"Where's Mr. Steele going, Miss Holt?"
"Wherever he wants to, I suppose," Laura said in a quiet voice.
"What?"
Laura turned resolutely away from the window as she tried to explain. "Mr. Steele and I have- decided to- spend a few months- apart, Mildred. To make- absolutely certain that this is where he wants to be."
"Of COURSE it is," Mildred told her. "Miss Holt, excuse me for butting in, but- if he didn't want to be here, don't you think he'd have been long gone already? I think you're taking a big chance."
"If he doesn't come back, Mildred, then . . ."
"Then nothing. Besides, who's gonna help you with the Agency?"
"You are, Mildred," Laura told her.
"Me?"
"You DO still want to get your license, don't you?"
"You know I do, but-"
"Then let's get started," Laura said. "There's paperwork to be done."
"Miss Holt, you can't just let him go like this."
Laura turned toward her office and opened the file cabinet. "It's only for three months, Mildred," she pointed out. "Here's the Maxwell file. Mr. Maxwell is expecting a full report on his case tomorrow -,"
"I'm sorry, Miss Holt, but there's something I have to do. I'll be back in an hour."
Laura nodded, knowing that she was going to talk to Mr. Steele. Even finding out that her idolized, beloved Boss WASN'T really Remington Steele at all, but a con man/jewel thief, hadn't dimmed the older woman's almost maternal fondness for him. "All right, Mildred. Go on. This will all be here when you get back."
She watched as Mildred gathered her purse and left before sinking in the chair behind her desk. She hoped she'd done the right thing- and that he'd be back as he'd promised he would be. Her expression brightened when she recalled that he'd never broken a promise to her- not seriously, anyway. She just had to believe that he wouldn't start now.
Mildred returned an hour later, and Laura's heart nearly broke as she looked at the woman's sad face. So she smiled her brightest smile, intending to try and cheer Mildred up, but was saved when a tall, blonde, well dressed man entered the office. "May we help you?" Laura asked.
"I need to see Mr. Steele," he told her.
Laura took a deep breath. "Mr. Steele's not here. He's out of town. On another case. Perhaps I could help you, Mr-?"
"Larry Davis," he supplied. "Who are you?"
"I'm Mr. Steele's associate, Laura Holt," she explained, shaking the man's hand. "And this is Mildred Krebs. She's in training to get her license."
He looked uncertain. "I don't know, Miss Holt. I prefer to deal with Mr. Steele."
She drew herself up to her full height. "I can assure you, Mr. Davis, that Mr. Steele will be kept up to date on your case. Not, what exactly seems to be the problem?"
"I think I may have killed someone," he said.
Once the three of them were seated in Mr. Steele's office, Laura said, "Start at the beginning, Mr. Davis."
"Well, I'm what they call a head hunter, Miss Holt."
"A - headhunter?"
"Someone who recruits people for corporate jobs, Miss Holt," Mildred explained.
"That's right. A company calls me, tells me they need an- accountant, or a computer expert, and I go out looking for the person they want, try to get them together."
Laura crossed her legs as she sipped her coffee. "Who do you think you killed?"
"That's just it. I'm not really sure." He ran a shaking hand through his curly hair. "I don't know much about anything at the moment. I'm staying at the Hilton. Was supposed to meet with a computer expert this morning before heading home. I went down to dinner last night. But the dining room was full, so I went to the bar for a drink while I waited. I met a girl- pretty, interested in what I do for a living. We talked, had dinner, and- well, we went back up to my room for a nightcap." Laura saw Mildred's disapproving frown, and sent her a warning look. "I don't usually do things like that, Miss Krebs, and it was all innocent. Rachel told me she was looking for a job, thought I could help."
"So you went to your room to discuss her qualifications," Mildred commented. Laura sent her another glare.
"Mildred. We're not here to judge Mr. Davis' actions. Go on, Mr. Davis."
He shrugged. "We had a couple of drinks, then I- I felt kinda funny. Light headed, and she decided to leave. I got up to walk her to the door, then I guess I passed out." He rose and started pacing the office. "When I woke up this morning, I was lying on the floor, a bloody knife in my hand- and Rachel was lying on the bed-." He closed his eyes at the memory.
"Did you call the police?" Laura asked him.
"No. They would have locked me up for murder. Look, Miss Holt, I'm married. I've got a wife and two kids in Reno. Ten years. If this got out- It was all innocent. Just a harmless drink."
Laura thought for a moment. There was no way to keep the police out of this, surely he had to know that. "Where's the body now?"
"Still in my room. I- put the Do Not Disturb sign out when I left so the maid wouldn't try to clean the room. I've been walking since six this morning, Miss Holt, trying to decide what to do. Can you help me?"
Laura glanced at Mildred, then nodded. "We'll try, Mr. Davis. The first thing we have to do is find out who your enemies are. Who might want to frame you for murder."
"I didn't think I had any enemies," he sighed.
"Was anything taken from your room?"
"I didn't even look," he confessed. "All I wanted to do was get out of there. "But I've got my wallet and credit cards."
"What about the dead woman? Rachel, you said her name was?" Mildred asked.
"Rachel Richards. All I know is that she was from Los Angeles. Look, Miss Holt, is there anyway to keep the police out of this?"
"We have to report the murder," Laura told him. "But I want a look at the crime scene before they get there," she said, rising to her feet. "Keep an eye on things, Mildred."
"Sure, Miss Holt."
"And run a check on Rachel Richards. See if you can come up with anything. Standard check." Which meant- "Check out the client, too."
"You got it," Mildred said, moving toward her computer.
"Shall we, Mr. Davis?" Laura said, turning to the door.
In the elevator of the Los Angeles Hilton, Larry Davis ran a hand across the back of his neck. "I don't know what I'm going to tell my wife about all of this."
"Maybe you should have thought of that before you invited Miss Richards to your room," Laura muttered as the doors opened, knowing it was a terribly unprofessional thing to say, but unable to stop herself.
Davis sighed. "You're right. But you know what they say about hindsight." He took out his room key as they neared a corner. "It's just around here."
They saw the maid at the same time, apparently about to open the door to Davis' room. "Uh, oh," Laura said.
"Wait!" Davis called, running the final steps to the room, barring her access. "I'm not ready for you to clean this room yet. Didn't you see the sign?"
"There was no sign," the Hispanic woman told him. "I have already cleaned it. You are a very neat man. Very few hotel guest make their bed so well that you cannot tell it has been slept in."
Davis' face mirrored confusion as he opened the door and entered- with Laura close behind. The room was as neat as a pin, no sign of a dead woman, or a bloody knife. Just a normal hotel room. Laura turned to the maid. "Thank you," she said, closing the door.
Davis stood beside the bed. "What the hell's going on here? She was-," he pointed, "right-there. On the bed. And I was over there- on the floor."
Laura examined the area, then went to the bar. "What were you drinking last night?"
"Whiskey," he told her, pulling the covers back on the bed to reveal clean white sheets. "Why?"
She held up a bottle. "It's almost empty. And there's only one glass here that's been used."
"Look, I didn't dream it in a drunken stupor, okay? It happened!"
Something glittered in the carpet, catching Laura's eye. She bent to pick it up. "An earring," she told him. "Shaped like a bell."
"Rachel was wearing earrings like that."
Laura looked around. "Okay. You say that your wallet wasn't taken. What about your briefcase?"
He lifted it onto the dresser. "Right here where I left it."
"Check it. Make sure nothing's missing while I check the bath. Maybe they left something behind."
"Miss Holt?" Davis called, stopping her. "The contracts for the person I was down here to talk to are gone."
"Is that the only thing missing?"
He rifled through the papers. "Everything pertaining to him is gone."
"Who was this person?"
"His name is Stanley Grayson. He's a computer expert. I called when I got to town yesterday to confirm our meeting for last night, but he canceled, said he didn't have time. He tried to tell me he wasn't interested in the job. I finally convinced him to meet with me this morning, here."
"But he called and canceled?"
"Yes."
"When was this?"
"There was a message waiting at the desk when I went downstairs earlier."
"Obviously, someone doesn't want you to make Mr. Grayson an offer," Laura mused, closing her hand around the earring.
"What do you suggest? Look, maybe you should call Mr. Steele about this."
"I'll discuss it with him when he calls in," Laura assured the man, the old lie coming with more ease than she'd expected. "I think we need to have a talk with Mr. Grayson."
"You don't think he could be behind this, do you?"
"It's possible. If he doesn't want to be bothered. But it seems a lot of trouble to go through when just saying no would be easier. What kind of job were you going to offer him?"
"Government job. Some bigwig in DC has decided that Grayson's the only man for the job and told me to do whatever I had to in order to get him."
"Do you remember his phone number or address?"
"Sorry. I didn't have an address. Just the number."
Laura paced the room. "The hotel should have a record of the number, if you called from here."
"I didn't. I called from the airport."
She sighed. "Okay. I'll have Mildred start looking for Stanley Grayson."
"You'll let me know if you find me? I mean, if he isn't behind it, I still have to get his signature on that contract."
Laura looked at him. "I'll call."
As she headed back downstairs, Laura tried to figure out what was nagging her about this case. Things just didn't add up. She found herself wishing Mr. Steele was here to bounce ideas off of. The exchange of ideas between them had solved more than one baffling case. She went to the bar to ask some questions, but was told that the evening bartender wouldn't come on duty until three that afternoon. So she dug a dime out of her purse and called the office.
"Remington Steele Investigations."
"Mildred, Laura. Anything yet?"
"Rachel Roberts has a rap sheet as long as your arm for prostitution, Miss Holt."
"And our client?"
"Looks like he's just who he says he is. Head hunter out of Reno. Married ten years, two kids, never even had a parking ticket. He's so clean he squeaks."
"I've got another name for you. Stanley Grayson."
"I'll run it. What happened at the hotel?"
"Nothing," Laura answered. "I'll explain when I get back."
"Where are you going?"
"To the morgue. I want to see if Rachel's body has turned up there."
The attendant, an old friend of Murphy's, assured Laura that no one matching Rachel's description, tall, red haired, well endowed, was a current customer in the cold box. "But I'll let you know if someone like that comes in, Laura."
"Thanks, Harve," she said, frustrated.
The nagging was still there- and stronger than before.
To Be Continued . . .