- Forgotten Steele
- Part Five
- Remington sat there,
thinking. WOULD Daniel have been there to pull him back if he
hadn't met Laura and turned his life around? He liked to think
so. The sound of water running in the bathroom didn't interrupt
his musings, but a knock on the door did. Rising, he went to
slide it open.
Mildred's eyes widened. "Uh, maybe I should come back later?"
she said, and when Remington frowned in confusion, she pointed
to the scarf.
"No, no," he said, whipping it free. "Come in.
Come in."
She looked at him again. "You're certain?" This time,
her thumb brushed his cheek and came away with the lipstick that
Laura had been wearing. But she entered the loft, carrying the
files she was holding to the living area, only to stop again.
"Uh, Mr. Steele, where is -?"
Remington's gaze followed the trail of clothing. "Having
a shower. There are no windows in there. No way to get out except
for the window over the sink that leads to the fire escape and
the front door." As he spoke, he gathered the clothing and
tossed them over the railing of the bedroom. Returning to the
sofa, he removed his coat and sat down, loosening his tie.
Mildred looked at him sympathetically. "Rough day?"
"A nightmare," he told her. "I think I'm finally
beginning to appreciate what Laura went through in the early
days, after I became Remington Steele. I must have put her through
sheer hell."
"But she evidently thought you were worth it to stick with
it," Mildred pointed out. "Still not ready to consider
a klonk on the head?"
Remington looked at her through narrowed eyes. "How's Miss
Stewart?"
"She woke up an hour ago. That's why I'm late. She gave
me a description of the guy she went out with. Mitchell Sawyer.
She said they met in a bar a couple of weeks ago, went out a
couple of times- thing is, she said he wasn't interested in her
job."
"But that didn't stop her from telling him about it."
"And about the gem show," Mildred confirmed. "She
was trying to impress him, I think. I checked the name with all
the known records. Hasn't shown up."
"Probably an alias," Remington said. "You said
she gave you a description?"
"Yeah." She looked at her notes. "Tall, white
hair, thinning on top, thin, but well built." She saw his
expression. "What is it?"
"I think I saw him today. At the museum. He was looking
at a watercolor in the gallery. I don't think he went into the
gem room once. What caused her illness?"
"Now THAT was the interesting part. She was drugged. Really
nasty stuff, but it's not usually fatal." She handed him
a paper with the name of the drug on it.
"No, it's not. It would have knocked her out for a couple
of days, and made her sick afterward, but she would have recovered
if she was healthy." Seeing Mildred's expression, Remington
shrugged. "I've heard of the drug, Mildred. Nothing more.
Any matches on thieves who use it?"
"Not yet. But the computer's still searching. The doctor
said it would have kept her out of commission for forty eight
hours."
"And the gems leave town tomorrow night. That's when he's
going to make his move."
Mildred stood up. "I could use a drink. How about you?"
"Nothing for me," he told her. "And you're going
to need a clear head to keep Little Miss Mischief in line."
"ME?"
"I'll feel better if I keep an eye on the museum tonight.
Not knowing WHO we're after makes me a little nervous. Especially
if he knows we've found Miss Stewart. And I don't want to leave
HER alone at the moment."
"Why don't I find something for us to eat before you leave,
then?" Mildred suggested, moving toward the kitchen area.
She was bending down behind a counter, looking for a pan, when
the bathroom door opened.
Remington turned as Tracy emerged, wearing a silk nightgown that
clung revealingly to her damp skin. He swallowed heavily. "Uh-
where did that come from?" he asked, forcing himself to
keep his eyes above her neck.
She glanced down at the gown, smoothing her hands over her hips
as she moved closer. "Oh, I found it last night. All folded
neatly away in the back of a drawer, still wrapped in tissue
paper. It looks brand new. I must say that it's a bit out of
place with all the practical cotton nightgowns that your Miss
Holt seems to favour."
Remington was forced to agree. He'd never pictured Laura in something
like that- well, perhaps he HAD, but he'd never thought that
he would actually SEE her in something as revealing as that silk
gown. "Maybe you should find a robe," he suggested.
"It's a bit chilly in here," he said as Tracy's hands
slid up his chest to his shoulders.
"That's strange," she murmured. "I'm finding it
quite warm. What's wrong, Remington? Afraid I'll weaken that
steel resolve?"
"Tracy," he said, and heard a stifled chuckle, as did
she.
Peering around him, Tracy sighed as she saw Mildred standing
in the kitchen. "So much for a nice, romantic evening."
Remington glanced at Mildred, and seeing the spark of humor in
her eyes, narrowed his in a silent warning- and a plea for help.
She got the message. "Uh, back off, honey," she said
warningly. "He's taken. And go find a robe before I find
one for you."
Tracy made a face as she turned toward the stairs. "You're
right," she told Remington. "It HAS gotten considerably
chilly in here."
"Thank you," Remington mouthed as he picked up his
coat. "I'll give you a call later," he was saying as
Tracy returned, tying the belt of Laura's terry cloth robe.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded to
know. "You're NOT going to leave me here with HER!"
she declared, pointing toward Mildred.
"I have some things to take care of," Remington said.
"I'll be back as soon as I can."
Tracy's eyes watched him as he slid the knot of his tie back
into place. "You're going back to the museum, aren't you?"
she guessed.
"Tracy-," he said with a sigh.
"You think that someone's going to try and steal those gems
tonight, don't you? And what will they say when you show up without
your loyal associate?"
Remington fixed her with glare. "That it IS my agency, after
all. Laura and I-"
"Are a team," Tracy finished. "From what I heard
today, you and she are practically joined at the hip. A matched
set. Wherever one of you goes, the other is always there."
"She does have a point, Chief," Mildred said softly,
then shrugged as Remington gave her another warning glare.
"See? Even Miss Krebs agrees with me," Tracy said triumphantly.
"It won't take me a moment to change," she announced,
going back toward the stairs.
"Sorry, Mr. Steele," Mildred said, as Remington watched
the young woman disappear behind the curtains.
"I've come to the conclusion that some things don't change
when it comes to amnesia, Mildred," he said grimly.
"Oh?"
"Laura's- tenacity is quite intact," he said. Turning
toward the doors, he moved away as Mildred followed. "Keep
her here, Mildred. I don't care what it takes."
"But-"
He touched a finger to her lips, warning her to keep quiet so
not to alert Tracy. "I won't be long. I'm counting on you,
Mildred. It's for her own good." He slid the door open,
and stepped outside, closing it.
"I'm ready," Tracy said, and Mildred turned around
to see her charge dressed in what Laura often called her "Working
clothes": black slacks, black sweater. Mildred stood her
ground as Tracy's eyes moved around the room. "Where is
he?"
"He- left," Mildred told her, uncertain what the woman's
reaction would be.
"That- that- He's IMPOSSIBLE!" she announced.
"Did you really expect him to take you to the museum when
he knows that you're after those gems yourself?"
"Apparently he didn't bring you up to speed. I promised
him not to make a try for those gems until they were out of his
care. But I REFUSE to simply stand by while someone ELSE makes
off with them, either!" She made to pass Mildred, but Mildred
didn't budge. "Out of my way."
"Sorry, hon. Mr. Steele told me to keep you here. And that's
just what I'm going to do. Now either help me fix something for
us to eat- or sit down and be quiet."
Tracy drew a deep breath and turned toward the kitchen. Mildred
lifted her eyes in silent thanks that her bluff had worked. "I
don't know what you're going to prepare- from what I saw this
morning, Laura Holt's cupboard is quite bare."
"Miss Holt's not much in the cooking department," Mildred
agreed. "But there are usually eggs in the fridge. And some
cheese. Would you mind checking that for me?"
- ***
Remington drove Laura's car to the museum, where he assured himself
that the guards were alert and on duty. There was no way any
one was going to get past them, he decided, circling the back
of the building on an inspection tour, using his former profession
to look for any sign of access that might have been overlooked.
The museum was as secure as Fort Knox, he decided, then told
the guards that he would check back in later.
Returning to the Rabbit, he decided to pay a visit to Miss Stewart.
Perhaps she could shed further light on the identity of the man
who had drugged her.
- ***
Tracy pushed her empty plate away. "Hadn't realized how
hungry I was," she said.
"Must be hard, having regular meals living the way you do,"
Mildred said, playing the game.
"Some days are better than others. Those gems could set
me up for a long time," she said. "Especially the Lavulite.
You know, I didn't think I'd ever see anything as blue as those
stones- until I met Remington."
Mildred picked up the plates and went to pour some coffee, keeping
a wary eye on the younger woman. The idea of picking up the skillet
near her hand and administering a therapeutic klonk on the head
was still active. "Mr. Steele's one of a kind."
"I'll have to agree with that. How long have you worked
for him?"
"Oh, almost three years. I was with the IRS before that."
"A tax collector?"
"Auditor. And before that I was with their fraud squad."
"Oh. So, what's his story?"
"Who?"
"Remington, of course. How did he end up in Los Angeles
as a private detective?"
"You'll have to ask him," Mildred suggested. "But
I can tell you why he stays."
"Really? I certainly can't be his relationship with Laura
Holt."
"Why not?"
"From what I've seen of his apartment and this one, I have
the distinct impression that the relationship is more business
than - pleasure."
"Oh, that's where you're wrong, honey. Those two were meant
for each other," Mildred said, putting aside the eerie feeling
she had discussing this with Laura. Maybe she'd remember enough
of all this that those two would finally get together once it
was over. "I mean, Mr. Steele was never the type to stay
long in one place before he met her. But he's been here all this
time- and I don't think he's planning on going anywhere."
Tracy sighed, then yawned deeply, stretching her arms. "Oh,
my. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." She rose from
the table. "I think I'll turn in. You WILL wake me when
Remington returns, won't you?"
"You can count on it," Mildred assured her, not fooled
for a moment. "I think I should warn you that I'm a light
sleeper. So don't try anything."
Tracy turned, her hands on the curtain that separated the bedroom
from the rest of the loft. "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss
Krebs. Good night."
"Good night," Mildred replied, then went about washing
up the few dishes she'd used in preparing the omelets. After
that, she dragged a chair and ottoman over to the front door,
turning them toward the kitchen and fire escape window. The light
in the bedroom went out, and she sat down in the chair, putting
her feet up to keep watch.
- ***
As he took out the key to unlock the office, Remington fought
back his frustration. Gwen Stewart hadn't been able to give him
any more information about Mitchell Sawyer. He'd decided to drop
by the office to see if Mildred's computer had given them any
new information since she'd left. There was a printout- but it
was the background checks on the security personnel that he had
asked her to do. Still nothing on Sawyer or on any known thief
who drugged people to keep them out of the way. Remington sat
down, thoughtful. Why would Sawyer want Gwen Stewart out of the
way? She wouldn't have been surprised to see him at the museum,
considering that they were involved. Not as himself, at any rate.
But if he were someone else- His gaze fell on the list of security
personnel. But if she saw him as a security guard, it might cause
her to ask questions he could ill afford.
Remington picked up the list and background check and began to
read . . .
- ***
Mildred opened her eyes. The room was dark, and for a moment,
she fought to recall where she was. Miss Holt's loft, keeping
an eye on her. What had woken her? In the dim light entering
the room, she made out movement in the kitchen. "Hold it!"
she called, and tried to stand, but found herself pinned to the
chair, her arms at her sides. Looking down, she realized that
the belt from Laura's robe was securely fastened around her and
the chair. "Hey!"
Tracy paused in the window. "I'm sure Remington will be
back soon to release you," she said. "I'm sorry. But
I just can't let anyone else get a shot at those gems."
"Come back here!" Mildred said, struggling with the
makeshift rope as the window closed behind the black clad woman
and she started down the fire escape.
She was still struggling a few minutes later when the door behind
her slid open. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mr. Steele
standing there. "Oh, Chief. I'm sorry. I-"
Remington quickly untied the belt, releasing her. "What
happened?"
"She waited until I was asleep and tied me up!" Mildred
said, anger and embarrassment in her voice. "I guess I let
you down, Mr. Steele." She looked at him, her eyes filled
with tears. "I'm sorry."
He patted her shoulder. "It's alright, Mildred. Where is
she?"
"She took the fire escape," Mildred told him.
He thrust the papers in his hand toward her. "I need all
of these men checked out- visually identified."
Mildred looked at the names. "But- it's almost midnight."
"If I'm right, one of them might be needing the same kind
of help that Gwen Stewart needed," he told her.
Mildred stood there. "Where are you going?"
"To find Little Miss Mischief before she gets in too deep.
I'm sure she's gone to the museum. If you find anything, call
me there."
"Be careful."
"You too."
Remington returned to the Rabbit- or where he'd left the Rabbit,
at any rate. It was gone. And so was Laura. Or Tracy. Or whoever
she was. She had probably hot-wired the bloody thing this time.
She had DEFINITELY learned far too much from her association
with him. He flagged down a cab and gave the driver the address
of the Burton Museum. He just hoped he would be in time . . .
To Be Continued . . .
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- Original content ©1999
by Nancy Eddy