Forgotten Steele Part 3

Forgotten Steele
Part Three

Remington deepened the kiss past the point where Laura usually pulled back, but this time she didn't. Her soft lips opened beneath his, her hands at his tie, sliding it from his collar with agonizing slowness. He pulled back, his hands gently cupping her face. Gazing down into those deep brown eyes, he said, "If you're planning on seducing me to get the security information about the gem show, I think it only fair to warn you that it won't do you any good." "You're sure of that?" she asked, turning her lips into his palm, her arms still around him. But her eyes never left his. "We could do an- in depth interview, right here," she suggested. It WAS tempting. He had to admit that. The chance to make love with Laura wasn't something he could easily refuse. But if he gave in, how would he ever manage to face Laura once she was again herself? There was no way to tell whether or not she would recall her activities during this time, but he refused to take the chance. "I'm sorry. I'm- previously committed to someone else." She looked up at him. "Who's the lucky girl? I'm sure I could make you forget all about her, whoever she is." As if to prove her point, she pressed closer to him. Remington drew a deep breath as her breasts brushed his chest, then reached over to the dresser and picked up the silver framed photo of he and Laura. "Do you think so?" he asked, turning it for her to see the face. "A bit plain, don't you think?" she said at last, dismissing the obvious resemblance. "Not at all. Laura's- very special." "If she's so special, why isn't she here with you?" "She's- on a case. She's my partner. Laura Holt." "Laura Holt." Tracy laughed shortly. "Even her name is dull. She doesn't strike me as the type of woman you need at all." "That's where you're wrong. Laura's exactly what I need. She's the most important thing in my life. And when she comes back, I'm going to tell her that." "Like I said. Lucky girl." She slid her arms from behind him, up to his shoulders. Lifting a hand, she touched his face. "Pity, though. We really could have been wonderful together, you and I. Oh, well, I suppose I'll just have to try a bit harder to do my job." "What exactly IS your job? To steal those gems? You won't get away with it." Her soft laughter filled the room. "I DO love a challenge." She touched her lips to his again, then turned away, picking up her clothes. "Where are you going?" "Oh, don't worry about me-" when he would have moved toward her, she held out a hand. "Oh, no. Please. I'd much rather remember you just as you are now." She ducked through the open window, blowing him a kiss. "Ciao, handsome." "Wait-!" Remington took a step forward, and felt something pull on the back of his trousers. He tried to turn and see what was wrong, but heard fabric rip and winced. Putting his hands behind him, he discovered that while she had kept him talking, "Tracy Lord" had used his own tie to fasten the belt loop of his pants to the doorknob. Damn, she was good! Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to loosen the tie, he jerked away from the door, ignoring the fact that his tailor wasn't going to be pleased with him. He rushed to the window, just in time to see her exit the alley to flag down a taxi. Remington brought his fist down on the windowsill in frustration. He had to figure out a way to stop her- before she did something she'd regret for a VERY long time. Mildred's idea of a klonk on the head was sounding better by the minute.
***
Tracy only took the cab a couple of blocks before she had him pull over so that she could look in a telephone book. Smiling, she returned to the cab and gave the driver an address. The building was nondescript, in a part of town she would never have considered living in. As the cab stopped, she noticed a slightly overweight woman with blonde hair getting out of a small white convertible dubious make and watched from the darkness of the cab as the woman got into the same black limousine that Steele had been in earlier. Tracy checked the license plate on the vehicle as it passed to make certain, then paid the cab driver for him time and got out. Instead of trying to pick the front lock, she went around the side of the building, finding the fire escape with ease and lithely pulled herself to the first rungs, then up. Avoiding the other tenants' eyes, she climbed all the way to the third floor, hoping that the fire escape would come out into a hallway. But instead she found herself looking into a one-room apartment that was dark. Obviously, Laura Holt was either one of those dreary people who went to bed with the chickens, or she wasn't home. Tracy inspected the windows leading from the ledge into the kitchen area, and was pleased when one of them opened with a bit of help from a fingernail file that she'd found in the bottom of her purse. She stealthily entered, finding herself on a cabinet. In the darkness, she missed a cup on the counter, and it crashed to the floor, echoing loudly in the quiet room. Tracy leapt down behind the counter, waiting for the apartment's occupant to turn on a light and find out what the commotion was. When nothing happened, she rose cautiously. So Miss Holt wasn't home. That was a lucky break. She moved around the room in the darkness, inspecting the other woman's things, touching the piano that sat on one side of the room with another photo of Laura Holt and another woman. Moving up the circular stairs that led to a raised platform, Tracy peered past the curtain. The bed was empty, perfectly made. In fact, the entire apartment was as neat as a pin. Except for that cup that she had knocked off the counter, nothing seemed out of place. Tracy picked up a photograph that was on the dresser, a match to the one that Steele had shown her. Looking in the mirror, she studied her reflection, comparing it to the image of Laura Holt. There WAS a resemblance, she was forced to admit. Mr. Burton at the museum had called her "Miss Holt". It had been that memory which had sent her here, to find out more about her supposed double. Putting the photograph aside, she opened a dresser drawer, and found a scrapbook. Curious, Tracy lifted it out and opened the cover. Photographs of Laura Holt and other people, of the woman standing before a door which read "Laura Holt Investigations", of her standing with what appeared to be the little white car that Tracy had noticed downstairs . . .
***
Remington grabbed the telephone when it rang, hoping that it would be Laura, returned to her senses- or even her alter ego. "Steele here." "Hey, Chief," Mildred said. "Just thought you'd want to know that I dropped Miss Holt's car off at her place. Fred is taking me back to the office to get my car." He sat down on the sofa, his energy drained. "Good job, Mildred." "Is something wrong, Mr. Steele?" the woman asked, and for the hundredth time, he wondered how it was that she could read him so well. "If you're worried about Miss Holt, she can take care of herself." "I know, Mildred. But she's NOT herself at the moment, remember? She thinks she's someone else. Someone who's just slightly less than concerned about HOW she gets taken care of." "She'll be fine, hon," Mildred said. "Have you heard from her at all?" Remington hesitated, wondering if he should tell her about "Tracy's" visit. "We ran into each other again," he said at last. "And she eluded me again. She's after the gems, Mildred, so make certain those guards are on duty- and alert." "Consider it done. You try to get some sleep, okay?" "Hmm. Night, Mildred." "Night, Mr. Steele." Remington hung up the phone and sat back. He seriously doubted he was going to sleep at all.
***
Tracy closed the scrapbook, and watched the big metal door. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she noticed that it was almost two a.m., and there was still no sign of Miss Laura Holt. "When she comes back," Steele had said. So that meant that his partner was out of town, right? Which gave Tracy precisely the opening she needed. Putting the book back into the drawer, she picked up a hat that was on the dresser. Placing it on her head, she looked into the mirror and smiled, dropping her British accent as Daniel had taught her to do. "Nice to meet you, Miss Holt."

***

As the limo pulled up in front of the museum, Remington frowned. "Mildred, I thought you called last night as told me that you had returned Laura's car to her place?" "I did, Chief," Mildred told him, exchanging a confused glance with Fred. "Just before I called." Remington pointed to a white Volkswagen Rabbit parked down the block. "Then how do you explain that?" Mildred tried to see the license plate, but there was another car in the way. "Oh, Mr. Steele, Miss Holt isn't the only person in Los Angeles who drives a car like that." "I know. But don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence? That being here this morning?" "I could check it out, if you'd like," she offered, but Remington shook his head as Fred opened the door for them. "No, I'm sure you're right. Mr. Burton's no doubt pulling what little hair he has left out already. Let's not keep him waiting any longer." But he gave the small car another glance as he opened the door for Mildred to enter the building.
***
When Remington and Mildred entered the Burton Museum, it was to find Mr. Burton wringing his hands and fretting nervously. "There you are, Mr. Steele. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to arrive before the gems. This morning has been a disaster," he told them, leading them into his office without allowing them to speak. "I'd offer you some coffee, but my secretary didn't bother to show up this morning. I'm hoping she's just caught in traffic, since she hasn't called, but I'm hopeless with a coffeemaker." Remington smiled as Mildred turned toward the machine that Burton had indicated. "Not to worry, Mr. Burton. Miss Krebs will have things in hand in no time. Tell me, is it a usual occurrence for your secretary to be late?" "No. Miss Stewart is NEVER been late without calling," Burton told him. "She was supposed to be here two hours ago." "Did you try to call her?" "Of course I did. There was no answer." "Once Miss Krebs finishes with the coffee, perhaps you could give her Miss Stewart's address?" Burton looked nervous again. "You don't think she's in trouble, do you?" "Merely a precaution," Remington said quickly, but his glance at Mildred said that he was concerned. "Just checking out the possibilities." Mildred carried two cups of coffee over to the men and took the address from their client. "I'll go check it out, Mr. Steele," she told him. "Let me know what you find." Burton sipped his coffee. "Thank goodness Miss Holt was here early to supervise things," he commented. "If she hadn't been, I don't know WHAT I would have done." Remington's cup clattered into its saucer, and Mildred, on her way out of the office, froze, turning to look at her boss, who asked, "Miss Holt is HERE?" "Yes," he said, his eyes moving between them. "She explained about being here yesterday incognito to look things over. She said it was your idea." Remington nodded to Mildred. "Go on, Mildred. I'll -touch base with Miss Holt," he said, touching her shoulder. "Is there a problem, Mr. Steele?" Burton asked. He gave the man his most charming smile. "Not at all. Now, if you'd be so kind as to point me in the direction of my partner so she can tell me what she's done so far?" "She's in the gem room with the security people," Burton said, starting to rise from his desk. "Why don't you stay here, try to calm yourself?" Remington suggested hurriedly. "I'm sure Miss Holt and I can take care of things until the gems arrive." He left the office and went through the art gallery, pausing at the doorway leading to the room where the gem collection was to be put on display. There, in the center of the room, inspecting the main case and pedestal, was the woman who had identified herself to Mr. Burton as Laura Holt. She'd changed clothes, was wearing one of Laura's suits and hats, and for a moment, Remington thought that her mind had righted itself, that Tracy Lord was a nightmare he could forget. But when he noticed how she ran her fingers over the seam in the case, as if searching for a fault, he shook his head. The security personnel that Mildred had engaged were scattered about the room. Approaching the nearest one, a middle aged man with a dark mustache and thinning black hair, he said, "I want four men posted at the front door, four in the main gallery at all times. Two on each exit." The man looked at him as the woman by the case looked up. She smiled. "You'd best do as he says," she told him, with no trace of the English accent she had affected the previous day. As the man nodded and left, she said, "So glad you could join us, Remington. I was beginning to think you had slept in this morning." He might have bought it- she SOUNDED like Laura, LOOKED like Laura. Only one thing had given her away. He took her arm and lowered his voice as the security guards left the room. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. "My job, of course." Remington smiled tightly at one of the guards before pulling her into a small alcove that afforded them some measure of privacy. Before he could speak, she slid her arms around his neck. "Why Remington. If you wanted to be alone, all you had to do was say so." He pulled her arms down. "What do you mean coming in here, pretending to be Laura Holt? And how the hell did you get her car?" "I thought it was a rather ingenious plan, pretending to be your partner to get close to the gems. What gave me away?" The accent was back in full force. "Laura Holt has NEVER called me 'Remington'," he informed her. "NEVER?" "Not in public, at any rate," he amended quickly. "Now, I want you to make your apologies to Mr. Burton, tell him that your attention is required on another case, -" "And if I don't? What are you going to do? Tell Mr. Burton that I'm NOT Laura Holt? The poor man's nervous enough as it is. Look. I'll make you a deal: I won't touch the gems until they leave Los Angeles, okay? As long as your agency is responsible for them, I'll simply keep an eye on them as your loyal partner, Laura Holt." "And what if Miss Holt returns?" "Do you think she will?" "One never knows when she'll turn up," Remington commented dryly. "Your word?" Tracy smiled. "My word," she repeated, then moved closer. "Why don't we seal our bargain with a kiss?" she suggested. Their lips were almost touching when Mr. Burton's voice reached them as he pulled back the curtain. "Mr. Steele? Miss Holt?" Remington gave Tracy a look that told her to behave herself, then turned to face the client with a smile. "Just discussing the case, Mr. Burton. Something wrong?" "The gems are on their way. I just wanted to make sure that everything is ready for the insurance company's courier's arrival." "Oh, everything will be in place, I assure you, Mr. Burton," Remington said. "Has Miss Krebs called in yet?" "No. I do hope nothing's wrong with Miss Stewart. She'd be nearly impossible to replace." "Nice to see you're so concerned," Tracy commented, and Remington grabbed her arm, giving Burton a nervous smile as he turned toward the entrance. "Shall we go and make the final arrangements, Miss Holt?"
***

Mildred knocked on the door, frowning, as there was no answer. The woman's car, which Mr. Burton had included in the information, was in its assigned spot, so she had to be here. She knocked again, then dug in her purse for the lock pick set that Miss Holt had gotten for her, intending to gain access and see what was going on. "What are you doing?" a woman asked, causing Mildred to jump nervously and turn.

The woman was about her age, with her hair in curlers wrapped in a kerchief, carrying a basket of neatly folded laundry. "I'm Gwen's Aunt Millie. I called her yesterday to tell her I'd be here this morning, but she's not answering the door."

"She's probably at work," the woman said. "Course I didn't hear her leave like I usually do. I live across the hall there," she explained. "I'm the building manager. Nora Dallinger. Have you checked to see if her car's downstairs?"

"It's there."

"That's strange. She's always very conscientious about getting to work on time. And I know she was really worried about it today. Something about a gem exhibit, I think."

"Yes. She was going to take me to work with her. Have you seen anyone else around?"

"Well, not that I'm nosy or anything, but- she had a date last night, really dishy guy. Just caught a glimpse of him when they came in." The woman whistled softly. "A little old for her, I thought, but he seemed nice enough." She put down the basket of laundry she'd been carrying and took out a ring of keys. Putting one in the door where Mildred had been standing, she turned it and opened the portal.

"Gwen?" Mildred called softly. She could hear a radio- and the sound got louder as she and the landlady opened the bedroom door.

The woman gasped, and Mildred fought back her own response to the scene within . . .

To be continued . . .

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