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The racetrack was practically deserted
at this early hour- just a few trainers and die hards about, a
few bookies making plans to collect money owed, counting money
collected. "You really think he's here?" Jarvis asked
Remington as they entered the gates easily when Jarvis flashed
his badge.
"He owes Pittsburgh Phil money, and Phil told me that he
owes several others here money as well," Remington explained
as they moved into the clubhouse area. "Add that to the fact
that Phil left the hospital just before we did." His
eyes and ears were alert for sounds of voices, of money changing
hands. Pittsburgh Phil came from the men's room, a smug smile
on his sharp face as he stuffed something into his coat pocket.
"If I were you, kid, I'd find a hobby that doesn't cost as
much," he was saying as he came out.
Remington placed a hand on Jarvis' arm and pulled him back into
the shadows of the grandstand entrance. Indicating that the detective
should follow him, he motioned toward the restroom door. Jarvis
shook his head, but Remington ignored the movement to head across
the way as the bathroom door opened and Pete Dawson came out.
"Hello, Pete," Remington said. Pete's eyes widened,
and a hand reached into his coat, but Remington was quicker. "Uh,
uh, mate."
"Put it down, Dawson," Jarvis ordered, his gun drawn
as well. "Slowly. And kick it over here."
Dawson kept his hands out, started to kneel and drop the gun.
But at the last moment, he rolled and fired, just missing Remington
as he leapt into another grandstand entrance and disappeared.
"I'll call for back up," Jarvis said, but Remington
was already on the move. "Steele!"
Remington chased Dawson back up into the clubhouse and then outside,
to the stables. After a few more shots, Dawson tossed the empty
gun in Remington's direction as Remington closed on him. Ducking,
Remington jumped and both men went flying into a pile of hay.
Dawson took a swing at Remington, a knife suddenly appearing in
his hand. Remington jumped back, reaching for his gun, but it
was gone. It had probably fallen out when they'd hit the hay that
lay behind Dawson- and his knife. So Remington grabbed a hay rake
and used the handle to block the younger man's jabs. "Why'd
you do it, mate?" he asked as they fought. "Why kill
Taylor- after he gave you the number- for the account?"
"He didn't want to- share it," Dawson explained. "Wanted
it all for- himself. It didn't -belong to- him."
"And it DID- belong to you?" Remington asked.
"Eventually, it- would have," Dawson said. "When
Mrs. J -died."
"You're-- her heir?"
"I'm -the only family she's -got left in the world. But-
she wouldn't give me enough money to- pay off my gambling debts."
"You're -family?"
"She's my grandmother," Dawson told him. Remington was
stunned, and Dawson took advantage of it to move in. His knife
found Remington's arm, causing him to drop the rake, leaving him
open to Dawson's final attack. Remington stumbled back, falling
to his knees.
"Drop it, Dawson," Jarvis ordered again. "NOW."
The knife fell to the ground. "Arms up. Take him away,"
he told the officers with him. "First degree murder and two
counts of attempted murder." Jarvis came over to Steele,
offering him a hand to his feet. "We'd better get you to
the hospital."
"The hospital," Remington said. "Ohmigod. Laura."
*****
Everyone gathered around them as they entered the waiting area.
"She came out of surgery about fifteen minutes ago,"
Mildred told him, her eyes widening at the sight of the white
bandage on his arm. "What happened to you, Chief?"
"Had a bit of a run in with a knife," he explained.
"Is she okay?"
"She's still in recovery," Frances Piper told him.
*****
Remington touched Laura's cheek as she started to stir. "Laura?"
he said.
She opened her eyes with some difficulty. "Remington?"
"Hey there."
"You're here."
"Forever," he reminded her. "And always."
"I must look terrible."
He shook his head gently. "You look wonderful. Like an angel.
Get some more rest."
She managed to focus on his arm. "What happened to you?"
she asked.
"Bit of trouble. It's finished now."
"Can't leave you alone for a minute without you getting into
trouble, can I?"
"Then don't leave me alone," was his soft suggestion.
*****
Later that day, Laura shook her head at the story Remington and
Jarvis related. "You mean he's her grandson? And he works
as her chauffeur?"
"Apparently she had a daughter late in life, after her husband's
death. She never told Dawson who the father was, but for some
reason, she put the baby up for adoption. It was only four years
ago that she decided she wanted to find that child, so that she
could make things up to her by leaving all her money to her. But
her daughter died just months before Mrs. Jameson found where
she was. She discovered that her daughter had one child, a son."
"Pete Dawson."
"Yes. Since no one in Los Angeles knew about her daughter,
Mrs. Jameson was terrified that she would be looked down on if
they found out, so she brought Pete here and put him to work as
her chauffeur. She paid him quite a bit more than most drivers
are paid- But it wasn't enough to support his gambling habit.
He was in debt to almost every bookie in Southern California."
"Why didn't he just go to his grandmother, ask her for the
money?" Bernice asked.
"She hated gambling in any form, and he was certain she would
have tossed him out if she knew about it," Remington explained.
"So when she found out about Taylor's embezzling, and hit
him with the lamp, Dawson decided to use it to his advantage."
"How? If he was already dead," Mildred said.
"Ah, but he wasn't. He was injured, yes. The lamp cut his
head quite badly, and he no doubt WOULD have died from the wound
without attention. But he WAS knocked unconscious. Mrs. Jameson
believed she'd killed him, and begged her grandson to help her.
Pete had been witness to the entire exchange, unknown to his grandmother,
and knew about the money."
"You mean he let that old woman believe she'd killed her
accountant?"
"Apparently so. Thought it would be a good way to keep her
quiet, to black mail her out of more money if he needed it. But
at that moment, his thoughts were on the money that Taylor had
stolen. He carried the injured man to the garden, and offered
him a deal. If Taylor would share the money with him, then he'd
get Taylor away without Mrs. Jameson's knowledge."
"But Taylor refused," Laura guessed.
"And Dawson threatened him with the knife until Taylor gave
him the account number in exchange for his life- and then killed
him."
"Nice guy," Bernice commented, shivering. "With
family like that, Mrs. Jameson didn't need any enemies."
"He didn't want her to hire us to find the money. He knew
that if we found where Taylor had stashed it, we'd find out that
the account had been closed. Apparently Mildred caught the account
just before it was closed and transferred to a new one."
"Poor Mrs. Jameson," Mildred said with a deep sigh.
"At least she died before she found out what a creep her
grandson was." Margarethe Jameson had died during Remington
and Pete Dawson's fight at the racetrack.
Bernice gave Laura's hand a squeeze. "I'm going to the office,"
she said.
"They're releasing me later today," Laura reminded her.
"I'll see you there later."
Bernice looked across the bed to where Remington was standing.
"I think someone else might have something to say about that,
Laura," she said. "Mildred?"
"Yeah. Coming." She gave Laura a kiss on the cheek,
being careful not to jostle her right shoulder. "Glad you're
okay, hon. Get some rest. We can handle things at the office for
a few days." She winked at Remington. "I'm sure I can
trust you to take care of her, Mr. Steele."
"You read my mind, Mildred," he told her with a grin.
Once the door closed behind them, and they were alone, Remington
slowly sat on the edge of the bed. "She's right, you know.
You need rest right now, not to jump back into work."
"I'm fine," Laura assured him. "This," she
said, indicating her shoulder, "is nothing. I'll be good
as new in a few days."
"I was hoping to convince you to take some time off,"
he said.
"To do what?" she asked, her eyes on him.
"Oh, to go on a honeymoon, maybe?"
"A- honeymoon?"
"Maybe it's too soon," he said quickly, seeing her uncertainty.
"Guess I'm rushing things a bit." He took her left hand,
and fixed his gaze on that physical connection. "But I almost
lost you last night, Laura, and I don't want to . . ."
Laura tugged on his hand to get his attention. "Where would
we go for this honeymoon?" she asked.
"Anywhere you want to," he said, looking at her with
renewed hope.
"You know," She said, a teasing light in her eyes. "Usually
a proposal precedes any talk about a honeymoon, and I haven't
heard one yet."
Remington lifted her hand to his lips. "I love you. And I'll
love you for the rest of my life. I want to spend the rest of
our lives together, as we've always been meant to be. Will you
marry me, Laura?" he asked at last, his eyes searching hers
nervously.
"I love you, too. I don't know why I never said that before
last night. I certainly thought it enough. Yes. I'll marry you,
Remington Steele- or whoever you are."
"I'm the man you made me, Laura. Remington Steele. The man
who loves you more than anything else in the world."
"Keep saying that, Mr. Steele," she sighed as his lips
met hers. "Sounds nice."
"Every day," he promised. "For the rest of our
lives." And then neither said anything for some time.
Bernice pushed open the door slightly, peering in at the couple
on the bed and smiled down at Mildred's round face, giving her
a "thumbs up" signal. They'd succeeded. The two people
they both admired more than anyone else had finally found each
other. And, for the moment, at least, all was right with the world.
The End