"You don't need to do this now, surely," Robert said quickly. "My name's Robert Brandon. Why don't you come across the hall to Mrs. Morgan's apartment? She was a friend of Maisie's. I'm sure she would like to meet you."
"No, thank you. I don't feel much like company right now. Another time, maybe?"
"By all means."
The door opened a little more, and Remington tensed. "Uh, Mr. Brandon," Joe said.
"Yes?"
"You're Jessica Beecham's grandfather, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," Robert admitted, his voice now guarded. "Why do you ask?"
"Just- curious, I guess. Job hazard." He opened the door fully and entered the dark apartment, hesitating as if loathe to go further. "You're right. I'll do this tomorrow. It's too soon." He closed the door again, and Remington remained where he was, closing his eyes and saying a quick prayer of thanks. "Good night, Mr. Brandon."
"Good night." A moment later, Robert tapped on the door. "Remington?" he called softly
Remington opened the door and joined his grandfather in the hallway. "Thanks. I'm going to follow him- see if I can't have a little chat with him about why Maisie just refilled this bottle of medicine two days ago- and yet there wasn't a pill to be found."
"Be careful, Remington."
"Always, Robert. Tell Jessica I'm borrowing her car. You'll see that she gets home?"
"Of course." Robert sighed deeply as he watched his grandson head toward the elevator, then turned to rejoin Jessica and Katherine.
Remington watched as Joe Blakewell got into a car and drove away from the building. He headed toward Jessica's car, his gaze still on the dark green sedan.
Jessica ran from the hotel, looking both ways, hoping to catch Remington before he left. But there was no sign of her car.
Laura saw Jessica the moment she turned the corner. She honked the horn, then pulled up beside her sister in law. "What's wrong?"
Remington left here a few moments ago, chasing after Joe Blakewell," Jessica told her. "Maisie Blakewell had a heart attack this evening."
Laura winced. "Is she-?"
"I'm afraid so. Katherine's quite upset."
"I don't doubt it. Why is Remington following Joe?" Laura asked, as Jessica got into the car. "Do you know which way he went?"
"The last I saw of him, he was turning the corner at the end of the block," Jessica said. "Remington was searching Maisie's apartment," she explained. "Joe arrived and Robert barely managed to keep him out of there. The next thing I knew, Robert came back and told me that Remington was following Joe."
Joe Blakewell pulled the green Ford into the curb beside Sheaffer Import-Export, then got out and entered the building using a key. Remington watched, and was about to get out of the car and look for another way in when the car telephone rang.
"Steele here," he said, his eyes still glued to the building, where he could see a faint glow in one of the windows.
"Where are you?" Laura asked in a tone that was a mixture of anger and relief.
"The Import house," he told her. "I followed Joe down here. How is Edward?"
"Probably sleeping. He ran us all out. I went to meet you at Katherine's, only to discover that you'd taken off on your own."
"Laura, you sound as if you don't think I can handle this," he said.
"Of course you can. It's just that if Joe is the killer, I'd feel better if you had back up. I'll be there in ten minutes."
Remington sighed. "Okay. I'll give you ten minutes, and then I'm going in. I don't want to risk Blakewell's giving us the slip."
"Just be careful." She hung up, glancing at Jessica as she increased the car's speed. "He's at Sheaffer's," she said. "Joe's there." As she approached a railroad track, the lights came on and the bar began to lower. "Damn." Looking at her watch, she sighed deeply. "I just hope his watch is running slow."
Remington looked at his watch, then up and down the street. Where was Laura? She'd said ten minutes-, it had been twelve. And Laura was nothing if not punctual. Taking his time, he got out of the car. She'd be there before he crossed the street, he was certain.
But she wasn't. He listened for the sound of her car as he went around the corner of the building, past the spot where they had likely found Edward earlier. He'd run right past this area as he'd chased the killer. The side door was still unlocked, and Remington paused another moment as he gave Laura another minute, then entered the building. She would follow him inside when she got here, he told himself.
Inside, he could see the light coming from the same office where he and Laura had found Glen Darnell's body. He approached the doorway quietly until he was able to see Joe Blakewell, his head buried in a file cabinet, files strewn around the room as he finished going through them. "Looking for something in particular, Joe?" Remington asked in a soft voice that caused the young man to jump and look at him with frightened eyes.
"Mr. Steele. What- What are you doing here?"
"I think I'm the one who should be asking that question, don't you think, Joe?"
"I don't have to have a reason. The place is mine now that Glenn Darnell's dead."
"Why did you kill him? Did being involved in a murder frighten him? Did he threaten to go to the police?"
Joe laughed. Whatever Remington expected Joe's reaction to be, it hadn't been that the young reporter would find the idea humorous.
The train cleared the tracks, and Laura handed the phone to Jessica. "Keep trying. The operator keeps saying that she can't get a clear line." She put the car back into gear and accelerated toward the docks. With any luck, they would be there any minute.
Jessica hung up. "There's no answer. He's not in the car."
Laura's fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she turned her little car behind Jessica's. "I'll go in. You stay out here and-," she stopped as Jessica began to shake her head.
"Laura, this is my fight. I have to confront Joe about this even if no one else does."
"Come on, then." They easily found the unlocked side door, and entered the dark warehouse.
"I'm glad you find it amusing, Joe. Murder's a very serious business." Laura and Jessica stopped at the sound of Remington's voice and hid behind some boxes to listen.
"I'm sorry. It's just that the idea of my cousin being worried about getting involved in a murder- the only thing that would worry him would be getting caught. But he was very good at avoiding that-of shifting blame. He framed my father ten years ago."
"Do you have proof of that?"
"I did- while my mother and I were staying with him after the trial, I found some women's clothing in his bedroom. And a photograph of him and the woman my father was convicted of killing. It wasn't my father who was having the affair with the woman, it was Glen." Jessica closed her eyes upon hearing his words, and Laura reached out to grasp her hand in silent sympathy.
"Why didn't you tell anyone about it?"
"I told my mother. And suddenly she was dead too. When I tried to tell someone else, Glen told everyone that I was crazy, that I needed to be put away. Of course, by then, he'd destroyed the evidence I'd found."
"So you spent the last ten years trying to find a way to get back at the people you believed responsible for your parents' deaths. Your cousin, the attorney who represented your father-."
Joe shook his head. "I figured Glen would get what was coming to him eventually. Dealing drugs the way he was doing, he had to get caught sometime. As for Miss Beecham, I don't hold her responsible for what happened to my father. I know she did the best she could."
"You do?"
"She was going to help more, but my father died- and then mother. I didn't know how to get in touch with her, or I would have contacted her with what I knew. No, it was Glen and his partner that's responsible for what happened. Not you sister."
Jessica refused to let Laura hold her back as she rose and approached the office. "His partner?" Remington asked.
"That's what I was looking for in here. Something that would point me in the right direction. Whoever he was working with was careful not to leave anything laying around."
"Unless it pertained to Antony Roselli," Jessica pointed out.
Remington and Joe turned to look at both she and Laura. "There you two are," Remington said. His confusion was evident as he looked to his wife for help. "Any ideas?"
"Not yet," she told him, watching as Jessica moved a step nearer Joe.
"Joe, I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened," Jessica began, but Joe simply waved away her words.
"Hey, it's over. And I found Maisie out of all of it. She was like the grandmother I never had. If it hadn't been for her-well, I don't know where I would have ended up."
Mention of Maisie reminded Remington of the bottle in his pocket. "Joe, do you know why Maisie would refill these two days ago and the bottle be empty today?"
Joe took the bottle. "Where'd you get this?" Seeing Remington's uncomfortable expression, Joe shook his head. "I had a feeling that you were in that apartment. Mr. Brandon was trying too hard to get me to not go inside." He turned his attention back to the brown plastic cylinder. "This does say it was recently refilled," he agreed. "And she didn't have to take them very often. The only time she had a problem with her heart was when she was upset or frightened."
Laura held out her hand. "May I?" She read the label. "Is it possible that someone frightened her to death? Then kept the pills from her so that she couldn't take one?"
"There were two cups on the counter," Remington recalled. "As if she had been making tea for herself and someone else before she became ill."
"She quite likely was," Laura said. "I think we need to have a talk with the doorman, see if anyone visited Maisie today."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "You think Maisie was murdered? Oh, God. Why?"
"Maybe to set you up," Laura suggested. "Make it look as if you're on a vendetta against Jessica because of your parents."
"Once Edward Holt's memory returns, he'll be able to identify his attacker- and the person who murdered Glen Darnell," Remington pointed out.
Joe looked from Jessica, to Laura, to Remington. "You still don't trust me, do you?"
"Of course we do," Laura said quietly.
"No. No, you don't. Well, I'll prove to you that I'm not trying to hurt Miss Beecham or anyone else. I even offered to help, earlier," he said.
"I remember, Joe," Jessica said gently.
"I guess I'll just have to prove it," he declared, and then pushed past Laura and Jessica to run from the office.
Remington and the women gave chase, but he was in his car before they got out of the building. With a squeal of rubber on pavement, he was gone. Remington started for Jessica's car again, but Laura grabbed his arm. "Where are you going now?"
"To follow him," he told her.
"I think we'd be better off talking to Eddie, don't you?"
"You believe his story?" Remington asked her.
"I do," Jessica answered. "He wasn't angry with me, Remington," she said, deftly taking her keys from his hand. "You and Laura go on, talk to Eddie. I'm going to see if I can't do a bit of digging into Glen Darnell's background. I know that Mildred didn't find anything. But there has to be something if Joe's right."
"Mildred was going back to the office," Laura told her. "To finish up the research. You might check with her."
"I will."
Once Jessica's car had gone, Laura turned to Remington. "Now would you kindly explain why you brought Daddy's memory into this?"
"Because," he said, going around to the driver's side of the car, "I'm hoping that the killer will go after Edward to keep him from remembering."
"You WHAT?!" she questioned in disbelief.
He looked at her over the black fabric roof. "Laura, Lt. Cohen left he guard on Edward, remember?"
"Daddy sent HIM away too," Laura said. "Said he didn't need a guard."
"Damn," Remington breathed, getting into the car and starting the engine. "Coming, Laura?" he asked, revving the engine.
Laura got into the car and barely had time to fasten her seatbelt before finding herself thrown back against her seat as Remington hit the gas. "What about Eddie?" she asked him.
"Call Robert, ask him to talk to Eddie, find out if he saw anyone visiting Maisie this afternoon."
Laura dialed the number, praying as she did so that they would be on time to save her father from a second attempt on his life.
To Be Continued. . .