Once the entourage was ensconced in the elegantly appointed living room of Andrew Hopper's Brentwood mansion, their host went to pour himself a drink. "Anyone else care for something? Tea, coffee? Something a bit more substantial?"
"We didn't come here for tea, Mr. Hopper," Laura said, speaking for her friends. "We came to find out what happened to Lindsay Haywood."
"She graduated with John. They were- friends," he said, looking at Bernice, as if to gauge her reaction to that statement.
Bernice seemed unfazed. "I never assumed that I was the only woman that Johnny had ever been involved with, Andrew."
Andrew shrugged, and then resumed his story. "He'd convinced Father to take her into the firm, and the two of them decided to celebrate graduation and her job. I'm not sure where they went, but John had too much to drink and tried to drive home. The car wound up in a ravine out in the hills. John was thrown clear, but Lindsay Haywood wasn't so lucky."
Laura saw Bernice's confused look. "She wasn't wearing a seatbelt," Laura explained. "And went through the windshield."
Andrew nodded, his expression somber. "Her face was- destroyed." He took a long drink of the bourbon he'd poured for himself, pausing for a moment. "John called me first that night, and I told Father what had happened. He went into full damage control mode."
"And covered it up," Remington suggested.
"I have no idea how much he paid to the various police and paramedics, but he managed to keep the accident out of the papers. He had her transported to a private clinic owned by a friend of his, called her father, offered to pay all of the medical bills and give Haywood something as well if he would agree to keep quiet." He finished the bourbon in one gulp, as though the memories were troubling him.
Bernice was shaking her head. "Johnny didn't drink," she insisted. "In all the time I've known him-"
"That was his decision. He swore that he would never take another drink after that night," Andrew explained.
"This is why he dropped out, isn't it?" Murphy asked.
"Yes," Andrew said, looking down into his glass, looking as if he were considering whether or not to refill it. "He didn't think he could practice the law since he'd almost killed that girl and gotten away with it." Andrew took a deep breath and gave Bernice a gentler look than he'd done up to that moment. "He didn't want you to ever know about it, Bernice. He was afraid you'd think less of him for what he'd done."
"I'm surprised that you didn't threaten to tell me about it that first time in New Orleans," Bernice said.
"He couldn't," Laura pointed out. "Not without implicating his father and himself, isn't that right, Mr. Hopper?"
Andrew looked at Remington. "Your wife, Mr. Steele, is almost as good as you are, isn't she?"
"In some ways, Mr. Hopper," Remington said slowly, "She's better than I ever thought about being."
"Are you aware, Mr. Hopper," Laura questioned, "that Lindsay Haywood died six weeks ago?"
"I wasn't until yesterday evening, no," Andrew admitted, going to refill his glass again. "When I got a telephone call from someone telling me that I would be the next one to die."
"That explains the muscle at the funeral," Murphy said.
Andrew gave them a grim smile. "Yes," he confirmed.
"Who called, Mr. Hopper?" Remington asked. "Did you recognize the voice?"
"It was a woman. She even mentioned 'poor Lindsay'. So I called Sunny Acres and spoke to my connection- or rather, my father's connection there. He finally told me that she had been released to her father's care and had - killed herself." He moved to refill the glass. "I thought at first it might have been you, Bernice. That you'd found out about Lindsay, that maybe you'd known her or something- "
"Bernice was with us all yesterday evening," Remington informed the attorney. "She made no calls."
Andrew nodded. "I realized that when I heard her speak earlier. Whoever called me was *trying* to sound like Bernice, but the voice was - off somehow." He looked into his drink again. "Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele- I know we haven't gotten off to a very good start, but- would you consider trying to find out who killed my brother- and who now wants to kill me?"
"We're already working on the first part of that equation, Mr. Hopper," Remington assured the man. "And we already have a client- Bernice."
"Fair enough," Andrew said. "But I'd like you to be as discreet as possible. The last thing I need is for this to go any further. The firm's reputation would suffer if it got out that my father covered something like this up to protect one of his sons."
Laura was frowning. "Mr. Hopper, why would someone target *you* because of Lindsay Haywood's death? You weren't involved in the accident."
Andrew sat there for a moment before responding. "No. But I think whoever it is doesn't know that. Mr. Haywood didn't know what happened- still doesn't as far as I can tell. Lindsay Haywood wasn't much for talking according to my father's friend. And Johnny couldn't remember much about the accident. Said it was all a haze."
Remington was frowning now. "Mr. Hopper, have you ever heard the name Mike Gordon?"
Andrew looked thoughtful, and then shook his head. "Not that I recall, Mr. Steele. Why?"
"He was an orderly at Sunny Acres and helped take care of Lindsay Haywood. Mr. Haywood told us that Gordon was helping take care of her while she was staying with her father. And that he told Mr. Haywood at her funeral that he would 'take care of things'."
"And we think he took a shot at us in front of Mr. Haywood's house to stop us from continuing the investigation," Laura added.
Andrew went pale. "You think that Lindsay might have told him something about the accident?" he asked.
"It's possible," Murphy suggested. "Or he might have simply pieced enough together over the last ten years that he knew one of Amos Hopper's sons was involved in the accident. For some reason he targeted Johnny first, and now he's after you."
"But- what about the maid at the hotel?" Bernice asked. "The one who said that she saw *me* leaving the suite after Johnny was killed?"
"We'll talk to her," Laura promised. "Mike Gordon may be working with someone else," she surmised. "We have Mildred doing a background check on Gordon right now. Maybe she'll come up with something."
***
"Nothing, Mildred?" Remington questioned when they returned to the office later and Mildred's reply to his query regarding information on Gordon was "bupkes, Chief."
"It's like he doesn't exist." She began ticking things off on her fingers. "I called the number he gave Sunny Acres- the number doesn't work. And the address he gave in Encino is a fast food place. His Social Security number goes back to someone else- the same with the drivers' license number."
Remington turned to look at Laura, Murphy, and Bernice. "So much for that lead, eh?" he asked.
"I don't know," Laura said, pacing the office as the others watched. "Put yourself in Amos Hopper's position ten years ago. Your son is involved in near-fatal accident that leaves a young woman with severe physical and mental scars. You manage to cover up the accident and hide the young woman away in a rest home. But what if she starts to remember the accident? What if her condition improves? Do you just sit there and risk the possibility that she could destroy everything you've built up over the years or do you take more proactive steps to keep her quiet?"
"Okay, you've lost me, Laura," Bernice admitted, and Mildred nodded in agreement.
"Where are you going with this, Laura?" Murphy asked.
Remington remained quiet for a moment, and then said, "I think I would take steps to make sure I had someone loyal to me keeping an eye on the young woman in question," he said at last, drawing everyone's attention. "A nurse, a doctor- an orderly, perhaps?" he finished, letting his question hang in the air.
"You think that Gordon - or whoever his is - was on Amos Hopper's payroll?" Murphy asked.
"Mildred," Laura said, turning back to the desk, "Where's that list of regular payments paid from the Hopper account for the last ten years?"
"I gave it to Mr. Steele," Mildred remembered.
Remington patted his jacket pocket, and then produced the list, handing it to Laura. As she looked it over, he, Murphy, and Bernice crowded around her, reading over her shoulder. "What's that?" Bernice asked, pointing to something. "Six thousand every month -" she started.
Laura took it up. "On the fifth. Insurance."
"That's a lot for insurance," Murphy said.
"Not if you're insuring your reputation for the future," Laura said, pacing again. "Okay, how's this for a scenario? Amos Hopper doesn't hire an orderly. He buys a hired gun who can *pass* as an orderly to take care of Lindsay Haywood, giving him the order that if she starts to remember what happened that night, and wants to go public, he kills her."
"But the hired gun falls in love with his victim and begins to identify with her," Remington continued.
Murphy takes up the story. "And the hired gun is so distraught over the girl's death that he decides to get vengeance for her by killing the people he feels is responsible for her pain."
"Very good, Murphy," Remington praised. "You might just make a decent detective yet."
"Thanks," Murphy replied with sarcasm.
The exchange reminded Mildred about the folder that still lay hidden beneath her desk blotter, and she carefully slipped it from there to put it into the top desk drawer for later retrieval.
"So," Bernice asked, "What do we do with this information?"
"Talk to Andrew again, I think," Laura decided. "See if he knows anything about his father hiring someone to keep an eye on Lindsay and protect his 'investment'." She turned to Mildred. "Have Fred meet us downstairs, please, Mildred, and call Andrew Hopper, let him know we're on our way." Mildred picked up the telephone as Laura turned toward the doors.
Remington put his hands into his pocket and felt the motel key. "Uh, Murphy and I will meet up with you later, Laura, if that's okay. There's something we need to check out." Blue eyes met blue eyes in silent communication.
"What?" Laura questioned, looking wary about the idea of letting Remington and Murphy off on their own without her there to referee.
"Another lead," Murphy told her. "The woman. We need to talk to that maid at the hotel."
"Okay," Laura said. "We can drop you there on the way to Brentwood," she said.
"No, that's all right," Remington insisted. "We'll take a cab."
"Nonsense. The hotel's on our way," Laura said. "Come on."
Remington and Murphy exchanged a sigh of frustration before moving to follow her.
***
Remington and Murphy got out of the limo in front of the hotel, and assured Laura that they would meet her back at Andrew Hopper's once they were finished. The moment that the limo was out of sight, Remington turned to enter the hotel.
Murphy stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I thought we were going to my motel?" he asked.
"We are. After we talk to the maid. If we don't, Laura will ask us about it when she sees us. Do *you* want to try to explain why we didn't talk to her?"
"You're right. Let's go. Just keep an eye out for the hotel manager, okay?"
***
Andrew listened to Laura, and then shook his head. "A hit man? You think my father hired someone to kill Lindsay if she started to remember what happened?"
"It's possible. I'm sure someone with Amos Hopper's connections would have been able to find someone like that."
"Mrs. Steele-"
"Oh, Andrew, just admit it, okay?" Bernice sighed. "We're not accusing you of knowing about it- but we just need to know that it's possible."
Andrew took a deep breath. "Okay. It's possible, I suppose. My father was determined to protect his reputation. No matter what the cost. But if he did hire someone like that- how do we find him? Preferably *before* he finds me."
Laura smiled. "I have an idea about that."
***
Remington looked around the tiny, sparsely furnished motel room with its stained carpet and drapes. "Coming down in the world, Murphy?" he asked while Murphy gathered a few things from the small suitcase that lay on the bed and took them into the bathroom.
"Didn't see any reason to stay somewhere else," Murphy told him. "I know the night clerk from the old days. Gave me a good rate. Look, Steele," he said, closing the suitcase, "why didn't you tell Laura about that key?"
"I wanted to find out why *you* told her that you hadn't checked into a motel upon your arrival in Los Angeles."
"You know the reason."
"I'd like to hear it."
Murphy ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "I probably wouldn't have done it if Laura hadn't clued me in about your so-called 'marriage'."
"Ah. So you were protecting Laura, then. Murphy, you of all people know that Laura doesn't like to be protected. Not even from herself."
"I know. But old habits die hard. I can't believe you did something like that, Steele. Using Laura to stay in this country-"
"I didn't *use* Laura," Remington sighed. "Laura agreed to a fake marriage knowing full well what it meant. Murphy, I happen to be madly, passionately, and wholly in love with Laura. I have been since the first day we met. There's something so- special about Laura."
"I'll agree with you there," Murphy said. "You're not going to just- take off one day?"
Remington chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at an ear. "Murphy, old man, I've been here for five years. Four of them after *you* 'took off', remember?"
Murphy had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed by the comment. "I realized that I was a fifth wheel and didn't much like the feeling," he had to admit. "And I thought Laura would call if you ever did leave and she needed help." He laughed. "But she didn't. Even when you took off for months and she didn't know where you were-"
"How did you know about that?" Remington asked.
"I read the LA papers. When I realized there were no recent pictures of you in relation to the agency's cases or around town, I knew something was up. So I called Laura and she admitted that you were 'away' on personal business. I offered to come out and help, but she said no, that she was going to be joining you before long, and, well-"
"But you still thought you'd give it one more shot this trip, eh?"
"Never give up, isn't that the old saying?" Murphy grabbed a clean shirt. "I'll just change and we can head back to the office."
Remington nodded as the bathroom door closed behind the other man, then moved to the suitcase and did a quick search of the contents, finding a letter to Murphy from a Los Angeles bank. He glanced toward the bathroom as he heard the sound of an electric razor.
Opening the envelope, Remington read the contents of the single sheet that it contained, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what it meant. The razor fell silent, and Remington stuffed the envelope and letter into his pocket, moving back to the window where he'd been standing before as the door opened.
Murphy ran a hand over his smooth chin. "That feels better. Ready?" he asked, picking up his jacket.
"Anytime you are," Remington responded, then handed Murphy the key. "I think you can have these back now."
Murphy took the key, and followed Remington from the room; feeling as if the other shoe had just dropped - and he'd somehow missed it.
***
Laura and Bernice were standing before Mildred's desk when they returned to the office. "That took you long enough," Laura commented.
"We had to track the maid down," Remington explained.
"Yeah," Murphy agreed. "She wasn't at work. We had to go to her apartment."
"Did you find out anything?" Bernice wanted to know.
"Only that the maid didn't see the face of the woman who left the penthouse. From the back, however, she described you to a tee, Bernice."
"Tall, brunette, wearing a fur coat and high heels," Murphy repeated.
Laura nodded. "Which proves a theory I'm considering," she said. She's been looking at Murphy since he and Remington had entered the office. "Did you shave?" she asked.
Murphy brought a hand to his cheek. "Um,-"
"Bought one of those battery operated things at a drugstore," Remington told Laura. "Didn't want him interviewing a witness looking like a street person."
Laura nodded, but still looked unconvinced by the story.
"How are we going to catch him, Laura?" Murphy asked, hoping to distract her.
It worked. She smiled, considering her plan. "Easy. We give him a clear shot at his target."
"I don't think Andrew Hopper is going to go along with that idea," Remington noted. "I don't see that gentleman opening himself up to a killer."
"*He* isn't going to," Laura told them, her eyes on Remington. The look in those brown eyes made Remington's heart do a sudden flip- and it wasn't a good feeling.
"Oh, no, Laura. I don't think I like that look in your eyes. It usually doesn't bode well for my own security."
"Nonsense," Laura admonished, clearly ready to push full steam ahead - with Remington in front of her. "You're the only one who looks enough like Andrew Hopper. Tall, dark hair-"
"He's got at least ten pounds on me, Laura," Remington heard himself whine. "And he's gray-"
"And he has a mustache," Laura nodded, and then crooked her finger, indicating that he should follow her as she turned toward his office.
Going to Remington's desk, Laura dug through a bottom drawer until she came up with the item she wanted: a fake mustache and some costume glue. Waving the strip of hair, Laura gave Remington a "come hither" smile.
As Laura worked to affix the mustache to Remington's upper lip, Murphy asked, "What exactly *is* your plan, Laura?"
"Well, the killer is trying to make it look as though Bernice killed Johnny- and that she's now trying to kill Andrew. I'm sure he's keeping an eye on Bernice- waiting for the moment when she's alone, and doesn't have an alibi, before he strikes at his next target. There." She pressed the corner of the mustache in place and gave Remington a hand mirror to check her work before continuing to explain. "I'm going to send Bernice back to the apartment- alone, and while our quarry is following her to make sure of where she's going, Remington will take Andrew Hopper's place-"
"In the bull's eye," Remington finished. "Are you certain that there's not another way, Laura?"
"Oh come now, Remington," Laura said. "It's not as if you haven't done it before-"
"And almost gotten killed on more than one occasion," Remington reminded her.
Murphy grinned. "Just part of the perks of being Remington Steele," he teased.
"That's *one* 'perk' that I could do without, thank you," Remington replied, but he gave a half smile when he saw Laura's look of confusion at their easy banter.
But as usual, Laura quickly recovered, her mind back on the game plan. "Mildred, I want you to call Andrew Hopper and ask him to meet us here. And tell him to bring his driver/bodyguard up as well."
Mildred grabbed the telephone and began to dial the number.
"Murphy, I want you to escort Bernice to the apartment and then come back here."
Suddenly Remington spoke up. "Why not cut Murphy loose on this, Laura?" he suggested, drawing all of their attention. "I mean, he mentioned something about needing to take care of some business- didn't you, Murphy?"
"Yeah, but-" Murphy began, only to be cut off by Remington.
"I'd hate to think we were keeping you from that-"
"It's nothing I can't put off a day or so," Murphy said, his easy smile gone now. "Won't make much difference to the outcome anyway. I'd rather help Laura clear Bernice. If you don't mind, that is."
"No, not at all," Remington rushed to say. "I was just thinking of you, Murphy."
"Nice to know. But I'll be fine," Murphy told them. He took Bernice's arm. "Let's go."
"Once you get there and Murphy's on his way back here, Bernice, take the telephone off the hook and wait."
"Wait?" Bernice asked. "For what?"
"For one of us to come and get you. Hopefully, this thing will be finished by then."
"Hmm," Remington muttered darkly. "Without finishing *me*, I hope."
"That's another reason I want Murphy here," Laura told her husband. "He's going to be your bodyguard."
Remington saw Murphy's grin and sighed. "Why do I have a sick feeling in my stomach at that thought?"
***
Bernice waved as the limo turned back out onto the street, then entered the Rossmore Arms. Going to the elevator, she pressed the button for the third floor. When the doors opened, she started to step forward, then stopped as she felt something pressed against her side. "Look, if this is a mugging, I don't have anything-" Bernice began, but a low laugh caused her to fall silent.
"I'm not here to mug you, Mrs. Hopper," a man said. "Let's go." He turned her toward the front door and she looked up at him.
He was around her height, thin, with a shock of dark black hair that was serious need of a comb. "Where are we going?" she asked as he opened the driver's side door of a tan Buick.
"To your funeral, of course," he told her. "Now get in."
To Be Continued---