 | ||||||||||
 |  | |||||||||
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | |||
| ||||||||||
| | |||||||||
| | | | | | | | |||
"Breakfast is ready," Steele
called out, setting the plate in his hand on the table. "Laura!
Breakfast!" When she didn't respond, he went to the bedroom
door. "Laura-" She was sitting on the edged of the bed,
clad in a beige teddy, staring forlornly at the open closet. "What's
wrong?" he asked, sitting beside her and placing an arm around
her shoulders.
"I can't find my black skirt. I wanted to wear it today.
I thought it was here -" she said with a frustrated sigh.
"It's probably at the loft," he said.
She nodded. "Probably. Sometimes I wonder why I don't just
move everything over here. It would make things so much easier."
"Why don't you?" Steele asked, hardly daring to breath
as he waited for her answer.
Laura shrugged. "I don't know." She didn't want to tell
him that the loft was her escape route in case things turned sour
between them. She had been forced to start over after Wilson left
- a new place to live, a new life - she didn't want to do that
again. It hurt too much.
Harry stroked her arm, sending shivers through her. He was here.
He'd left and come back several times - but he was here now. *For
how long?* that treacherous, don't trust anyone voice whispered.
*Two years? What then?* Laura looked down at her hands.
Steele managed to hide his disappointment. "We'll run by
the loft on the way to the office -" he began, only to stop
as Laura shook her head.
"No, that's all right. I can wear something else. But this
evening, I'm going over there and packing everything up."
She managed a small smile. "Think you can make enough room
in the closet?"
"I'll see what I can do," Steele said as he hugged her,
not saying anything more about her decision. "Breakfast is
ready. I'll see about heating it up while you finish getting dressed."
He dropped a light kiss on her head before rising to his feet.
Laura stood as well, moving to the closet. "Did you call
Mildred?"
"She's going to do a check on Sheila Robbins first thing
this morning."
"What about Monroe?"
"I'll call him when we get to the office. Don't be long."
He returned to the dining room feeling lighter of heart than he
had in weeks.
**********
Mildred searched Laura's face as the woman entered the offices.
"Your mother called. She and Frances will be at the cemetery
at ten -"
Laura glanced at her wristwatch. "We'll have to leave now,
then."
Steele nodded. "Anything on Sheila Robbins, Mildred?"
"Not much. She vanished right after Mitchell Hargrave's death,"
the woman said, picking up her purse.
Laura frowned. "Vanished?"
"It was like she dropped off the face of the earth."
"Any connection to - Daddy?" Laura asked.
"None that I could find. But *lots* of connections to her
boss. Nothing concrete, mind you, just a lot of innuendo in the
newspaper articles."
"How about a picture of her?"
Mildred turned back to her desk and retrieved something before
passing through to let Steele lock the door. Laura glanced at
the photo, then handed it over to him as they moved toward the
elevator. "It was her, Harry. Older, but -"
He nodded, then noticed Mildred's confused expression. "Harry?"
she asked, getting into the elevator with them.
"I'll explain on the way to the cemetery," he promised.
**********
Laura was amazed at how many people there were already gathered
at the cemetery when Fred pulled the limo to a stop at the curb.
"I hadn't realized so many people would remember Daddy,"
she murmured to her mother as the two women greeted each other.
Abigail saw Laura seated next to her, with Steele standing behind
his wife. "Thomas knew a lot people," she said. "It's
one reason I decided to move East after you finished school."
Frances leaned across their mother. "Are you all right, Laura?
I know how close you and Daddy were-"
Laura felt Steele's hands on her shoulders. "I'm fine,"
she assured her sister.
As the service began, Steele's eyes searched the twenty or so
people. He didn't recognize many faces- The mayor was there, his
face suitably somber. At his side was another familiar face. Short,
heavyset, dark hair - Craig Malcolm had put in an appearance at
Thomas Holt's funeral. He felt Laura's shoulders move gently beneath
his hands and lifted on to remove the handkerchief from his pocket,
handing it to her. She took it, smiling up at him through a watery
haze. He nodded almost imperceptibly toward where Malcolm was
standing, and felt Laura's reaction in the tightness of her shoulder
muscles.
*How dare he?* Laura thought to herself, and would have risen
from her chair to confront the man, but Steele's hands were firmly
on her shoulders, preventing that action. She settled back, eyes
focused on the oily little man as the minister came over to give
Thomas Holt's family his sympathies. As she accepted the condolences
of the other guests, Laura noticed that Malcolm and the mayor
were both turning away - leaving without speaking to Thomas Holt's
widow or daughters. "Excuse me," she said to her mother
and Frances, moving away.
Steele saw her turn, saw the direction in which she was heading.
"Laura-" he said, following, pushing through a crowd
of people who all seemed to want to speak to him.
"Mr. Malcolm," she called, catching up to the two men
as their driver opened the door of their car. "Mayor!"
They turned, the mayor giving her a nervous smile. "Mrs.
Steele. Mr. Malcolm and I decided not to bother you -"
"How thoughtful of you. I'm a little surprised to see you
here, Mr. Malcolm," she commented as Steele finally caught
up with her.
"Laura-" He caught the glittering, hard gaze that Malcolm
sent Laura's way, and fought the urge to move between the man
and Laura.
"Steele." He glanced nervously around, aware that the
gathering was drawing the attention of the one or two reporters
present.
"Mayor." The two men shook hands, both obviously uncomfortable
after their telephone conversation of the previous day. "I
didn't know you knew Thomas Holt."
"I didn't," the mayor said. "Mr. Malcolm did -
and he wanted to come and pay his respects -"
"His respects?" Laura repeated, a sour expression on
her face.
"Yes, Mrs. Steele. My respects. I never knew your father
on a personal level, but I thought a lot of him."
"Really? I'd like to talk with you further about my father,"
she told him. "Perhaps now -"
"Now really isn't a good time, Mrs. Steele," Malcolm
informed her. "Call my office and set up an appointment."
"We *have* an appointment," Laura told him. "Two
weeks from now. Surely you can make time in your *busy* schedule
to talk to the daughter of an old business acquaintance, Mr. Malcolm."
"I'll speak to my secretary," he said at last. "And
have her set something up. Now, if that is all, Mrs. Steele -"
"Of course. I won't keep you. As I said, I understand how
busy you must be."
Steele saw that look again as Malcolm disappeared into the car.
The mayor shook his head in Steele's direction, as if asking again
that Steele try to control Laura. Steele put an arm around her,
pulling her closer, telling the mayor without words that he had
no intention of controlling the lady. "I'll give you a call
later, Steele," the mayor promised as he joined Malcolm.
"I'll be expecting it," Steele assured him smoothly,
waiting with Laura as the car accelerated away. He would have
said something to Laura, but, aware of the reporters nearby, feverishly
writing every word, he held his tongue and followed her back to
where Abigail, Frances, and Donald were waiting.
"What was that all about, Laura?" Abigail asked. "Why
were you talking to Craig Malcolm?"
"You *know* Mr. Malcolm, Mother?" Laura asked.
"Of course I do. He was very helpful after your father left.
"If it hadn't been for him, I don't know how I would have
managed. Of course, he didn't do anything personally, but his
people were always there-"
"I don't remember any of that," Laura insisted.
"I do, Laura," Frances said. "You weren't aware
of anything for a long time after Daddy left."
"I suppose not," Laura agreed, turning to look at the
flower draped coffin as it was being prepared to be lowered into
the ground. Just as quickly, she looked away, coming to a decision.
"Mother, Frances, we have to talk. Can you all come to dinner
tonight?"
Frances looked up at confused Donald Piper. "I don't know
why not - "
"What time shall we be there?" he asked. "We can
pick you up, Mrs. Holt."
**********
Back in the limo, Mildred gave Steele a concerned look as Laura's
eyes remained fixed on the last site of her father's coffin. Steele
put an arm around her. "Dinner tonight for five?" he
questioned. "Between that and packing the loft-"
"Too much for you, Harry?" she asked absently.
"I'll manage, I suppose." He looked out of the car and
frowned. "Pull in here, Fred," he said. Fred turned
the car into the parking lot of the Flamingo Hotel. There were
several police cars in the parking lot, and Steele got out, knowing
that Laura and Mildred were right behind him. He moved to the
ambulance, watching as a stretcher was rolled from a room, its
occupant covered. "What happened?" he asked the middle
aged man who stood outside the office.
"Lady killed herself. Sleeping pills, apparently," he
said, shrugging.
"What was her name?" Laura asked.
"Robbins," he said. "Shame too. She was a real
looker." He shook his head. "Now I suppose I'll have
to put up with the cops for a few days-"
Steele stepped forward as the stretcher neared, hoping for a glance
at the woman's face as Laura asked the man, "Sheila Robbins?"
The grey eyes turned toward Laura, taking in Mildred as well.
"You knew her? Wait a minute. You're that detective that
was on TV yesterday. Accused the cops of ignoring her father's
murder. Steele." The gaze flickered to the ambulance. "Remington
Steele. The Robbins dame have something to do with your father's
death?" he asked.
"I'm not certain," Laura told him, watching as Steele
returned. "Well?"
He nodded. "It was her."
Sheila Robbins was dead.
To Be Continued . . .