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Steele put the finishing touches on
dinner, then moved toward the dining room. "I think everything
is ready-"
She wasn't there. Black and white china lay resplendently on the
black lacquer table, the silver neatly laid out on either side,
the crystal gleamed spotlessly even in the soft light. Laura had,
as usual, out done herself. But where was she? he wondered.
Turning toward the living room, he noticed that the door to the
balcony was open. She was there, a still, small figure in her
white dress, leaning against the concrete ledge, surveying the
city below. Very quietly, he crossed the small space and slid
his arms around her waist, drawing her back against him. "You're
certain that Abigail didn't need us to go down there?"
She shook her head. "Frances and Donald were with her when
they found it."
"She's lucky that she went to lunch with them instead of
going home. If she'd been there-"
"They weren't trying to hurt her," Laura said. "Just
scare her enough that she would tell me to back off."
"*Us*," he corrected gently. "Tell *us* to back
off. We're in this together, remember?"
Laura leaned back against him. He felt so warm, so strong. It
would be heaven to just let herself stay here. To let herself
lean on him. But that path led to her mother- to a woman alone,
frightened, uncertain of how to survive on her own. "It's
not really your fight," she reminded him.
His arms tightened around her. "It became my fight the day
we got married."
He felt her tension immediately. "But we're not," she
reminded him in a low voice. "Not really. In two years -"
Harry dropped a kiss onto her hair. "Would you like to know
where I plan to be in two years, Laura?"
"Cannes," she guessed. "Or London -"
"Uh -uh." He turned her to face him, wanting her to
see his eyes. "I plan to be here. Right here, with you, where
I belong. And you know why?"
Laura's throat felt so tight that she wasn't sure she could speak.
"Why?" she managed at last, drowning in the blue of
his eyes.
"Because I -" the doorbell rang, and Harry sighed in
frustration, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "We'll finish
this later," he promised, turning her with him toward the
door.
Afterwards, he wasn't sure what alerted him. A flash from across
the street, the sound of a car backfiring - it could have been
any number of things. Tiny shards of concrete sprayed from the
side of the building, directly across from where he and Laura
had been standing a second before. If he hadn't reacted to those
instincts, the bullet would have gone through them both. "What-"
she began, and would have lifted her gaze toward the rooftops,
but Harry pushed her into the apartment and quickly closed the
door and curtains before drawing a breath.
He went to her. "Are you all right?"
"Hell, no, I'm not all right," she said. "Someone
just took a shot at me."
"At us," he corrected again, less gently this time.
"That bullet would have taken both of us out." The doorbell
summoned them again.
"Not a *word* about this to mother," Laura told him.
"Not a word," he agreed, watching as she moved toward
the door and opened it.
"Mother. Frances. Come in. Hello, Donald," she said,
accepting her mother's and sister's kisses on the cheek, and a
hug from her brother in law.
"We were beginning to think you weren't home, dear,"
Abigail commented.
Harry stood behind Laura. "We were in the kitchen,"
he apologized, shaking Donald's hand. "Sorry you had to wait."
He took their coats into the bedroom as Laura led their guests
to the living room.
"How are you, Mother?" she asked earnestly.
"I'm fine, dear. Just a bit shaken. I mean, having your home
vandalized that way - you can't know how -" she stopped,
looking at her daughter. "Well, I suppose *you* might understand."
"Did they do any permanent damage, Abigail?" Harry asked,
pouring drinks and handing them out, playing the attentive host
while watching Laura's reaction to her mother's jibe.
"Nothing that can't be fixed or replaced," she said.
"The place is a mess," Frances told them. "Every
piece of furniture turned over, drawers emptied into the floor,
photographs flung into every corner - "
Harry met Donald's eyes, and a silent communication flew. Frances'
bent for over dramatization was running at full tilt, apparently.
"I'm going to check on dinner," he announced.
"Need some help?" Donald asked, drawing a surprised
look from his wife.
"You, Donald? Help in the kitchen?"
Harry grinned. "I'd welcome the company, Donald," he
said.
Frances' attention turned back to Laura. "What's going on,
Laura?" she asked. "Do you really believe that Daddy's
death wasn't an accident?"
"I'm certain of it, Frances," Laura announced.
**********
In the kitchen, Donald sat on a stool. "Thanks. I didn't
like the idea of being left alone with the three of them."
Seeing the look he was getting, he said, "Don't get me wrong.
I like Abigail, but she can be a bit-"
"Wearing?" Harry suggested.
"Good choice. How serious is all of this, Remington?"
he asked. "I saw Laura's interview - Is she right?"
"It's very serious, Donald," Harry told him. "And
it might be a good idea if you take Frances and the children -
and Abigail away for a short holiday until it's resolved."
"Frances has already decided that her mother's going to be
staying with us until she gets the apartment redone - and installs
a good security system."
"Better you than me, mate," Harry said with a grin,
trying to lighten the mood. "I knew there was an advantage
to not having a guest room." He picked up a dish. "Bring
that one in for me, will you?"
"Any suggestion where we should go?" Donald asked quietly,
following Steele back to the kitchen.
"I don't care. Just away from Los Angeles for a while. The
less Laura and I know about where the better."
Donald paused as Steele handed him another dish. "It's that
serious?"
"It's *that* serious," Steele said.
**********
Over dinner, Laura allowed Harry to guide the conversation away
from such mundane matters as hired killers and people who vandalize
apartments- and her father. Instead, she found herself listening
as he regaled her family with a much embellished story about their
honeymoon in Ireland. She knew they had heard it before, but Harry
was such a wonderful storyteller that no one seemed to mind.
She followed him into the kitchen after dessert, while the others
went back to the living room to await the coffee that he suggested.
"Thank you."
He glanced around as he set cups on the tray. "For what?"
She shrugged, placing the sugar bowl and creamer on the tray.
"What are you going to tell them?" he asked.
"As little as I can get away with."
He picked up the tray. "Shall we?"
**********
After serving the coffee, Steele sat on the arm of Laura's chair
and asked, "What did the police have to say about the break
in at your apartment, Abigail?"
"Oh, they were no help at all," Abigail said in a derisive
tone of voice. "They tried to say that it was probably the
work of some teenagers with nothing better to do -"
"Have there been any other reports of vandalism in the area?"
Laura asked.
"None that I'm aware of. And the apartments are all adult.
So I have to wonder how teenagers could get inside. *Then* one
of them saw a photo of the two of you and had the nerve to suggest
that it might have been someone with a grudge against you or Remington."
"That might be closer to the truth, Mother," Laura admitted
slowly. "It might have been done to convince you to talk
to me about dropping my investigation into Daddy's death."
"As if I could ever stop you from doing anything," Abigail
commented, half seriously.
Laura looked down into her coffee cup. "How did Daddy seem
to you before he left?"
Abigail considered the question. "Nervous, I suppose. Jumping
at every shadow. He was quite disturbed by Mitchell Hargrave's
murder, and the police continually accusing him of having witnessed
the crime didn't help, I'm sure."
"What do you remember about that night, Mother?" Laura
asked after glancing up at Harry.
"Let's see. We went to a dance at the country club. You father
was a wonderful dancer," she recalled, her face glowing.
"He left to go to see Mitchell Hargrave about increasing
his insurance. When he got back, he was upset, but refused to
discuss it, insisted that nothing was wrong. It was several days
before he finally told me what had upset him."
"What was that?"
"He said that he and Hargrave had finished their business,
and he was on his way out of the house when he heard a gunshot.
When he went back into the study, Mitchell Hargrave was dead-
and that he only glimpsed the killer."
Laura took a deep breath. "He lied, Mother." Seeing
both Abigail and Frances' confused faces, Laura shrugged. "So
did I. I told you both that Daddy and I didn't really talk the
other day. We did. He explained most of why he left -"
"Why didn't you tell us, Laura?" Frances wanted to know,
clearly put out. "After all, he was *my* father too. Even
if you were his favorite-" She stopped as Donald put a hand
on her arm.
"I was trying to protect you. Just like Daddy did when he
left."
Abigail's eyes widened. "Laura, are you saying that Thomas
left to *protect* us?"
"Yes. Daddy *did* see Mitchell Hargrave's killer that night."
Her mother shook her head. "He would have gone to the police-"
"He was going to. But he got a telephone call from the murderer,
threatening our lives if he identified him. So Daddy changed is
story to the one he told you."
Abigail sat down heavily on the sofa. "I never realized.
But suddenly I understand. I understand why he was acting so strangely.
Insisting on picking you and Frances up from school, not wanting
us to go out alone, answering the telephone before any of us could."
She sighed. "He didn't sleep very much those last six months
before he left. I thought he was just worried over work, or just
bored with me. I was so caught up in my bridge club and garden
club that I didn't see -"
Laura moved over to sit beside her. "You had no way of knowing,
Mother. Daddy's didn't let anyone know what was going on. Not
even me."
Abigail took Laura's hand, smiling slightly in acknowledgement
of that. "And I suppose if he had told anyone it would have
been you, wouldn't it? What made him finally decide to leave?"
"Things quieted down a bit until Henry Logan's murder. And
then the police began to question him again. They somehow connected
Logan's murder with Hargrave's -"
"The same gun was used in both murders," Donald supplied.
When everyone looked at him, he shrugged. "Don't ask me why
I remember that. I just do."
"And from there, they connected both men to Craig Malcolm,"
Laura finished.
"I remember when Mr. Malcolm was arrested," Abigail
remembered. I didn't pay much attention. Politics wasn't something
I was interested in at that time." She frowned. "How
was Thomas involved in that?"
"Daddy overheard a meeting between the three men at which
Malcolm and Logan tried to blackmail Hargrave. When Hargrave refused
to back down, Malcolm threatened him. The police wanted Daddy
to testify about that meeting."
"But someone threatened us again," Frances guessed.
Laura nodded. "Daddy knew that the police wouldn't give up.
They were talking about forcing him to testify, so he left. He
decided that if they couldn't find him, they couldn't make him
talk, and the three of us would be safe."
Abigail sighed deeply. "And to think I believed Craig Malcolm's
concern. I took his money -"
Laura placed an arm around her mother's shoulders. "Why did
Daddy come back, Laura?" Frances wanted to know. "Surely
he had to know that Malcolm was still here in Los Angeles."
"That's what he was going to tell us at dinner the night
he was killed," Steele told them.
Abigail looked at Laura. "He came back because he knew you
could help him, Laura. Because you and Remington could find a
way to bring Malcolm to justice."
"That's much easier said than done, Abigail," Steele
pointed out. "He was powerful then. And he's had fourteen
years to increase and build on that power base."
"Surely there's *something* you can do, Remington,"
Frances insisted. "Mr. Malcolm's responsible for three deaths-"
"Five," Laura corrected automatically. "Mitchell
Hargrave's secretary was killed last night - along with a friend
of Remington's who was keeping an eye on her for us."
"Hargrave's secretary?" Abigail repeated. "She
was a suspect in Hargrave's death. She was pregnant, rumor was
at the time that the baby was Hargrave's but he refused to marry
her, so she killed him. Then she disappeared around the time that
Logan was killed. No one seemed to know where she had gone."
"It was Henry Logan's baby," Laura explained. "We
think she came back to town at Malcolm's request to try and convince
me to drop the case by claiming that she and Daddy had left together."
"Thomas and that *woman*?" Abigail said, her disbelief
obvious. "Never." She looked from Laura to Remington.
"What can we do to help, Laura?"
"I want you and Frances and Donald to take the kids and go
somewhere for at least a week -"
"But-"
"We can't just -" Frances began, only to fall silent
as her husband spoke in a more forceful voice than Laura ever
recalled him using.
"It's a good idea, Frannie," he said, then glanced at
Abigail as if expecting her to argue further. "Laura and
Remington can't do what they have to do if they're worried about
us."
Frances shook her head. "I can't just- what about school?
The children-"
"I'll call the school for you tomorrow morning," Laura
offered.
"Tomorrow? I can't possibly be ready by then. There are plans
to make -"
"There's no *time*, Frances," Laura insisted.
Abigail studied her younger daughter's face. "You're planning
something, aren't you? Something you know I'll disapprove of.
Something dangerous." She looked up at Remington. "I
know that look. When she was ten, Mrs. Dayson's cat was up in
the top of that oak tree. That cat was the only thing in the entire
world that the woman cared about. While we were all comforting
her, trying to decide what to do to get the animal down, Laura
marched over to the tree, climbed it, and got the cat halfway
back down before she fell and broke her arm."
Harry smiled at Laura's embarrassment. "You fell saving a
cat?"
"The poor thing was terrified," Laura explained. "And
when Mother realized I was up in that tree, she practically screamed.
The cat scratched me, trying to get away. I lost my footing -
"
"You shouldn't have climbed the tree in the first place.
You *could* have broken your neck."
"But I didn't," Laura pointed out. "And the arm
healed. Besides, I was the only one willing to *do* anything to
help Mrs. Dayson get Fluffy back."
He managed to hide his grin behind his coffee cup, but the amusement
faded as Abigail said, "This could be a lot worse than a
broken arm, Laura."
"I know, Mother. And I'll be careful."
Abigail's eyes moved to her son in law. "You'll make sure
of that, won't you?"
"Very sure, Abigail," he said softly. "Believe
me, I don't want anything to happen to Laura."
**********
As the door closed behind their guests, Harry pulled Laura into
his arms. "Abigail's worried about you," he told her,
the drew back. "Did you really climb a tree to save a cat?"
"I wish Mother hadn't told you about that. It didn't do me
much good with Mrs. Dayson. She still almost flunked me in Geography."
"She was your teacher?"
Laura nodded, moving away to begin picking up the coffee cups
and putting them back onto the tray. "Fifth grade."
Harry followed her into the kitchen, then placed the remaining
items into the dishwasher as Laura picked up the half full bottle
of wine and two glasses. "Excellent idea, Mrs. Steele,"
he told her, following her back out to the living room, watching
as she sank onto the floor before the fire, then poured a glass
of wine for each of them.
"Are you going to join me, Mr. Steele?" she asked, fully
expecting him to sit down across from her. But he dropped to the
hearth beside her.
Lifting his glass, he said, "What shall we drink to?"
he asked.
"You decide," she suggested.
"How about- the future?"
Laura touched her glass to his. "The future." Which,
she thought to herself, was beginning to look a little brighter
- *if* they could survive the next few days.
To Be Continued . . .