- ReJoined
Steele
- Part
Seven
"That's right,
Jeannie," Harry said into the telephone as he examined his
dinner jacket. "Well find him. And send him this way . .
. No, tell him to contact me when he gets here and we'll make
arrangements for the transfer . . . No, everything is fine, it's
just that the sooner I get those gems out of town the better
. . . well, as a matter of fact, I thought I'd- stick around
for a few days, anyway . . . Nothing urgent going, is there?"
He picked up a pen from the bedside table and wrote a number
on the pad there. "Okay. If he calls again, tell him I'll
be in touch." He sighed. "No, Jeannie, I've no idea
how long I'll be here . . ." he looked up as there was a
knock on the door. "I'm sure you can handle everything in
your usually capable manner, luv. I have to go. Someone's at
the door. Later." He closed the cell phone and put it into
his pocket with the number as he crossed the sitting room to
open the door.
The smiling man who stood there was familiar, but for the life
of him Harry couldn't put a name to that face. "May I help
you?" he asked, some sixth sense warning him of an unknown
danger.
The man shook his head. "You know, if I hadn't seen you
myself, I wouldn't have believed it. It's been what- Twelve years
since that interview at the airport? Just before you dropped
off the face of the earth."
Interview. Harry's smile was still tinged with caution as something
clicked. "Mike- Jackson, right?"
"Yeah. Can we talk, Mr.- Chalmers?"
"Off the record?" Harry asked warily.
"For now." Harry studied him for moment, then stepped
aside, opening the door wider. "Thanks." Jackson glanced
around the well appointed suite, giving a low whistle of appreciation
as he did so. "Nice."
"Yes, well, one does what one can," Harry told him,
going to the bar and lifting a decanter of whiskey in invitation.
"Why not?" Jackson said. "Must be doing pretty
good for yourself these days."
"I'm surviving," Harry assured him, handing him a glass
of liquor. "Tell me, how did you find out I was here?"
"Lou Davis," Jackson said, taking a drink from his
glass. "He's a photographer for the paper. He was in the
area this afternoon and just happened to take this--," he
said, holding out the photograph of Harry and Laura at the limo.
Harry took the picture and groaned inwardly. Damn. He shouldn't
have come to LA. He should have sent someone else to get the
Lavulite. But the lure of seeing Laura again- even at a distance-had
been too great. "Not my best side," Harry commented,
retaining the photograph. No doubt Jackson had access to as many
as he needed.
"But good enough that he thought he knew the face. He was
searching the databases when I happened by and recognized you."
"Ah. And decided to come down here and get another exclusive,
eh?" Harry asked, smiling as he tried to figure a way out
of this mess.
"Yeah, well, the last one kinda made my career, you know?
I mean, an exclusive interview with the great detective Remington
Steele on the day of his retirement? Made such a splash that
I decided to do a follow up- you know, check up on how retirement
was going. But you were nowhere to be found. Not a trace. Not
even any record of your having left Los Angeles to begin with.
Almost like Remington Steele had never existed at all."
Harry refilled his glass, watching the reporter closely. "So
I started to do some digging. Found some very interesting information.
Then, today, after I found out that you'd registered HERE using
the name Harrison Chalmers, I dug a little more."
"Fond of digging, are you?" Harry interjected as he
finished the second glass of whiskey.
"Helps in my line of work. I'm just a little curious about
how a world class detective who never existed became a world
class retriever of valuable stolen items. Even to the point of
having records of certain previous thefts closed in countries
where you recovered items of importance to the government."
"Just lucky, I guess," Harry said, "What are you
going to with this?" he asked, waving the photo.
"It's scheduled for tomorrow morning's paper," Jackson
told him. "Along with my story."
Harry looked into his empty glass. "What if I told you that
printing that photo and story could possibly endanger my life
and Laura Holt's life?"
"I'd want to know why."
And Harry couldn't tell him that without telling him a lot more.
He put down his glass and moved toward the bedroom. "If
you'll excuse me, I need to visit the bathroom- whiskey tends
to go right through me. Won't be a moment."
"I'm not going anywhere til I get some answers," Jackson
assured him as he closed the bedroom door behind him.
"You're going to have to wait a bit longer," Harry
whispered as he turned the water on in the sink and then closed
the door to the bath behind him as he crossed to the window on
the far wall. Glancing at the dinner jacket on the bed, he sighed,
then climbed out of the window . . .
- ***
He dropped to the ground behind the hotel, having taken the nearest
fire escape up to the roof and then crossing the building. As
he flagged down a cab and got inside, he realized that he was
getting told old for this sort of thing. Too much time behind
that damned desk. He gave the driver the address for Century
Plaza, and then dialed the Agency's number.
"Hello, Laura Holt Investigations."
"Miss Holt, please," he said.
"I'm sorry, Miss Holt's not in at the moment," the
VERY young sounding receptionist responded. "Could I take
a message?"
Damn. "What about Mildred? Miss Krebs. Is she available?"
"Just a moment, sir. May I say who's calling?"
Harry glanced at the telephone for second. "Harry Chalmers."
The next voice was Mildred's. "What's up, Harry?" she
asked brightly.
"TOO much, Mildred. Where the bloody hell is Laura?"
"She went home early. I was just about leave for the day
myself. Why?"
"I need to talk to her. Has anyone from the press been there?
Or called?"
"From the press? You mean like a reporter?" He could
hear the uneasiness in her voice now.
"Yes. They know I'm back. At least one of them does. And
I don't think he's going to keep it quiet."
"You know where she lives?"
"I think so." He told her the address.
"Yes, that's it. She keeps a key in the flowerpot on the
back porch."
"Mildred, since when have I needed a key?" Harry asked,
a half grin on his face. "The reporter's name is Mike Jackson.
If he calls--."
"Jackson? Isn't that the same one you talked to before you
left?"
"Yes. If he calls, Mildred--," he tried again.
"All he'll get is a NO COMMENT, Chief," she assured
him. "See you later."
Harry hung up and turned to the driver, giving him Laura's address
instead of that of the office, then sat back. He hadn't meant
to even contact Laura on this trip. But Fate had a way of playing
funny little tricks with the both of them. He'd spent the last
twelve years running from Fate and her fickle little games. Maybe
it was time he stopped running and just gave in.
- ***
The house reminded him in several ways of the one that she'd
lost to a bomb because of a case a year after they had met. He
liked it, he decided, after using his lock pick on the back door.
He was going to have to talk to Laura about getting a security
system, he told himself.. If she'd even talk to him after this.
Entering one of the rooms, he stopped upon seeing the piano sitting
near a window. Running a hand over the sleek, dark wood, he smiled,
remembering that he'd given it to her hoping to make her loss
easier. Glancing up, he saw a photograph of the two of them on
a table. So she hadn't tossed everything out after all, he mused.
Might be some hope yet- if that was what he really wanted.
He certainly hadn't been a monk these last years, but he'd never
found another woman who could make him as angry- or as happy
as Laura could. Perhaps, with the proper mood, the two of them
could talk, work things out somehow, he told himself as he wandered
into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he surveyed the contents
as an idea began to form.
Removing his jacket, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and went to
work . . .
- ***
"Tony," Laura sighed as she inserted her key into the
lock, "we've been through this before."
"And you've put me off every time," he told her. "Laura,
you know how I feel about you," he said, following her into
the house and pulling her into his arms. "I think it's time
that we stopped dancing around each other, Laura," he told
her, his lips only a breath from hers as another voice interrupted
them.
"Ah, but Laura dances so well, Antony," Harry said
from the doorway. He'd heard the limo stop and come in to greet
Laura, never expecting to find her in another man's arms.
"What are you doing here?" Laura demanded to know as
she pushed her way out of Tony's embrace, ignoring his protests.
"Breaking and entering are still against the law, Chalmers,"
Tony reminded him.
"I didn't break anything. Mildred told me where the key
was."
"Mildred did what?" Laura questioned. "I'm going
to have a LONG talk with our Miss Krebs."
"But we're going to talk first," Harry told her. "We've
got trouble."
Tony sniffed the air. "Do I smell something?"
Harry's eyes widened. "Damn," he said, rushing back
to the kitchen to rescue the makeshift coqu au vin.
Following, Laura and Tony entered as he returned the entrée
to the oven. "You're COOKING?" Laura questioned. "In
MY kitchen? Without my permission?"
"I thought it best that we not go out until we solve the
latest little problem," he informed her, handing her a glass
of wine, ignoring Tony's search in the refrigerator for a beer
as he continued to talk. "And believe me, finding enough
to prepare a decent meal wasn't easy. The only chicken you had
were those cut up chicken breasts, and I used some wine to make
a sauce. There's a tossed salad to go with it-" He paused
as Tony found one, and then Harry frowned, wondering why Laura
kept beer on hand. She wasn't a beer drinker. Or, rather, she
hadn't been.
"Never mind that. WHAT problem?!" Laura demanded to
know, sounding out of patience with both men as Tony lifted his
bottle of beer in silent taunt of Harry.
Harry pulled the photo of them from his pocket and handed it
to her. "This."
Her eyes widened and she took a gulp of the wine. "Where
did this come from?"
"A newspaper photographer took it when you dropped me at
the hotel earlier. He was trying to trace down why my face looked
familiar when Mike Jackson saw it."
"Mike Jackson," Laura said, repeating the man's name.
"The one who wrote your farewell interview."
"One and the same. He tracked me down at the Wilshire Arms.
I gave him the slip."
"Just great," Laura said, beginning to pace the room.
"I've spent twelve years building up the agency, slowly
coming out of YOUR shadow, and because of ONE overzealous photographer
all that could be shot to HELL!"
"Nice to know that you're so calm about this, Laura,"
Harry said, sipping his wine. "The reporter's not the only
problem. If Hepplewhite sees that photograph and associates me
with Remington Steele-," he left the sentence unfinished.
"He'll have the gems looked at and find out they're fakes,"
Tony pointed out.
"And come looking for us."
"What do you propose we do about this- little problem?"
she asked him.
"He could leave town," Tony suggested hopefully, nodding
in Harry's direction.
"That wouldn't solve the problem," Laura said.
"All that would do is set them onto Laura," Harry reminded
him. "Leave her to face that pack of vultures and Hepplewhite's
anger alone. No. But we DO have to come up with something that
will satisfy the reporter- and trap Hepplewhite. I have an idea-
but you're not going to like it."
"Probably not," Laura agreed, looking at him, her mouth
already watering from the tempting smell of the meal he had cooked.
"But let's hear it anyway."
"Laura, you're not gonna trust this guy, are you?"
Tony insisted. "I mean, he took off once, left you high
and dry for twelve years."
"I said I'd LISTEN, Tony. I haven't agreed to anything yet."
Tony glared at Harry. "I don't trust him."
"Then the feeling's mutual," Harry responded, as he
checked the chicken again.
Laura looked toward the ceiling. "Let's just can the testosterone,
okay? Just tell me your idea, Harry."
TO BE CONTINUED>>>
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content ©1999 by Nancy Eddy