Tony was watching her. She didn’t want to talk to Tony about this. Not yet. She was
still too - angry? No, that wasn’t right. Disappointed. That better described her feelings.
As Tony moved in her direction, Laura tensed, then relaxed as Mildred whistled softly.
“Whoever set this up is running a sweet little scam,” she exclaimed.
Laura and Tony joined her. “You found something?”
She pointed to an account. “This one is the key. Number- 61961. As far as I can
tell, it was set up six years ago. Several deposits have been made, one or more a week,
but there hasn’t been a payout in all that time. And for the amount of every deposit in
THIS account, I can find withdrawal from other accounts that match that amount.
Nothing big, just a dollar here, a dollar there, all siphoned off into 61961. I’m still not
sure how we can trace this without knowing more about the system they’re using -”
“A scam, huh?” Tony questioned.
“Right up the boss’s alley, right, Mrs. Steele?” Mildred asked.
Laura frowned. “Mr. Steele is obviously too busy to be bothered with any of this,
Mildred. I think the three of us are going to have to handle it without his assistance.” She
put an arm around Mildred. “I think it’s time that Mildred Krebbs, of the IRS fraud
squad, comes out of retirement.”
“Oh, Mrs. Steele, I’m not sure I can do that-”
“Of course you can, Mildred,” Steele confirmed as he came into the office, a smile
on his face.
Laura’s set face sent Mildred to her feet. “I think I’ll so make some fresh coffee,”
she announced. “Why don’t you come with me, Tony?”
“I don’t-” he began, eyeing Steele as he sat down behind his desk.
“I doubt Mr. Steele will be here that long, Mildred,” Laura said. “He probably has
something far more important to attend to.”
Steele lifted an eyebrow. “Not a thing. I’ll have that coffee, Mildred, while Laura
fills me in on the Nash case.”
“Coming right up, Chief,” she said, moving toward the door. Realizing that Tony
was still standing between Laura and Mr. Steele, she stopped. “Roselli. With me. Now.
I might need your help.”
As the door closed, Laura returned her attention to Mildred’s notes. “How is
Katherine?”
“Settled into a hotel suite. She seems to like it- although I think I’m going to try
and convince her to find a place of her own.”
Laura didn’t look up from the figures. “Maybe she doesn’t want to,” she
suggested.
“What do you mean?” Steele asked, rising to come over and sit across the
conference area.
“Maybe she wants a place she doesn’t have to take care of. Where she doesn’t
have to cook, or clean - What do you think? That just because you’re her nephew you can
make decisions for her?”
Steele frowned at her hostility. “I was merely going to SUGGEST it, Laura. The
decision will be Katherine’s of course.” He sat forward. “Now, about Mr. Nash’s
problem--?”
By the time the four of them left the office, a plan was made- and roles were set.
Remington and Laura returned to the apartment, where she did paperwork at a desk in the
living room while he prepared dinner. Over the meal, he suggested that they convert the
extra bedroom into a study, and Laura agreed, keeping the conversation centered around
the case and the office.
Once the meal was finished, she announced, “I have a long day head tomorrow. I think I’ll go on to bed. Goodnight.”
“I’ll be right in as soon as I take care of the dishes,” he told her. She didn’t respond, and Steele knew she was seething inwardly about his disappearance earlier in the day. As he did the dishes, he considered explaining everything, then decided that he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. She would forgive him everything once he told her the truth.
So when he went to bed an hour later, he was careful not to disturb her, although he knew she was no more asleep than he was. Let her stew for a while, he thought. It always seemed to sharpen her senses, make her a better detective.
Fumbling for the telephone, she didn’t take her eyes off of Krebbs. “Mr. Nash, there’s a Miss Krebbs from the Internal Revenue Service here -. All right.” She tried to smile. “Mr. Nash will be right out, Miss Krebbs.”
If Nash was surprised at the change in Mildred’s appearance, he gave no sign of it. “Miss Krebbs? I’m Philip Nash. How may I help you?”
“We had a red flag on one of your accounts, Mr. Nash. No taxes have been paid on the said account in several years, and I have to run a check. Standard procedure-”
“But- Miss Krebbs, unless you have a search warrant, or a court order-”
“I have a court order, Mr. Nash,” she told him, slapping the official looking document into his hand. “A FEDERAL court order. Now, who is in charge of account number 61961?”
Nash glanced at the paper. “Janet, punch it into the computer, please.”
Janet’s fingers flew and a moment later, she said, “61961 is one of Harvey Weems’ accounts, Mr. Nash.”
“Then I need to see Mr. Weems” Mildred said, “And all of his records on that account.”
“His office is this way, Miss Krebbs.”
Harvey Weems was a mousy little man whose suit didn’t fit too well, and who hardly looked the type to plan any sort of scheme. “Mr. Nash,” he said, surprised when his employer entered the office. “Good morning.”
“Harvey, this is Miss Krebbs -”
Weems smiled nervously. “Miss - Krebbs. How do you do?”
She set her briefcase on his desk and began pulling out several items. “That depends on you, Mr. Weems.”
“I’m- afraid I don’t- understand?”
“Miss Krebbs is with the IRS, Harvey,” Philip Nash explained. “She wants to see your account records for 61961.”
“61961?” Weems questioned, going pale. “But-”
Mildred fixed him with her best look. “Is there some problem, Mr. Weems?”
“The- accounts are confidential. It’s something that Investments Unlimited takes great pride in -”
Nash held up the paper. “She has a court order, Harvey. Show her the records.”
“If you’re certain, sir,” he said, going to the computer and entering a code. “It’s unlocked, Miss Krebbs.”
“Thank you.” She slipped into the chair and began to type.
“I have some work to do,” Nash said. “If you need me, Miss Krebbs -”
“I think Mr. Weems can answer any questions I may have, Mr. Nash,” she assured him.
Harvey Weems grew even more pale as he watched over Mildred’s shoulder.
“It’s legit?” Tony questioned.
“Heck no. That account’s a phony as a three dollar bill. But there’s no way around it. The name on the account could be fictitious, and the address is a post office box.”
“What did you dig up, Tony?”
“Harvey Weems is so clean that he squeaks, Laura. He lives alone, had never been
married. His landlady says she’s never seen him with a woman. He’s worked at Investments Unlimited for ten years.”
“His bank account shows bupkis,” Mildred added. “Nothing more there than his salary would account for.”
“That’s something I don’t understand,” Tony said. “Weems makes all that money, yet he lives in a small two-room apartment in a run-down old brownstone.”
“None of it makes ANY sense,” Laura agreed. “Tony, keep an eye on that postal box. And tomorrow we’ll begin phase two.”
Mildred returned to her desk to gather her hat and coat, calling her goodbyes.
Tony lingered in the office, watching as Laura put her head back, closing her eyes. “How’s it goin’?”
She sat up. “It’s too early to tell, Tony. We need more information-”
“Not with the case,” he clarified. “You and Steele. He’s not here again.”
“Everything is just fine, Tony. If he wants to go back to being a figurehead, then who am I to stop him? After all, the Remington Steele that I invented never involved himself in actual cases, functioned best in a purely advisory capacity -”
“But that was before he was real-” Tony pointed out.
“He’s not. Remington Steele is a -fiction. A lie. Harrison Daniel O’Hara is only using the name for professional reasons.”
“You don’t believe that, Laura.”
“I’m not sure what I believe, Tony,” she admitted tiredly.
He sat down beside her on the sofa. “You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Hey, this is me, remember?” He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Your old buddy, Tony. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”
“I’m not. I appreciate the concern, Tony,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “But I don’t want you to worry about whatever problems Remington and I may be having. Not anymore.”
“I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me, Laura-”
“Very touching,” was the comment that came from the door. “It’s a great comfort to me that Laura has someone she can count on - is it to you, Jessica?” Steele asked, strolling into the office to sit on the edge of his desk. Tony stood up, his eyes on the woman who remained in the doorway. “Jessica’s invited us to have dinner with her,” Steele announced. “But I think I’ll ask for a rain-check, Jessica. We’re in the midst of a case, and since I’ve been tied up all day, I’m sure Laura will want to bring me up to date on recent events.”
“I understand, Remington,” Jessica said quietly. “I seem to have developed a -headache anyway. Perhaps some other time.”
“By all means.”
“Good night.” She turned and was gone.
Tony glanced from Steele to Laura. “Go after her, Tony,” Laura said. “But don’t forget that stake out.”
“What about-?” He nodded toward the man across the room.
“Don’t worry about Laura, Antony. My wife will tell you herself that I’m not the jealous type.”
Laura smiled tightly at Tony. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.” Once he was gone, Laura went into her office and picked up her coat and purse. Entering the waiting area through he private door, she stopped upon finding Remington already there, waiting.
“It’s not like you to run away, Laura.”
“I’m NOT running away. That’s more your style.” She shook her head. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day, and I simply want to go home and get some rest.”
“An excellent idea,” Steele agreed, opening the door for her. “Why don’t we go home together, and you can fill me in one the Nash case.”
“I didn’t think you would be interested.”
“Nonsense,” he assured her, locking the doors. “I gave Mr. Nash my word that I would keep abreast of any developements, remember?”
Laura sighed.
The driver sent the woman a concerned look. “That right, miss?”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Yes, driver. Thank you anyway.”
Tony kept his hold on her arm until the taxi was gone. “Look, I can explain -”
“Of course you can. I saw it all very clearly, Mr. Roselli.” Tony winced. So they were back to that again. “It’s Laura you care about. Laura you -” she frowned. “Never
mind.” She tried to pull away from his hold. “Let me go, Mr. Roselli, or I shall be forced
to call a policeman.” Tony released her, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “I don’t
understand why you insist on trying to discuss private matters on a public street.”
“My car’s over here,” he said, leading her toward the faded blue ‘69 Ford that had seen better days. Jessica remained silent about her impressions of the vehicle as Tony opened the door for her and saw her seated before coming around to get inside and start the engine.
“May I knew where we’re going?”
“I’m taking you home. We can talk there.”
“And what if I don’t want to talk, Mr. Roselli?”
His jaw tightened. “Well, you’re going to, MISS Beecham, whether you want to or not.”
Jessica sat back, coughing softly as exhaust fumes reached her. “You really need to talk to Remington and Laura about a new car.”
“It’s on the list,” he told her. “In the meantime, roll down the window.”