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Remington sat down heavily on the
sofa across from her desk, the wind knocked out of him. "Oh
good Lord. What am I going to do? Laura doesn't believe me, YOU
don't believe me-"
"I think she believes you, Mr. Steele," Mildred said.
"It's just a shock. And she's right about that woman getting
her hands on the agency. Even if you try to divorce her, it'll
create a mess."
"Do YOU believe me, Mildred?"
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression causing Steele
to look at her uncertainly, before she smiled. "Yes. I believe
you, Mr. Steele. But unless you can come up with SOMEONE who saw
you at home this weekend-"
"I'm a dead duck," he said.
"That about sums it up." She held out a pencil and note
pad. "Why don't you do what Miss Holt suggested? Write down
everything you did, anyone who might have seen you? Maybe you'll
think of something."
Remington gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Mildred."
"Start writing," she ordered, by she smiled, hoping
her cheeks weren't TOO red.
"Wonder how's Laura's fairing in there?" he asked, his
gaze on the closed door.
"Oh, you know Miss Holt. If anyone can get the truth out
of that bimbo, it's her."
**********
As Laura closed the door behind her, Rachel turned from inspecting
the wall of photos over the sofa. "Remy certainly gets around,
doesn't he?"
"Yes," Laura agreed. "He does." She indicated
the sofa. "Would you like some coffee? Or tea?"
"Coffee, please, thank you," Rachel accepted, not taking
the offered seat, but moving around the office instead. "I've
been practically living on a steady diet of champagne since I
met Remy -"
Laura's smile never faltered. "Yes, Mr. Steele DOES love
champagne, doesn't he?" Rachel nodded as Laura picked up
the telephone. "Mildred, would you bring us some coffee,
please? Thank you," she said quickly before the older woman
could ask any questions or voice a protest. Rachel's hand ran
along the back of the chair behind Remington's desk before she
turned to look out of the window. Laura heard her soft gasp. "Impressive,
isn't it?" Laura commented.
"VERY," Rachel agreed. "I knew that Remy was a
big wheel private detective, but- well, I had no idea. I mean
- I guess I've got this image most people have of that kind of
person, you know?"
"Yes. I know very well what you mean. Tough guy image, smoky,
dark little cubby hole office with a secretary who files her nails
all the time and barely answers the telephone, who's there mostly
for decoration."
"Yeah. Like that." The door opened, and Mildred carried
a tray into the room.
Laura took the tray from her. "Thank you, Mildred."
"Oh, I can stay, if you'd like, Miss Holt," Mildred
offered. "You know how I LOVE girl talk."
Laura turned the woman back toward the door. "Maybe later,
Mildred. Right now, you have work to do."
Rachel looked at Laura with huge eyes as Laura returned from closing
the door. "You're not scared of her?"
"Of MILDRED? No," Laura assured her, laughing. She handed
Rachel a cup of coffee. "Cream or sugar?"
"Both," Rachel confessed, heaping the cup full of those
items.
Laura sat down, sipping her own coffee. "How long had you
worked in Las Vegas?"
"Oh, not long," Rachel said. "In fact, I only started
last week. I wanted to work in one of the shows as a dancer, but
I didn't make the cut, and I wasn't ready to go home, so-"
"Where is home?" Laura asked.
"Oh, a little place in Oregon. I doubt you've heard of it."
"So you're a dancer," Laura said. "Have you had
any professional training?"
Rachel nodded. "Some. But I guess that's all behind me now.
I mean, I won't be needing to pursue now that I'm married to Remy,
will I?"
"No, I don't suppose you will," Laura agreed. She wasn't
getting anywhere. The only thing this little chat was doing was
to make her LIKE the woman, for goodness sake. Well, perhaps like
wasn't the right word. "That's some ring you've got there,"
Laura commented, capturing Rachel's hand to study the wedding
and engagement rings there."Remy bought them. There was an
all night jeweler near the chapel and the minute I saw these I
just HAD to have them. He's just so sweet. I mean, you must know.
Working with him like you do.-"
"Oh, indeed. That's Mr. Steele. Just as sweet as pie,"
Laura agreed.
"All I can say is, I'm glad he didn't go with that other
woman to visit her family this weekend," Rachel said, taking
a drink of her coffee.
"Other woman?" Laura questioned.
"Remy never mentioned her name, only that she left him to
his own devices and went to visit her family back east for the
weekend."
"Oh, really? I don't suppose he mentioned that HE was invited
to attend as well," she said, then winced as she noticed
Rachel's expression.
"It was YOU, wasn't it? Oh, my. No WONDER you said we had
so much in common. You and he-"
"No. No, it's nothing like that, Rachel," Laura hastened
to reassure her, then wondered why she was even trying.
"No wonder he didn't tell you about me. He probably wanted
to keep us both on the hook -" She rose from the sofa and
stalked to the door, placing her hand on the knob just as Laura
got there to keep it closed.
"NO, Rachel!" she said again, loudly enough that she
was certain Remington and Mildred had heard in the outer office.
Suddenly she KNEW why she didn't want this woman to think that
she and Remington were anything more than employer and employee
who just happened to be friends. If it was a scam- and she was
beginning to have some doubts about that - then what better way
to take Remington- and the agency -for money than to threaten
to involve him in a messy divorce, naming his associate as co-respondent?
She grabbed the blonde's arm and forcibly drug her back to the
sofa, pushing her down. "Listen to me! Mr. Steele and I are-
nothing more than friends! The reason I'm asking all these questions
is because he IS a friend, and I worry about someone taking advantage
of him. You're right. He IS sweet, and wonderful, and all of those
things- but he's NOT a very good judge of women most of the time.
He's a friend, and I'll do whatever I have to make sure he's not
hurt."
Rachel looked up at her, as if trying to judge the truth of her
words. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"
Laura lifted her chin. "If I am, it doesn't matter now, does
it?" She smiled widely. "He's married. And I don't make
a habit of throwing myself at married men." Or UNmarried
men, for that matter, Laura reminded herself. "I have an
idea. Why don't you go back to the apartment and get some rest?
You've had a hectic thirty six hours, I'm sure. You need time
to adjust. I'll send Mr. Steele home as soon as we finish up around
here."
Rachel still looked uncertain. "You promise?"
"I promise you that your husband will be at home by dinner,"
Laura said sincerely.
**********
Remington and Mildred were both bent over the computer screen,
scowling, when the door opened and Rachel came out with Laura.
"I'll hold you to your promise, Miss Holt," she said.
"Promise?" Remington questioned, straightening and moving
away from the desk as Rachel came closer.
"Miss Holt promised me to have you home for dinner,"
she told him, sliding a hand up his jacket before giving him a
kiss. "Don't be late, darling."
He drew back, glancing at Laura. "Later," he said.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Krebbs," she said, before sailing
out of the office.
Laura found herself pinned by two pairs of eyes. "You did
WHAT?" Remington asked.
"I told her I'd have her husband home by dinner," Laura
said. "I never mentioned YOUR name," she told him, seeing
him smile in relief.
"Did you find out anything, Miss Holt?" Mildred asked.
"Not really. She's from someplace in Oregon, she just started
at that casino last week, she wanted to be a dancer. I don't think
she's the brains in this. There's someone else."
"Then you DO think it's a scam," Remington said.
"It HAS to be. She's not your type."
"Really?"
"Oh, she LOOKS the part, certainly. Tall, blonde. But- she
plays at being sophisticated. She's not. It's like she's been
trained - taught to play a role, and - " Laura's eyes widened.
"Play a role." She turned and ran back into Remington's
office. Mildred and Remington exchanged a look, then quickly followed
her.
"Laura, what the devil are you doing?" Remington asked
as she grabbed the handkerchief from his pocket and carefully
picked up the cup that Rachel had used. He watched her carry it
into her office and set it on the desk before rummaging around
in her bottom desk drawer for a box. "Laura?"
"Dusting for fingerprints. And then I'll have my contacts
run a check. If she's got a record, we'll find out." As she
worked, she asked, "What did the two of you come up with?"
Mildred looked at Remington, who nodded his encouragement. "A
lot- and none of it very good, Miss Holt," she confessed.
Laura paused, looking from one to the other. "Out with it,
Mildred."
"It- might be better to show you," Mildred said, bustling
back to her office and returning with a computer printout.
"The report on Mr. Steele's credit card from Friday night
to last night."
"I never signed off on one of those items, Laura," Remington
reminded her as she carefully laid down the soft brush she was
using before taking the paper. "But I can't prove it. I can't
think of anyone I saw all weekend that could testify that I was
here and not in Las Vegas."
Laura looked at the charges. They were exhorbitant, the way they
usually were with Remington. But there was something missing in
the charges. Something out of place. "Let me finish this,"
she said, returning to her dusting, "And then we'll go over
it more carefully." She realized they were awfully silent
again, and glanced up.
"That's not all, Miss Holt," Mildred admitted. "The
minister who runs the Chapel of Perpetual Happiness was hit by
a car yesterday afternoon- he's in a coma in a hospital in Las
Vegas -"
"There has to be SOMEONE there- What we NEED to do is go
to Las Vegas and see if they can positively identify you as having
been there this weekend."
"Then let's go," Remington suggested.
Laura pinned him with a look. "You're forgetting something,
aren't you, Mr. Steele?"
He started to shake his head, then stopped. "Rachel."
"If you and I take off to Las Vegas, she's going to raise
the roof. It was all I could do to stop her from confronting you
earlier -"
"About what?"
"Nothing," Laura said. "Mildred, can you go to
Las Vegas? Take a photo of Mr. Steele and show it around?"
"Sure, Miss Holt. When do you want me to leave?"
"Right away. The sooner we prove that she's NOT Mrs. Remington
Steele, the better."
"I'm on my way," Mildred said.
"Oh, and Mildred-"
The receptionist paused in the doorway. "Yes?"
"Stay away from the tables, okay? No gambling this trip."
Mildred looked disappointed, but nodded. "All right, Miss
Holt."
Once the door closed behind her, Remington watched Laura work
until she put everything away again, placing the cup into a plastic
bag. She got up and grabbed her coat and hat. "Where are
you going?"
"To see my contact about the fingerprints," she explained.
"Want some company?" he asked.
**********
"Call me as soon as you get anything, okay, Sidney?"
Laura asked the bespeckled man at the desk.
"Might call a lot sooner if you agree to have dinner with
me," he said, grinning. Steele's brows rose slightly as Laura
laughed flirtatiously at the suggestion.
"You never know, Sid. One of these days, you might get lucky."
"I'll call as soon as I can. You say you want anything on
the prints?"
"Anything you can find. DMV, criminal, whatever."
"Consider it done. But you're gonna owe me big time."
Laura and Steele left the building, and she glanced up at him.
"You're scowling."
"Yes, well - something about seeing you flirting with another
man tends to cause me to do that," he admitted as Fred opened
the limo door for them.
"Where to, Mr. Steele?" he asked.
Remington looked at Laura. "Lunch?" he asked.
"Not a good idea," she said. "Back to the office,
Fred." She looked at Remington. "We'll order something
sent in."
Remington frowned as the limo started back toward the towers that
held the agency offices. "What did you stop Rachel from confronting
me about, Laura?" he asked.
"It was- nothing," she insisted, pulling the printout
from a pocket. "Fred, did you see Mr. Steele this weekend?"
"No, Miss Holt, I didn't. After I dropped him off at his
apartment, I didn't hear from him for the rest of the weekend.
I thought it was strange, so I tried to call - there was no answer,
and so I took the weekend off."
"When did you try to call, Fred?" Remington asked. "What
time?"
"Oh, Saturday afternoon, around four, I think. Yes. Four.
I remember, because I was going to a movie if you didn't need
me."
"What movie?" Remington asked.
Laura knew she'd lose him if they started talking cinematic glories,
so she held up the printout. "Let's concentrate on the matter
at hand, shall we, Mr. Steele?"
Remington frowned at her sharp tone, but sat back. "The telephone
never rang, Laura. Not once. And I know it was working, because
I -"
Laura looked at him. "You called someone."
He nodded. "You're not going to believe this. I couldn't
believe it myself when I did it. I still don't know what came
over me-"
"WHO did you call?" she demanded.
"A pizza place. I ordered a full pizza with the works -"
Laura's eyes widened. "YOU ordered a pizza? From who?"
"That little place on the corner. They wanted my number to
call me back to confirm the order. When they didn't call back,
I called them and they said that there hadn't been any answer.
Anyway, they sent someone over to deliver it."
"How did you pay for it?" she asked, looking at the
paper in her hand.
"With cash," he said. "But I tipped the young man
who delivered it quite well."
"So someone DID see you," she said.
He smiled. "You're right." Leaning forward, he told
Fred, "Mario's Pizzeria, Fred. Just on the corner from my
place."
"I know where it is, Mr. Steele," Fred assured him,
turning the corner smoothly.
"Now," Remington said, what were we talking about?"
he asked Laura, still smiling.
"I think the best thing to do is to take these charges in
order," Laura told him. "A rental car from Los Angeles
for the weekend- from this price, it COULD have been driven to
Las Vegas and back-"
"Laura, WHY would I drive to Las Vegas? I'd take a flight.
They're in and out all of the time. Much quicker and easier."
"True. Alright. Next charge. Hotel accomodations at the Eldorado
Hotel and Casino."
"They certainly look like your charges. Champagne, room service,
- STRAWBERRIES and WHIPPED CREAM?"
He met her look. "Laura, I wasn't THERE," he reminded
her.
"Well, whoever WAS there apparently LOVES strawberries,"
she commented.
Fred brought the limo to a stop before the pizza place, then opened
the door for them. "Thank you, Fred," Steele said, following
Laura inside.
The man behind the counter looked up. "Can I help you?"
he asked, obviously busy, as the lunch rush was just beginning.
"I hope so," Laura said. "We're trying to find
out if you remember having a pizza delivered on Saturday night."
The man shook his head. "Lady, do you have any idea how many
pizzas we deliver on a Saturday night? It's our busiest night
of the week."
Remington stepped up. "This would have been around seven.
I called and placed an order for a large pizza with the works
to be delivered to my apartment."
"Look, Mr-"
"Steele. Remington Steele."
"Remington Steele, huh? Well, Mr. Steele, I wasn't working
Saturday night. My night manager was here. He called in yesterday,
said his mother was sick and he had to go to New York. He's gone
for at least a week."
"What about your delivery personel?" Remington asked.
"The young man who delivered my pizza-"
The man glared at them. "Look, are you gonna order a pizza
or not? I got other customers. PAYING customers."
Laura looked at Remington, then back at the man. "We'll take
a large- with the works," she said, opening her purse. "To
go."
To be continued---