Once a starry-eyed Paula had given them the sparse information in Lindsay Haywood's file, Laura asked to borrow a telephone and told Mildred and Murphy to accompany Bernice to the funeral home for the funeral, that she and Remington would catch up with them after another visit with Mr. Haywood. While she was talking, Remington was almost run down by a young man leaving another of the rest home's offices. The thin, dark haired man stopped, staring at Remington. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"Not that I'm aware of," Remington replied, looking the man over. No, he'd never seen the face.
Suddenly the man's eyes widened, and he looked over at Laura on the telephone. "Excuse me. I have to go."
Remington frowned, watching as the man headed toward the front doors. Catching sight of Paula, he approached her, pointing toward the door. "Excuse me, Paula, do you know who that is?"
Paula looked toward the young man as he left the building. "Oh, that's Mike."
"Mike?"
"Yes. He's an orderly here. I didn't know he was back. He took a vacation a few weeks ago. You really should speak to him. He spent a lot of time with Miss Haywood before-" she broke off, as if she didn't want to talk about what had happened.
"They were close, then?"
"As close as anyone could be to her, all things considered."
"Thank you, Paula," Remington said. "Um, does Mike have another name?"
She smiled, and Remington had the distinct impression that she was going to extract further "payment" for the information. "Gordon. He lives in Encino."
"Thank you, Paula."
She ran a finger up his lapel. "You *will* call, won't you, Everett?" she purred as Laura hung up the telephone and turned to look at them. Her brown eyes moved to Paula's hand on Remington's shoulder before moving to his face.
Remington gave Laura a smile that Paula thought was just for her. "I'm distressed that you don't trust me, Paula. Before the week is out," he said, lifting her hand to his lips to seal the bargain.
Laura cleared her throat. "Mr. Montague," she said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, "We have appointments-"
"Ah, yes, Miss. Holt." He smiled at Paula. "Duty calls," he sighed, and followed Laura out of the building to the Rabbit, making his way to the driver's side door before she could.
"I still want to know how you're going to get out of taking that poor woman to dinner and for a drive along the beach," Laura said.
"Laura, I'm a married man," he pointed out with a smile. "Besides, I never said that *I* would be there, did I?" he added, backing the car out of the parking spot and onto the street.
"Oh, you old- con man," Laura said with a soft laugh.
"I have to question the 'old' part, Laura," Remington began, laughing as well, only to come up short as he glanced in the mirror. "Don't look now, but I think we're being followed."
Laura glanced into the side mirror on the passenger side of the car. "Which one?"
"The tan Buick with the dented front fender."
Laura nodded and watched as Remington made a few moves in and out of traffic. "You're right."
"Hang on," Remington told her, and made a hard right turn without signaling, nearly sending the small car up onto two wheels.
Laura glanced back. "He's still there."
"Can you get a look at him?"
She looked, and then shook her head. "The windows are tinted," she said as he swerved in front of a black Cadillac and then over again in front of a red Porsche. "I can't even tell if it's a man or a woman."
"A man, I'd wager," Remington said. "Paula told me that the young man who almost knocked me over was Lindsay Haywood's orderly. He's been on vacation since -"
He made another sharp turn, this time to the left, barely clearing oncoming traffic, trapping their pursuer behind that traffic.
Laura checked behind them again. "He's gone."
Remington double-checked. "So he is." He turned a corner at a more sedate speed, steering the small car toward Homer Haywood's residence.
"Did Paula happen to give you a name to go along with all this information about the orderly?" Laura questioned.
"Mike Gordon. Lives in Encino."
"We'll get Mildred on it after the funeral." She glanced at her watch, then at the speedometer. "And speaking of that, we'd better speed things along with Mr. Haywood if we're not going to leave the three of them to face Andrew Hopper without us."
Remington took the hint and increased the pressure of his foot on the gas. "You know, Laura," he told her as they turned the corner of the street where Haywood's house was located, "once this case is finished, why don't you and I spend the weekend somewhere with no telephones or old friends, eh?"
"Sounds nice," Laura agreed, leaning toward him as he parked the car. "Just you and me. Maybe a beach-"
He removed the key from the car and turned to face her. "I do like the way you think, Mrs. Steele," he sighed.
Laura's eyes widened as she saw the tan Buick turn the corner and move toward them. But what worried her more was the black-gloved hand that appeared in the partially lowered window- and it was holding a gun with a silencer affixed to the barrel.
"Get down!" Laura said, pushing Remington toward the floorboard- and lying across him, just as something hit the windshield of the Rabbit.
The Buick sped off, tires squealing against the pavement as Laura and Remington cautiously looked up and around. "Are you alright?" Remington asked her.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "You?"
"A bit shaken, but otherwise-" he broke off as Laura groaned, her eyes on the broken windshield.
"The insurance company isn't going to believe this one," she sighed.
"Come on," Remington said, opening the door of the car. "We'll borrow Mr. Haywood's telephone to call the Auto Club and a cab after we finish talking to him."
***
Mr. Haywood took several minutes to answer the door again, and frowned when he saw whom his visitors were. "I thought I answered your questions," he muttered, starting to close the door in their faces.
"Not quite, Mr. Haywood," Laura said. "We've just been to the Rest Home."
"Sunny Acres Rest Home, to be specific," Remington added.
Haywood froze in place, and then turned back toward the interior of the house. "Might as well come in," he told them.
Remington held the screen door for Laura, then followed her into the living room, where Mr. Haywood was standing, gazing at one of the photographs of his daughter. "So you know."
"We know that your daughter Lindsay isn't back East in school," Laura confirmed. "And that for the last ten years, she was a patient at Sunny Acres Rest Home."
Haywood nodded, touching his finger to one of the pictures. "Until two months ago. She was so much better. Oh, she didn't remember anything, but she was almost her old self. Except-"
"For her face?" Remington asked.
"Yes."
"What happened, Mr. Haywood?" Laura asked in a quiet tone. "What put Lindsay in that hospital?"
Haywood sat down heavily, looking suddenly much older than his sixty-odd years. "All I ever knew for certain was that there was an accident." Remington gave the old man a doubtful look. "What you have to understand is that Lindsay and I weren't close. We hadn't been for years. Not since her mother died. She sent me a message that she had graduated law school-" his lips curved into a self-depreciating smile. "I never had a chance to tell her how proud I was of what she'd done. She was so bright- "
"I'm sure she was," Laura said.
"One night- or, early one morning, there was a knock on the front door-" he glanced in that direction, his eyes growing distant as he recalled that visit. "It was someone I'd never seen before. Told me that Lindsay had been in an accident and that I should come with him."
"A police officer?" Remington asked.
"No. I found out later that he worked for Amos Hopper. They'd taken Lindsay to a private clinic. To this day I couldn't tell you where it was. But the doctor there knew Amos Hopper well."
"He was there?" Laura asked. "Amos Hopper?"
"Yes. He told me that there had been an automobile accident- that Lindsay had been seriously injured. He also told me not to worry about the cost of her care, that he would take care of that- and everything else."
Laura met Remington's blue gaze as the man talked. "Didn't Lindsay tell you what happened?" Remington asked.
"She was unconscious for the first days after the accident. It was probably for the best - her face-" his shaking hand picked up the nearest photograph of the smiling, laughing young woman. "She wasn't wearing a seatbelt and went through the windshield. The plastic surgeons did what they could, but- " Tears rolled down his cheeks. "She was never the same. When she finally did regain consciousness, she didn't remember the accident- and then, when she finally managed to see what had happened to her face-" Haywood shuddered at the memory of that moment. "She shut down. Totally. Refused to talk to anyone, refused to see anyone. That's when Mr. Hopper put her into that Rest Home. And gave me that check for fifty thousand dollars." The man drew a long breath. "You probably think I'm a horrible person, taking fifty thousand dollars in exchange for my daughter's life. But it was more than that. He paid all her medical bills. Paid for her to stay at Sunny Acres."
Laura and Remington exchanged another glance, and Laura said, "We're not here to judge you, Mr. Haywood. What we need are answers. What happened two months ago?"
"I got a call from Sunny Acres. Lindsay was a little better, they said. She was talking again. No memory about the accident, but she wanted to come home. Here, to be with me. So I drove out one evening and brought her here- but she refused to leave her room during the day, refused to let anyone see her face. I was about to take her back to the Home when an orderly that worked there came by to see her and volunteered to help me take care of her while she was here."
"An orderly?" Remington questioned, looking at Laura.
"Nice man. Mike something or other. He certainly knew how to handle Lindsay. He was so gentle with her, so caring. I think he was a little in love with her."
"How did she-" Laura asked, trying to ask the question as delicately as possible.
"I had to go out one afternoon- and Mike was supposed to be here to watch Lindsay. He was late, and she told me that she didn't need a babysitter, that she could take care of herself." He hugged the photograph to his chest, closing his eyes. "I wanted to believe it was true, I suppose. I knew that Mike would be here soon, so I left. When I got home, I found her lying on the floor of the bathroom, a broken mirror at her side. She'd- used one of the shards to cut her wrists . . . "
"What happened to Mike?" Remington asked.
"He was late- couldn't get away from the Home. He arrived just after I did. However much her death hurt me, it was worse for him, I think. I mean, in my mind, my daughter died ten years ago, Mr. Steele. The young woman who killed herself in that bathroom wasn't her. It's easier for me to live with the fantasy that Lindsay's back East, still in school."
"Have you seen Mike since that day?"
"Just at her funeral. He said that he was going to take care of things."
Laura touched the old man's shoulder. "Mr. Haywood, did your daughter ever mention anything about Johnny Hopper?"
"No. I never met either of Mr. Hopper's sons. In fact, I didn't know he had a second son until after the murder."
"May we use your telephone, Mr. Haywood?" Laura asked.
***
"That poor man," Laura mused as the taxi pulled away from the curb moments after the wrecker left towing the Rabbit behind it.
"I wouldn't waste much sympathy on him, Laura," Remington said. "He practically sold his daughter out for Amos Hopper's money. If I'd been in his position, I would have moved heaven and earth to find out what happened to her and why Hopper was so eager to be financially responsible for everything."
"He was in pain," Laura reminded her husband. "It was easier to believe what Hopper was telling him than to face the truth." She glanced at her watch. "We're late."
Remington leaned forward, pulling a fifty-dollar bill out of his wallet to show the driver. "Speed it up, if you please, my good man. We're late for a funeral."
***
As they exited the cab, Laura saw two bulky men standing at the door to the chapel, barring the way, as Bernice, Mildred, and Murphy stood glaring at them. "Listen, buster," Mildred was saying, getting right into the face of one of the men- both of whom had suspicious bulges under their suit jackets, "she's got a right to be at the funeral of her own husband!"
"Sorry, lady," the man said. "But I've got orders from Mr. Hopper not to let anyone in." He grabbed Mildred's arm, preparing to drag her further from the building.
"Oh, you are gonna be in *so* much trouble," Mildred warned.
"Back off, pal," Murphy warned when the other man reached for Bernice.
"Excellent advice, Murphy," Remington agreed as he and Laura appeared on the scene.
"Who are you?" the bigger of the two men asked.
"He's Remington Steele," Mildred explained. "And you're in trouble."
"Is that right?" the man questioned, drawing himself up to his full height, calling attention to the bulge under his jacket.
Remington placed an arm around Bernice's shoulders. "This woman happens to be the widow of John Hopper. Now, either you allow us to pass or-" he deliberately allowed the sentence to drift off into nothing.
"Or what?" the man asked.
Remington gave Murphy a glance as he pushed Bernice toward Laura. "Or this." As Remington brought his right fist up to connect with the man's jaw, Murphy went after the other one, sending him down onto the pavement with a well-placed left to the stomach.
Remington winced as he shook his fist, and then gave Murphy a smile. "Not bad."
"Not bad yourself," Murphy replied, grinning.
"Shall we, ladies?" Remington asked, shepherding Bernice, Laura, and Mildred into the chapel, only to be confronted by Andrew Hopper. The chapel was woefully empty save for the tiny group now gathered at the back of the room.
Bernice's eyes were fixed on the coffin at the other end of the room. "Johnny," she sighed softly, her eyes bright with tears.
"I told you last night, Mrs. Steele, that this was a private service," Andrew Hopper said.
"For family and friends," Laura pointed out. "I think Bernice qualifies as family, Mr. Hopper."
Andrew looked at Bernice, and Remington wondered if he saw that granite face soften for just a second. "Bernice-"
"I just want to say goodbye, Andrew. Please-"
"You killed him," Andrew accused, his features growing harsh again.
"I just have two words for you, Mr. Hopper," Laura said.
"And those words are?" Hopper asked.
"Lindsay Haywood," Laura answered, and watched closely. She felt gratified to see the narrowing of those dark eyes and the way he paled slightly beneath his tan.
There was noise behind the group as the two men from outside entered, ready for round two with Remington and Murphy. "Should we toss 'em out, Boss?" one of them asked Hopper, who was looking at Laura.
"It's your call, Mr. Hopper. Either you let us stay and talk to us, or we'll go to the media."
"Yes," Remington agreed. "I think our good friend Windsor Thomas would be most interested in the story we have to tell, don't you, Laura?"
"Boss?" the man asked Hopper again.
"They can stay," Hopper said at last, and turned back toward the front of the chapel to take his seat on the left side.
Mildred gave the bigger of the two men a slap on the shoulder with her purse before she followed her friends down the aisle to watch as Remington escorted Bernice to the coffin, then to a seat between himself and Laura on the right side of the pews.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Laura gave orders to Mildred to check on Mike Harmon of Encino, an orderly at the Sunny Acres Rest Home, and then sent her back to the office in the agency limo while Laura, Remington, Murphy, and Bernice remained behind to confront Andrew Hopper.
Hopper tried to evade them by going out the back of the chapel to his own limo, but they were waiting for him. "Going somewhere, Andrew, old chap?" Remington asked from inside the stretch limousine's spacious interior. He'd mentioned to Laura that they needed to consider upgrading to something like this, but Laura had only rolled her eyes while Murphy shook his head.
"You haven't forgotten about our little chat, have you, Mr. Hopper?" Murphy questioned.
Andrew got into the limo and told the driver to take them back to his home. "I don't like being blackmailed, Steele," he warned, staring daggers at Remington, who simply smiled back in return, apparently unaffected.
"Blackmail? Did anyone mention the word blackmail?" Remington asked.
Andrew turned his attention toward Bernice. "You found out, didn't you? That's why you killed Johnny."
"I didn't kill him!" Bernice insisted. "I wasn't even in the suite when he died. I was on my way to see Laura and Remington. I *still* don't know who Lindsay Haywood is."
"Was," Laura corrected, drawing Murphy, Bernice's, *and* Andrew's attention.
He recovered quickly. "You don't have any proof. I can deny that I've ever heard the name-"
"Ah, but your bank records will prove you false," Remington pointed out. "A check sent every month to Sunny Acres Rest Home? A check for fifty thousand dollars made payable to Homer Haywood, Lindsay's father?"
"Checks that I'm sure will have *your* signature for the last five years," Laura continued.
"I'd give up, Andrew," Bernice told her brother in law.
Andrew sat back in the leather seat; his head back for a moment. At last he lifted his head and looked straight at Bernice. "Very well. You want the story; you'll get the long, sad story. But it might not be what you want to hear."
To Be Continued---