Hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and drove over to the loft. Laura's Rabbit wasn't parked in its usual spot, and after he climbed the three flights of stairs, muttering to himself all the while about what it would cost to get a lift installed in the converted warehouse, he found her door securely locked.
He returned to his own apartment to wait and go over the information he'd unearthed about Edward J. Holt. When he finally got through, it wasn't Laura who answered, but her father.
"May I speak with Laura, please?" Remington asked.
He wasn't surprised at the hesitation, then Edward spoke in a quiet voice. "She's busy at the moment. We're just on our way out."
"This won't take a moment, Mr. Holt," Remington began, but Edward interrupted him.
"Listen, Steele, it's the weekend. I know that my daughter's not working on a case at the moment. So I'm sure whatever you have to say to her can wait until Monday. Right now, Laura and I are spending some time together. Time we need- without ANY interruptions."
"I see. Tell her I called, will you?"
"Of course."
"And that I'd like her to call me back when she can?"
"If she has time," Edward responded shortly.
There was a loud "CLICK!" on the other end of the line.
***
Laura pulled back the curtain that separated her raise bedroom from the rest of the loft. "Who was on the phone?" she asked, fastening the cuffs of her shirt.
Edward smiled and glanced at the telephone. "Wrong number. Then the guy argued with me. Didn't seem to believe that this wasn't Madame Lu's Massage Parlour."
"Oh, my," Laura said with a grin. "That's a new one."
He took her hands. "Sure there's not something you need to tell me?" he teased gently.
Laura shrugged. "Well, a girl's got to do SOMETHING to supplement the income these days." She laughed. "Never heard of the place," she assured him. "Usually a wrong number is for the pizza place a few blocks over. Similar numbers."
"I see. Are you ready?"
She nodded. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"
"I thought we'd check out a carnival that I noticed on my way into town," Edward said, and Laura knew her eyes had lit up at the idea.
"A carnival?"
"Cordaro's Fabulous-"
She smiled. "Funtime Circus," she finished for him.
"You know it?" Edward asked, sounding surprised.
"KNOW it? I worked the high trapeze there one night. If it wasn't for the Agency, the place would be out of business by now."
"Really?" Edward questioned, opening the door for them. "I can't wait to hear this story."
"It all started when Mildred began going to a séance that was HELD at Cordaro's…" Laura began.
***
Remington entered the Agency on Monday morning in something less than an amiable mood. "Morning, Mildred," he said in an abrupt tone, heading straight of Laura's door.
"She's not there," Mildred informed him.
He looked toward his own office doorway. "I suppose she's not in there, either?"
Mildred shook her head. "She hasn't come in yet."
Remington lifted his arm to check the time. "She's late. Apparently being reunited with her long lost father has caused Miss Holt to lose some of that vaunted work ethic that she's always been so proud of."
"I'm sure she'll be in soon, Boss," Mildred said in a conciliatory tone. "I'll bring your tea right in," she promised, heading for the break room, which had once been Murphy Michaels' office.
"Hmm," Remington muttered, continuing on to his office, wondering what Murphy would have made of Edward Holt- and how he would handle the information tucked into his jacket pocket.
"Here we go," Mildred said, placing the cup and saucer on the desk before him.
"How did the tournament go?" Remington asked as she would have moved away. He took a sip of the hot liquid, felt it calm his shattered nerves.
"We won," Mildred informed him with a smile. "Of course. I bowled a 290 average," she added proudly.
Remington had no idea what that meant, but obviously it was something good. "Excellent, Mildred. Excellent. All that practice paid off."
"Need anything else?" she asked.
"Just Miss Holt when she arrives."
"You got it."
Remington was having a second cup of tea when he heard Laura's voice in the outer office. "Good morning, Mildred," she said brightly.
"Miss Holt. Mr. Steele wants to see you ASAP."
"He does, does he?" Laura replied in a voice that sent a frisson of worry down Remington's spine.
He waited for her to enter his office through the main door, but instead heard the door to her office open- then close. Rising, Remington went to the connecting door, and opened it. But Laura wasn't there. The outer door was open again, and Laura was talking once more to Mildred.
"Mildred, I'd like a list of Mr. Steele's luncheon schedule as far as speeches and appearances go this week, please."
Remington crossed through Laura's office to enter the reception area. "Trying to make sure I'm busy, Miss Holt?" he asked.
"Not at all, Mr. Steele," she assured him with a smile that did nothing to allay that niggle of worry he'd felt. "As a matter of fact, I've decided that it's time we start sharing those duties. Why should you be forced to make the 'rubber chicken circuit' as you call it alone?"
"I thought that was part of my job? To get good PR for the Agency by attending all of these meetings and dinners and such?"
"I just think it's time I took a more visible role in the Agency, that's all. After all, it is MY agency, isn't it?"
"Yes, but-"
"Here you go, Miss Holt," Mildred said, glancing from her employer to Mr. Steele with a confused look. "How was your weekend?" she asked Laura at last. "Did you and your father have a good time?"
"Oh, yes, Mildred. Simply wonderful. I'd forgotten how much fun he is to be with. And you'll never GUESS where we went Saturday night." She didn't wait for Mildred to do any such thing. "Cordaro's Fabulous Funtime Circus," she declared. "Christy and the others sent their regards to you both, by the way." She looked at the list Mildred had given her. "Change my schedule for Wednesday and Friday, Mildred. I'll take care of the Police Neighborhood Watch Committee meeting and the Commissioner's Luncheon-"
"Uh, sure thing, Miss Holt."
"And from now on, all such invitations cross my desk first, okay?"
"Yeah," Mildred agreed, glancing at Remington.
"And any interviews with the press as well." She turned on her heel and went back into her office.
Remington lifted his brows in silent question, which Mildred answered with a lift of her shoulders. Remington followed Laura, closing the door behind him. "Busy weekend, eh?" he questioned.
Laura nodded, her attention on some papers before her. "Daddy and I went to the old neighborhood most of Saturday, and then yesterday we spent the day looking for him a place of his own."
"A place of his own. So he's…planning to stay around, then?"
She looked at him. "Of course he is. He assured me that he has no intention of leaving again."
"I suppose you were simply-too busy to return my call, then."
Laura frowned. "Did you call?"
"Early Saturday evening," Remington told her. "I spoke to your father. Didn't he tell you?"
"The only call I know about is a wrong number," Laura said, smiling. "Someone looking for 'Madame Lu's Massage Parlour'. Talk about being embarrassed."
"Perhaps you should consider changing your phone number," Remington suggested.
"That's what Daddy suggested I do. Said it might be a good idea for me to take it unlisted as well and get an answering service for the Agency. That it would keep the riff-raff from bothering me at all hours."
"The riff-raff," Remington mused. "Strange that he didn't tell you about my call."
Laura sighed. "You probably dialed the wrong number," she told him, getting up to take a file to the cabinet behind him.
"And held a three minute conversation with someone who SOUNDED very much like your father?" he questioned. "Laura, I called your loft- he said you were busy-"
"Are you saying my father's lying?" she asked him, eyes narrowed.
"Laura, all I'm saying is that-" he paused, trying to come up with a way to explain what he was feeling. "I'm just concerned at your unquestioning response to his sudden return, that's all. It's not like you. I mean, all this time we've known each other, I received the distinct impression that if your father were to walk through those doors out there and back into your life, you'd very likely toss him out on his ear! Now, suddenly, he's here, and you're reverting to being 'The Little Princess'."
"The what?"
"The Little Princess," he repeated. "Shirley Temple, Richard Greene, the wonderful Cesar Romero, Twentieth Century Fox, 1939."
"I remember that one," Laura sighed. "But that was a MOVIE, Mr. Steele," she reminded him forcefully. "This is real life. I know I was angry with Daddy, but now that he's here, and he's explained what happened-"
"What did happen, Laura? What possible reason did he give you for having stayed away all these years?"
"It was Mother's fault," Laura told him.
"Laura, I admit that Abigail would probably be just a TOUCH difficult to live with, but forgive me if I don't understand-"
"She told him that Frances and I didn't WANT to talk to him," Laura confessed. "Daddy called, sent letters, but Mother always answered the phone- always sent the letters back to him. She said that we didn't want anything more to do with him."
"Have you talked to your mother about this, Laura?" Remington asked. "Or did you just take HIS word for everything?"
"There you go again, accusing him of lying! No, I haven't talked to Mother, I don't WANT to talk to my mother! Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"I'm not accusing him of-"
"I know what the problem is," Laura said.
"You do?" Remington went still as she shook her head.
"You're jealous," she accused.
"Jealous? OF what?"
"Of my father's having a claim on my time, aren't you? You're no longer the only man in my life, and it bothers you. Isn't that right, Mr. Steele?"
"I am not jealous," Remington insisted. "But I will admit to being more than a trifle concerned about whether or not you intend to continue this relationship. Both the personal one AND the professional one."
"What ARE you ranting about?" Laura asked.
He picked up the printout that she'd gotten from Mildred. "THIS," he said. "Your sudden, out of the blue desire to attend luncheons and meetings that you would have done almost anything to avoid only two days ago. This sudden desire to become less the 'woman behind the man', something which, if I might remind you, you have scrupulously insisted on for almost four years."
Laura shrugged and grabbed the paper away from him to return it to her desk. "I thought you WANTED some help with the PR work?" she reminded him. "Besides, someone pointed out to me that I was never going to get the credit for MY work so long as I stay in the background."
Remington gave her a thoughtful look. "Someone? That someone's name wouldn't by any chance be Edward Holt, would it?"
"Does it matter?" Laura asked.
"I thought we were a team, Laura. Associates. Partners. Now, all of a sudden, you're changing the bloody rules again, and I'm not sure where I'm going to fit into them." He leaned on the desk. "Why don't we have lunch and discuss it?" he suggested.
"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm meeting-"
"Daddy," they said together.
The intercom buzzed, and Laura picked it up. "Yes, Mildred?…Thank you. Show him into Mr. Steele's office, please." She hung up. "Mr. Andrews is here for his appointment."
"Then let's not keep him waiting, shall we?" Remington said, giving the appearance of having given up. But when Laura rose to move past him, he grabbed her arm. "We ARE going to discuss this, Laura. And soon. Dinner tonight?"
"I'm afraid not," she sighed. "Maybe tomorrow night." She slipped past him and opened the connecting door. "Care to join me, Mr. Steele?"
Remington sighed and followed her into his office to consult with the self proclaimed King of Mattresses.
***
Just before noon, Remington bade Mildred goodbye as she left for lunch a few minutes early. She had no more than gotten out of the office when the doors opened again to admit Laura's father. Remington, about to go back to his office stopped. "Mr. Holt. I'll go get Laura-"
"Not just yet, Steele," Edward Holt said. "I thought you and I should have a little chat- get some things straight."
"Sounds like an excellent idea to me," Steele agreed. "Shall we go into my office?"
"I think we can do this here," Edward told him, indicting the area just inside the glass doors where they were standing. "I want you to cut Laura loose, Steele," he said without preamble.
"Cut Laura- loose?" Remington repeated. "I'm afraid I don't-"
"She needs to be on her own. She's never going to be able to prove to the world that she'd the best P.I. this town's ever seen as long as you're around hogging the credit for her hard work. Bet you just jumped at the chance to get her expertise when her place folded, didn't you?"
"I've always considered myself very fortunate to have met Laura, yes," Steele agreed.
"Well, I think it's time she tried her own agency again. She's established in Los Angeles now, people have seen her occasionally- but she won't be able to do it as long as you're around competing with her for clients."
"What are you suggesting, Mr. Holt? That I- vanish?"
"From what I've read, you were pretty good at staying out of things until about four years ago. Why not go back to that? Let Laura handle the Agency? I'm sure you could find- something to occupy your time elsewhere- London, perhaps? Paris? Laura's afraid to suggest it, afraid you might fire her- I told her 'So what? So he fires you? Then you can open your own agency, become the best damn Private Investigator in the entire state.' But you know Laura. Always afraid to hurt someone."
"You say Laura knows about this?" Remington asked in a soft voice.
"We discussed it last night," Edward assured him.
Remington doubted it. Laura would NEVER consider leaving what was, after all, HER agency. As for having Remington Steele "disappear" once again…
Laura came from her office to place a file on Mildred's desk. "Daddy," she said, smiling as she saw him standing there with Mr. Steele. "You're early."
Edward shook his head after giving her a kiss on the cheek, then showed her his watch. "You're late. But Mr. Steele and I were having a chat while I waited. Isn't that right, Steele?"
"Yes," Remington agreed slowly. "A most- informative chat," he agreed, his eyes searching Laura's face for any sign that she was worried about what Edward might have said. "Laura, I might have to go out of town for few days," he informed her, ignoring Edward Holt's smile of triumph. "Some… unfinished business that I need to take care of in London. If you don't mind, that is?"
"London? Mr. Steele-" She looked at him with suspicion. "This is awfully sudden, isn't it?"
"All on the up and up," he assured her. "Something I promised a friend I would do. Just got the call a few minutes ago and wondering how tell you. I'm sure that you and Mildred can hold down the fort without me for a little while."
"The last time you went to London, Mr. Steele," Laura reminded him, "You were gone for three months."
"A week," he promised, feeling just slightly relieved that she seemed to be distressed at the prospect of his going at all. "And I'll call you every day to let you know how things are going."
"When are you leaving?" Laura asked.
"This afternoon, as a matter of fact."
"Okay. But don't forget to call, Mr. Steele. You know Mildred worries about you."
He tried to read her eyes, to see if SHE was going to worry as well, but Edward was taking her arm, drawing her gaze from him. "We'd better go if we're going to make our reservations, Cupcake."
Remington stood there, watching as Edward led Laura from the office, saw her turn to look at him before the wall came between them. He could go back to London, he supposed, let Laura try to make it on her own without his intrusive presence. But if he'd learned one thing from Laura in all these years it was to stand and fight for something that he wanted instead of giving up and running back to London like a whipped puppy.
But he was going to need help to fight whatever hold Edward had over Laura. An ally. Somone who knew Edward better than he did. Better than Laura did. Picking up the phone, he dialed a number. "Hello, Abigail?…Remington Steele…No, Laura's fine." I hope, he added silently. "I need to ask you a few questions…Yes. About- Edward Holt."
To Be Continued…