then met his eyes with
a bold, inviting smile. "Hello there," she said, and
Remington's brow lifted as he heard the slightly English inflection
of the words.
"Hello," he said, his tone guarded.
"And who are you? A partner of Mr. Burton, perhaps?"
"A-partner?" Remington repeated. "Uh, no. Remington
Steele." He drew out one of the business cards that he had
retrieved from the alleyway and handed it to her.
"A private investigator. How interesting. And are you providing
the security for Mr. Burton's gems tomorrow?"
"No," Remington replied, only to turn his attention
to Burton as the shorter man answered.
"Yes." Burton returned that blue gaze nervously.
"We are?"
"Miss-" Burton's gaze moved to the woman and back to
Steele. "Miss Holt was here earlier. We signed the contract."
He looked a little suspicious and more worried, if possible.
"She assured me that you knew all about it. That you'd be
on hand yourself tomorrow. It was part of the deal. No jewel
thief in their right mind would try to steal the gems if Remington
Steele is here in person."
"I'm sure you two men have important things to discuss,"
Tracy said, giving Remington another smile that made his heart
skip more than a couple of beats. "So I'll leave you to
it. May I call you tomorrow morning about an interview, Mr. Burton?"
"Interview?" Remington asked. If this was a game, he
was going to let Laura play it out to the end.
"I work for Gemstone Magazine, Mr. Steele." She offered
her hand. "Tracy Lord."
Remington smiled. "Tracy, eh? I've always liked the name
Tracy. Rather -shimmery, don't you think?" There was no
response from the woman.
"It's simply my name, Mr. Steele," she told him. "You
know, my readers might like an in depth report on your security
measures as well. Perhaps you and I could discuss them?"
"By all means," Remington agreed. "Where are you
staying?"
"Oh, I'll be in touch," she told him, flicking the
card before walking away from the two men.
Remington watched her go, noticing the way she moved. That was
NOT the Laura he knew. It couldn't be. "Mr. Steele?"
Burton tugged at his arm. "Mr. Steele!"
"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Burton. Did you say something?"
"I said that I wanted an explanation," Burton said,
the handkerchief back on his head. "Why is Miss Holt pretending
that she's this- Tracy Lord person and that she doesn't know
you?"
Remington wished he had an answer to that question himself, but
he gave the man his most reassuring smile. "All part of
the plan, my good man. Now don't you worry your head about a
thing. The Remington Steele Agency will take very good care of
your gems tomorrow. - Uh, you wouldn't happen to have a copy
of the contract that you and Miss Holt signed lying about, would
you?"
***
Remington returned to the limo. "Did you happen to see Miss
Holt, Fred?"
-
- "She's in that
cab at the end of the block, Mr. Steele," Fred told him.
-
- Remington's gaze narrowed
as he picked up the telephone. "Follow the cab, Fred."
He dialed the office number. "Mildred- yes, I found her.
But I THINK we have a problem . . ."
To Be Continued . . .
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- Original content ©1999
by Nancy Eddy