Mildred looked up from her computer when the doors opened and gave the blonde man in jeans and wrinkled shirt a wary look. "We're not open for business," she told him. "If you're a reporter-"
"I'm not," he told her with a half grin that didn't quite reach his blue eyes. "You must be Mildred. Laura's told me a lot about you."
"She has?" Mildred asked, wondering who this kid with the boy next door looks was. He did look a little familiar, come to think of it. "Uh- who are you?"
"Murphy Michaels. I- used to work here."
"Denver," Mildred identified. "You helped Miss Holt start the agency."
"Yeah. Is she here?" he asked. "I -heard about what happened."
Mildred nodded toward the closed door into Mr. Steele's office. "She went in there a couple of minutes ago to find the agency gun."
Murphy's grin was a little wider. "Still have trouble finding it, huh?"
"Sometimes. Go on in. I think she could use another friendly face right now."
"Thanks." He looked at her. "How are you doing? I mean, Laura told me that you were pretty close to Steele."
"They're both like my own kids," Mildred told him. "How do you think I'm feeling?"
"Pretty lousy," Murphy guessed accurately.
"Try awful. Miss Holt's been a brick, though. And that worries me. Those two were really close, and I don't think it's hit her yet. I'm afraid that when it does, she's going to fall apart."
"I'll go check on her," Murphy said, and went to the door. He tapped once, then opened it and looked inside in time to see Laura going toward the bathroom.
"I'll be right out, Mildred," she was saying, and Murphy heard the distinct sound of a sniffle. The gun was laying on the desk. "I've got so much to go- planning the wake, the funeral. Have you found anything yet on that search?"
"She found me, partner," he said, lounging on the edge of the desk as she came out. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.
"Murphy? Oh, Murphy," she sighed, as he held out his arms to her. "How did you-?"
"I heard about it early this morning, made the necessary arrangements and hopped the first plane to LA," he explained. "You didn't really think I'd let you go through this alone, did you?"
She rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for a moment to have that shoulder to lean on. Then she recalled the reason he'd left three years ago and pulled away to look at him. "No. Thank you for coming. I just can't believe it. I guess it hasn't really sunk in yet that he's not-" she glanced toward the wall across from the desk and closed her eyes. "Damn. At least the last time, I knew he was out there, somewhere, if I wanted to go find him. And I did find him. But this time- Oh, Murphy. What am I going to do?" she asked.
He pulled her into his arms again. "You'll go on. The way you've always done. You'll get through this."
"At the moment, all I can think about is finding out who's responsible- yet I've got all these other things claiming my attention."
Murphy frowned. "Responsible? The news report said it was an accident. That he lost control of his car-"
Laura shook her head. "He wouldn't have done that unless something or someone caused it to happen. He was a good driver, Murphy."
"Laura, even good drivers make mistakes," Murphy pointed out.
"Not Remington," she insisted. Murphy wondered how long she'd been using the name, since it flowed so easily. "I just have this- feeling that there's more to it than that, Murphy."
"I learned a long time ago to trust your instincts, Laura. Hell, your instincts about him turned to out to be right on target." He rubbed her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "Is there anything I can do?"
"I have to go to his apartment and take care of a few things- could you-?"
"I'm here for as long as you need me to be, Laura."
"What about your agency in Denver?"
"I have people who can take care of things there. Right now, you need me here."
"I do," she admitted, reaching for the gun that still sat on the desk.
"What's that for?" he asked.
"Mildred reminded me that if whoever killed Remington is someone we put away, they could be after me next." She loaded the gun and went back into her office to get her purse and placed the gun inside. "There. Ready?"
"After you," he said.
"Mildred-" the telephone rang, and Laura waited as Mildred answered.
"Rem- Hello? . . . No. We're not ready to give a statement yet. We'll let you ghouls know when we are." She hung up. "Miss Holt- how should I answer the phone? If he's gone, then-"
"The Agency's name stays the same, Mildred," Laura told her. "It's still Remington Steele Investigations."
"You're sure?"
"Positive," Laura declared. "Have you found anything yet?"
"Zilch. Everyone the Agency put behind bars before I came on board are still there. And none of their family seem to have a reason to do anything like this."
"Okay. Murphy and I are going to Remington's apartment, Mildred. We'll be there if you do find anything. And from there we'll be at Cowan Mortuary, making arrangements."
"Gotcha."
Laura stopped before she reached the door. "There is one other thing I need you to do, Mildred."
Mildred picked up a pencil. "Shoot."
"Run a check on Remington's credit card expenditures for the last few weeks. Let me know if he made any- strange or unusual purchases."
"Are you looking for anything specific?" Mildred asked.
Laura shook her head. "No. Never mind. It's not important. Let's go, Murph."
Murphy hesitated long enough to give Mildred a questioning look, to which she responded with a confused shrug and negative shake of her head. But Laura's question sent Mildred's curiosity into overdrive, so she went to the file cabinet where she normally kept all of the receipts for everyone involved with the Agency, and found the folder with Mr. Steele's statements for the last few months, taking them back to the desk with her. She worked at looking at them and continuing her other search at the same time, wondering what Laura might be trying to find.
***
"What was all that about Steele's credit card receipts?" Murphy asked Laura as he helped her clear away the remains of the previous night's uneaten meal.
"Just- curious about something," she told him. "I suppose I'll have to sell this place," she said in a voice filled with regret. "He loved it so much," she sighed, her gaze moving to the framed movie posters on the wall.
"You need to get some things out of the bedroom?"
"I didn't ask. It's going to be a closed casket-" she said, then sat down. "Why, Murphy?" she asked. "Why did it have to happen now? Just when things-"
"I never asked, cause I figured it wasn't any of my business, Laura, but were you and he-?"
She knew what he was asking, and shook her head. "We should have been. I kept holding back, waiting. Thing is, I don't even know what I was waiting for. Maybe for him to say something, maybe for me to say something. I don't know. Right now, I have to stay focused on what needs to be done." She saw a small photo of Remington and Daniel on the mantel. "I need to call Daniel."
"Daniel?"
"Chalmers. Remington's old friend- Address book. Remington had to keep an address book somewhere. Help me find it."
Murphy nodded and silently went into the bedroom, not wanting Laura to have to enter that room if he could help it. He could tell she was on an emotional tightrope, and it wasn't going to take much to knock her off balance. There was nothing in the dresser- except for Steele's passport- only one, the one that Laura had told him about giving him in London. He opened the door of the nightstand and found the address book- along with a sketch pad and charcoal. Putting the address book on the bed, he drew out the pad and flipped through it. The man had certainly been talented. Murphy could barely draw a circle, much less a drawing of Laura that made her look so- so damn loveable. It was a rendering of what he thought she might have looked like doing that infamous fan dance- with very small fans.
"Did you find it, Murphy?" Laura called out.
Hearing her voice coming closer, Murphy tore the page from the pad and folded it, putting it into his jacket pocket as he grabbed the leather bound address book and met her in the doorway. "Yeah. It was- in the night stand." He told her, steering her back out into the living room to look at it.
"Thanks." She opened it up and found several numbers listed under Daniel's name. "This could take some time," she said, continuing to read. "Wait a minute. Here's one with a note-" Murphy looked over her shoulder. "Leave message. He'll call ASAP."
She grabbed the telephone and dialed the number. "Hello? . . . I'm trying to reach Daniel Chalmers . . . I know, but I'm calling for - Harry . . . That's right. Laura Holt . . . Tell him it's vitally important that he call me as soon as he gets the message . . . Yes. Thank you."
"What did they say?"
"They'll try to reach him and give him the message. No telling where he is."
"Or what he's doing. I take it he didn't retire after all?"
"No. Actually, he told Remington that he was thinking about going straight." She made a mental note to have Mildred call the Earl and inform him about Remington's death.
"Laura, for that guy, going straight means taking every angle in the book."
"Remington changed. I think, with the right incentive, Daniel could, too."
"I have to admit that you're right about Steele. Every time I read an interview with the guy- he actually *sounded* like a detective. Almost like the Remington Steele you created."
"In a way, he *did* become Remington Steele, Murph," Laura said. "You know, there were times when he caught onto a clue before I did- but I never let him know it. I guess I was too afraid he'd realize that he didn't need me for him to be Remington Steele."
"I don't think that guy would have left your side without dynamite after you found him in London last year," Murphy told her. "You wanna know what I thought when I saw a picture in the paper of the two of you taken at some charity event a few months ago?"
"What?" she asked.
"That you both looked happy. Content. Like you belonged together. Darn it."
Laura gave him a light hug. "We could have been so much happier if I hadn't-"
"Don't blame yourself, Laura. Chalk it up to missed opportunities and think about- I don't believe I'm saying this- what Remington Steele would do in this situation."
Laura smiled. "He'd go on. Think about the possibilities." Another hug. "I'll call Che Rive and have them pick the dishes up later. We have to get to the Mortuary."
***
Mr. Davenport greeted Laura and Murphy, his pudgy face a somber mask, befitting his profession. "Miss Holt. Mr. Michaels. Such a sad day. How are you?"
"Managing," Laura assured the little man. "I need to make arrangements-"
"Of course. We retrieved Mr. Steele from the Coroner's office a short while ago. I would ask if you'd like to view the body- but-"
"I don't think that's a good idea," Murphy said, looking at Laura. "Remember him the way he was, Laura. Like those pictures at the office."
Laura nodded. "You're right, Murphy. When could we have the funeral?"
"Would Monday morning be too soon?" he asked. "I could have the body ready by tomorrow, if you'd rather, but in case there are any of Mr. Steele's family from out of town- he wasn't American, was he?"
"No. But- he didn't really have any family. I've called his closest friend, but don't know when he'll be here. Monday will be fine," she decided at last.
"Excellent. And tomorrow evening for the gathering of the mourners?" Mr. Davenport suggested, leading them into a room where the coffin would be set up for friends to pay their final respects before the funeral.
Laura noticed a small alcove nearby, and an idea struck. "Could we have a small string quartet? Irish, of course? Mr. Steele was part Irish-"
"An Irish wake?" the man said. "I think we can manage something similar that should be satisfactory. I'll make some inquiries, if you'd like."
"Thank you."
"Now, as to Mr. Steele's final resting place-"
"The Agency paid for cemetery plots-"
"His coffin, Miss Holt. This way."
***
Laura sat back in Murphy's rented car, resting her head against the fabric as they left the Mortuary. "I'd never realized how much there was to planning a funeral," she sighed.
"Yeah. When my grandmother died last year, the folks wound up spending all day getting things ready."
"I didn't know your grandmother died."
"Heart attack," he told her. "She died in her sleep. Peacefully."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I guess I haven't stayed in touch as much as I should have," she apologized.
"Hey, when you're part of the best known detective agency on the West Coast, you tend to forget the little things," he said. "I understood."
"But you shouldn't. And I shouldn't have let it happen."
He placed a hand on her arm. "It's okay, Laura. It's okay. You wanna go back to the office?"
She nodded. "I have to meet with the Agency's attorney sometime today. I'm not handling this well, am I?"
"You're doing wonderfully. Better than I'd do if I lost-" he paused to change his phrasing from "You" to "someone I loved as much as you loved him."
"For all the good it did either of us," Laura mused, sitting back again. "I know, I said I wasn't going to do this, didn't I?"
"Let's go see if Mildred's found anything."
***
Mildred slipped the credit card bills into a drawer when they entered. "Get everything arranged?" she asked.
"The funeral is at ten Monday morning," Laura told her. "Mr. Davenport's going to try and put together something similar to an Irish wake for tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh, he would have liked that," Mildred said.
"Has Daniel Chalmers called, Mildred?"
"No. Is he supposed to?"
"I left a message for him at a number in Remington's address book," Laura explained, handing to her. "You might want to call the Earl of Claridge, too, and let him know."
"I will," Mildred said.
"What have you found?"
"Still nada," Mildred told her. "Miss Holt, is it possible that Jarvis is right- that this was an accident and that's all? I'm almost at the end of the list, and the only one who's out of pocket is Major Descoine's daughter."
"Aren't you the one who said she could have done it, Mildred?"
"Not without her father's help," Mildred said. "According to the prison, she hasn't been to see him since he's been there."
"Maybe she was there in disguise," Laura suggested, grabbing at straws.
"Descoine hasn't had any visitors. It's a dead-end, Miss Holt."
Laura leaned over Mildred's shoulder to look at the screen, and as she started to stand up, her eyes caught something written on a slip of paper. "What's this?"
"Oh, it's- nothing," Mildred said quickly, trying to grab the paper out of her hands.
"It's a date," Laura told Murphy. "A month ago. Kringold's Jewelers?" Murphy saw her eyes take on the same haunted look they'd had when he had first entered the office and seen her. "Mildred?"
Mildred slowly drew out the bills. "I did that research on the Boss's credit cards like you asked," she admitted. "That was the only really large purchase he made."
Murphy watched as Laura's eyes scanned the bill. "What was it, Mildred?"
"An -engagement ring. With -"
"Royal Lavulite surrounded by diamonds," Laura finished, then sat down on the sofa. "He bought it a month ago."
"How did you know about it, Laura?" Murphy asked. Laura slowly pulled the ring box from her pocket and held it out. Murphy took it from her and opened it to whistle softly at the ring, showing it to Mildred before giving it back to Laura.
"It was in his desk. I found it when I was looking for the gun," she told them. "Excuse me. I need to-be alone for a few minutes." She rose and turned toward her office. "Mildred, would you call Larry Jacobs and ask him to come by in an hour or so?"
"Sure, Miss Holt," Mildred said, sighing and shaking her head as the door closed. "Poor kid. I don't know how she's gonna get through this."
"She will, Mildred. Listen, how sure are you that Steele's death wasn't an accident?"
"Miss Holt insists it was-"
"I'm talking about you, Mildred. *Your* gut feeling."
"Right now, I don't know what I'm feeling," she admitted. "I'm kinda working on autopilot here. Walking around on eggshells because I don't know what's going to happen to Miss Holt. You don't think she'd do something- crazy, do you?"
"Damn. She's got that gun with her. I'd better get in there. The last thing she needs is to be alone with her thoughts." He tapped once on her office door before entering. She was standing at the window, the open ring box in her hand. Her purse was laying on the desk, in full view of them both. Not caring what she thought, Murphy picked it up and opened it, pulling out the gun.
"What are you doing?" Laura asked.
He put it into the back of his trousers. "I'll keep it with me."
She smiled tightly. "I'm not suicidal, Murphy," She assured him. "If was I think I could find a quicker way than that to kill myself. I have to find out who killed Remington before I can think about anything else."
"If it's all the same, I'll keep the gun. I don't plan on being more than a few feet away from you for the next few days, anyway."
She sighed as she closed the ring box. "You're a good friend, Murphy."
"Tell you what, after you meet with that lawyer, why don't we go get something to eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
"You're going, and no arguments."
"Being forceful again?" she asked.
"Would it do any good?" Before Laura could answer, he lifted a hand. "Forget I said that. I wasn't thinking. Want some coffee?" he asked.
"The cup and saucer," she told him, turning on her computer. Maybe she could find something Mildred had missed. It was there. It *had* to be.
***
Larry Jacobs was a tall, thin, middle aged man with an unruly shock of red hair. He looked more like a farmer than a lawyer, but after the agency's last lawyer had been arrested for diamond theft, Laura had shopped very carefully for a replacement. Jacobs had come highly recommended. She liked his quiet demeanor and seeming expertise.
"I have a copy of the will that Mr. Steele signed, Miss Holt," he told her. "Basically, it's just a standard form, leaving all of his assets to you as his partner in the agency. That includes the agency itself and any monies he might have in various accounts."
"Various accounts?" Laura questioned, looking at Mildred, who was looking decidedly worried. "I only knew about the main account. Did he have another, Mildred?"
"A couple, Miss Holt," Mildred admitted, wincing. "He- asked me not to tell you about them."
"Why? What were they for?" Laura wanted to know.
"And I thought he'd changed," Murphy sighed as Jacobs looked uncomfortable.
"He had changed," Mildred insisted. "I'll go get a print out," she said, and left Laura's crowded office.
"Anyway, Miss Holt, once all taxes are paid and his debts paid off, you should still have the Agency and a rather large inheritance as well."
"How large?" Laura asked.
"That will depend on the amount of money in the aforementioned accounts," Jacobs said, swallowing under her dark glare. "At the time the will was written- a year ago, it was nearly into six figures-"
Laura's eyes widened in shocked surprise. "Six- figures?"
Murphy whistled as Mildred returned, carrying a computer printout that she placed before Laura. "What's this, Mildred?" she asked.
"The first one is his main account. The one that the Agency pays his expenses with. You can see that it hasn't been touched in ages-"
"And the next one?" Laura asked, picking up the page.
"Those are investment accounts. He developed a real knack for smelling out a good investment over the years. I'll admit, he was using Agency funds to make the initial investments - but as he made money, he paid every penny back-"
"What about all those things he charged on the Agency credit card?" Laura asked. "The-the dinners Che Rive? His tailor bill?"
"It went straight out of the main account once it was paid and back into the Agency's account," Mildred informed her, showing her an example on the printouts.
Laura looked at the bottom line on the other accounts and shook her head. "This is- incredible."
Jacobs rose to his feet. "I'll bring the necessary papers around on Tuesday morning, Miss Holt, if that's acceptable."
"Yes. Thank you, Larry. I'm sorry if I-"
"It's understandable. And I just want to say again, how sorry I was to hear about Mr. Steele's death. He'll be missed, I'm sure."
"Yes," Laura said, studying the print outs again. "He will be." She saw his friend Monroe's name on the list of people paying into one of the accounts, and she guessed that several of the names were old friends that he had helped onto the straight and narrow over the years.
"I'll walk you out," Murphy offered, opening the door for the attorney.
"Did I ever really know him, Mildred? Why didn't he *tell* me about this?" she wanted to know. "Why keep it a secret?"
"Because he was afraid you'd think he didn't need to be Remington Steele anymore and find an excuse to run him off. He liked being Remington Steele- being with you."
"Oh, Mildred. What are we going to do without him," Laura asked, sitting back in her chair.
"Muddle through, I guess. This will make it a little easier, won't it?" Mildred asked, pointing to the printouts.
"At least you won't have to worry about not having clients if they stop coming in now that Steele's gone," Murphy pointed out when he returned.
"They won't," Mildred insisted.
Murphy pulled Laura to her feet. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Out to get something to eat. You too, Mildred," he said. "I'd be willing to bet that neither one of you has eaten all day."
"I told you, Murphy, I'm not hungry."
He ignored her as he pushed them ahead of him and out of the office, stopping only long enough for Mildred to lock the doors behind them.
***
On the other side of the world, Daniel Chalmers was leaving his hotel after another successful con- only to pause beside a news stand upon seeing his protégé's face on the front of a Los Angeles paper. Pulling some coins from his pocket, he paid the shop keeper and picked up the paper, feeling himself going pale as he read the headline and attendant story. "Oh my God, Harry," he murmured, looking around for a telephone. He found one down the way and put some coins in, then realized he didn't possibly have enough change to make a long distance call. He hailed a taxi and went to the airport, to the ticket desk. "I need your next flight for Los Angeles, please. It's an emergency." He gave the young woman a passport and waited, looking at the newspaper again. "Oh, Harry," he sighed regretfully. An accident, the paper said. A needless, stupid accident. Taking his ticket, he asked her for some change with which to make a telephone call and was pointed in the direction of a coffee shop.
The shop refused to take the large bills he had with him, so Daniel bought a cup of tepid coffee and left it sitting on a table to find the nearest telephone. There was no answer at Harry's apartment- but then, he hadn't expected one. So he tried the Agency's number, taking what seemed to be forever to recall it through his grief clouded mind. No answer again. He hung up the telephone as his flight was called. He'd just have to wait until he got there to find out what the bloody hell was going on.
