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Laura paused by Mildred's desk as
she went to get another set of files. "Anything, Mildred?"
"Sorry, Mrs. Steele. Whatever happened to your Phillipe,
his tracks were covered pretty good. But I *do* have some good
news about that *other* project we discussed the other day -"
Laura glanced at the open door of Harry's office, then moved closer.
"I could use some good news," she said. "What did
you find out?"
"I contacted that detective you told me to call - he said
he's got a good lead on things, and should have something concrete
in a couple of days."
"As long as it's done before Saturday."
"Laura?" Harry called. "Need some help?"
"No, I'm coming," she told him.
"I think he's going to like this wedding present," Mildred
said with a smile.
"Right now, I just hope there's a wedding," Laura returned,
carrying her load of files back into the office.
As she entered the room, Harry looked up at her from where he
sat, open folder in hand. "Laura, have you heard from your
friend Antony lately?"
"Tony?" Laura asked, frowning. "No. I haven't heard
from him since Ireland. Why?"
"Just thinking," he said, placing the folder on the
table and rising to stretch his legs. "He could be behind
this."
"Tony?! No. Why would he-" she stopped as Harry's blue
eyes fixed her.
"Laura, the man has motive and means to change or falsify
records. And he wants you. That would be reason enough. I think
I'm going to suggest to Mildred that she do a bit more digging
into Antony Roselli's background and possible current whereabouts."
Laura sat down as he went into Mildred's office to speak to her.
He was right, but she really didn't think Tony would do something
this elaborate. If so, why wait all this time? Why not just come
back himself? He knew the truth about their marriage. One telephone
call to the INS would end things. It was all very strange - and
unnerving. She picked up another file and sat back as Harry returned.
**********
Laura put the last of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher as
the telephone rang. Thinking that Harry would answer on the bedroom
extension, she frowned as it continued to ring. He'd mentioned
something about a shower, she recalled at last, wiping her hands
on a towel before answering. "Hello?"
"Laura. I was hoping you would answer," Phillipe du
Pres said.
The frown deepened. "What do you want?"
"I think you and I need to talk. Alone."
"I don't think you and I have anything to talk *about*,"
she said firmly.
"What about your wedding?" he asked. "I can clear
all of this up- if you will agree to meet me."
"Answer one question: Are you the same Phillipe du Pres that
I went to college with?"
"And if I answer your question, will you come to my hotel?"
he asked.
"That depends on your answer," Laura hedged.
"No, I am not the same Phillipe that you went to college
with," he admitted with a sigh.
"Then why-"
"Uh -uh, Laura. If you want to ask more questions, come to
the Hotel Belvedere- do you know it?"
"Yes."
"Room 210. And if you bring Mr. Steele, I won't be here."
He hung up, leaving Laura holding the telephone as Harry entered
the kitchen, wearing his robe and rubbing his wet hair with a
towel. "Who was on the phone?" he asked.
Laura didn't look at him as she hung up and turned back to the
sink to wring out the dishrag. "Mother," she told him.
"She needs me to meet her to discuss something about the
wedding -"
"It's awfully late for her to be calling," he commented,
coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. "Why
don't I go with you?"
"No," Laura said quickly. "I think it has something
to do with a surprise for you. I shouldn't be long - "
"Take the limo, then -"
"I hate to bother Fred," she told him. "I'll take
the Rabbit - and I'll be back before you know it," she promised,
turning to give him a long kiss. "Why don't you look over
those files we brought home? Maybe there's something in there
that will give us a clue to why this man is trying to cause trouble."
He nodded, watching her with hooded eyes as she found her purse
and left. Going to the telephone, he picked it up, then put it
back down. He trusted Laura. So why didn't he believe that she
was going to meet with her mother? She hadn't looked him in the
eyes once since he'd come into the kitchen, for one thing. And
her refusal to let him go along for another. His instincts were
setting off all his internal alarms.
**********
The Hotel Belvedere was in what had once been a nice part of town,
but was now a haven for hookers, pimps and strung out losers.
Laura parked the Rabbit beneath a street lamp, in full view of
a police car that was sitting across the street, then moved toward
the entrance of the seedy hotel. She managed to avoid a couple
of men looking for a good time, then entered the grimy glass doors.
The desk clerk was watching something on TV, and Laura decided
not to bother him and went straight for the narrow stairway that
led to the second floor. Room 210 was at the end of the hall,
and she knocked firmly. There was no response. "Hello?"
she called. She knocked again, louder this time, beginning to
wonder if he, too, was in the shower - but there was still no
sound from inside the room. Perhaps he had stepped out - and this
was her chance to go through his room, perhaps find evidence to
prove he was a con man - or worse.
Glancing down the hallway, she dug out the slim leather case from
her purse and opened it. The lock was easy to pick, and she quickly
entered the room and closed the door behind her, trying not to
touch anything. Not knowing how long she might have before the
room's occupant returned, Laura immediately saw the worn leather
suitcase already lying open on the bed so she started going through
it. The first thing of interest was a French passport with the
name "Robert du Mont". Buried beneath the clothes was
a file filled with photographs and information on both her and
Remington Steele. And there was something else as well- only this
wasn't in the suitcase- but on the stand beside the bed: a gun.
A .38 caliber with a silencer affixed to the barrel.
She heard a noise in the bathroom, and froze. Her gaze fell on
the .38 again. Maybe she should leave - but there was no further
sound. "Hello?" she said quietly, in a clear voice.
"Phillipe?" she said, moving closer to the closed door.
As she placed her hand on the cold metal of the doorknob, Laura
listened once more, then pushed. Someone pulled at the same time,
sending her sprawling onto the bathroom floor. Her head hit the
side of the bath tub, and everything went dark.
**********
Consciousness returned slowly and painfully as Laura lifted her
hand to touch her tender head. There was a goose egg already forming.
Her left hand felt weighted down, and with some effort, she lifted
it- only to find the gun from the nightstand in it. She dropped
it, sending it clattering onto the floor, and got shakily to her
feet - only to find herself face to face with the corpse of Phillipe
du Pres.
He was dead. There was no question about that - there was a bullet
hole in his chest and his eyes had that sightless, glassy look
that death brought. Laura managed to pull herself all the way
to her feet, then turned and left the apartment quickly. The desk
clerk was still watching television so she pushed through the
doors - and froze for a moment as she saw the police car across
the street. She considered going across, reporting a murder -
then remembered that her fingerprints were all over the room -
including the gun. She should have wiped the damn thing off, she
thought, frowning as she moved toward the Rabbit.
"Excuse me, ma'am-"
She looked up to see a police officer standing beside her. "Y-Yes,
officer?"
"I just wanted to warn you that this isn't a safe place for
a woman to be alone."
"I know. I was just leaving. Thank you." She fumbled
with the keys, her fingers suddenly clumsy. She'd been a fool
to come down here. When she dropped the keys, the officer picked
them up and unlocked the door for her.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, watching her with a
concerned gaze.
"I'm just tired," she assured him, getting into the
car. "Been a long day."
"Forgive me, but have I seen you somewhere? You look familiar-"
"It's possible, I suppose." *Why doesn't he go find
a hooker to harass?* she thought. "Excuse me, officer. I
have to get home. My husband's waiting for me."
"Sure." He stepped back. "Drive carefully."
As Laura pulled away from the curb, she glanced in her rear view
mirror. The policeman was watching her leave, probably making
note of the license plate number of the car. "Fool, fool
fool!" she said to herself. She needed to get back to the
apartment - but what was she going to tell Harry?
**********
Harry read the information in the file for the third time. Where
the hell was Laura? he wondered. She'd been gone almost two hours.
When the front door opened, he nearly dropped the folder. She
came in, putting her purse on the credenza as always. "Sorry
it took me so long," she said quickly. "I couldn't get
away from Mother. You know how she gets at times." She sat
down across from him. "Any progress on the files?"
His blue eyes bored into her. "No. Nothing so far."
He rose and poured himself a glass of wine, then one for Laura.
"How was Abigail this evening?"
"Fine, I suppose," she said, concentrating on the file
before her, trying to put the image of Phillipe's dead body out
of her mind.
"She told me she had a headache and was turning in early,"
Harry said conversationally.
Laura's eyes lifted to him. "When was this?"
"Not more than thirty minutes ago - she called to speak to
you, as a matter of fact." He watched as Laura took a drink
of her wine. "Where were you, Laura?"
"I had someplace I needed to go, that's all," she told
him.
"Someplace that you can't tell me about?"
She rose and paced across the room, not looking at him. "I-
I got a telephone call from Phillipe du Pres. He said he could
clear all of this up - but he wanted to speak to me alone -"
"And did he clear it up?"
She shook her head. "No. But we don't have to worry about
my being a bigamist, either."
"What do you mean?"
"Phillipe's dead. Shot with a .38, point blank range in the
chest."
Harry turned her to face him. "I think you'd better start
at the beginning, Laura. And don't leave anything out."
**********
The desk clerk at the Hotel Belvedere tried to ignore the ringing
telephone, even turned up the television to drown out the noise.
But no luck. Grabbing the receiver, he barked, "Hotel Belvedere.
What ya want?" The man on the other end made a request, and
the clerk frowned. "I ain't got time to be checkin' on -
All right. All right. I'll go. Hold on." He put the reliever
on the desk and started up the stairs, pausing halfway up to get
his breath. "Damn fools," he muttered. "Shoulda
told him to come down here and check himself. Gettin' too old
for this, Sal."
At the door of Room 210, he banged on the door. "Frenchy!
Hey, Frenchy! Wake up! Some guy on the phone for ya!" The
door opened into the room, not having been closed completely.
Sal entered the room. "Mr. du Pres?" he called, then
went to the open bathroom door. "Oh my god." He never
thought about the stairs on the way down - his only thought was
to reach the cop that had been haunting the street for the last
week, hurting his hourly business. Right now, that didn't matter.
Reporting a murder did.
**********
"I can't believe you went down there alone!" Harry yelled.
"I thought we were a team, Laura. You're the one who's always
insisted that neither of us go off without the other as back up,
remember?"
She was sitting on the sofa, arms wrapped around herself. "I
know. I *know*. I made a mistake. A stupid, foolish mistake. The
question is now, what are we going to do about it?"
"We're going to find out who killed him. Who set me up."
"You're still convinced it's not Antony?"
"Tony wouldn't want to see me in jail for murder, Harry,"
she pointed out.
"He might if he's gone totally round the bend."
"It's *not* Tony Roselli," Laura insisted. "It's
someone else. And if we don't find out who, I'll be in prison
for murder and you'll be back in England."
Harry pulled her into his arms. "I just wish I knew where
to start looking. These files aren't getting us anywhere."
"What are we going to do about Phillipe's murder?"
"Face it as it comes," he said, pressing a soft kiss
to her bruised head. "Just as we've always done."
Laura rested her head against his chest, feeling safe within the
circle of his arms. For a moment, she wanted to just stay here
forever, not having to face the awful reality that would greet
them tomorrow morning - if not before. But she knew she couldn't
do that. They *had* to find something that would point to who
was behind all of this. And quickly.
**********
The young officer waited just inside the open doorway of the room
as the lieutenant looked around. "You said the manager told
you he didn't see anything?"
"Didn't see or hear a sound, Lieutenant. Of course, he had
his face stuck to a TV down there-"
"So I noticed. Get the finger print boys in here - and tell
the coroner he can move the body. Did you see anything, Davis?"
"Only thing I saw unusual was a classy lady who arrived about
nine and left an hour later."
"Classy lady? Down here? I don't think this place has seen
a classy lady in a long time, Davis."
"This one fit the bill, Lieutenant. And come to think of
it, she acted strange when she came out - I was worried about
her, so I went to talk to her, to suggest she get out of the area,
that it wasn't safe."
"You spoke to her?"
"She seemed kinda dazed. Confused. Nervous, maybe. I didn't
think anything about it at the time, but -"
"Did you get her name?"
"No. There wasn't any reason. But I did get the number of
the car she was driving as she drove away."
"Good work, Davis. Maybe this classy lady knows something
about what happened here this evening. What's the number?"
Davis looked at his notes. "It was a white VW Rabbit convertible.
License -"
The Lieutenant whirled to look at the younger man. "A white
Rabbit?"
"Yes, sir. And I *know* I've seen the lady before - but-"
"You probably have, Davis," his lieutenant said. "Give
me that license number. And stay here until the crime team finishes
their work."
"Where are you going?"
"To see a lady about a car," he said, taking the note
book page and leaving the building.
As he started his car, James Jarvis shook his head. "You'd
better have a damn good explanation, Laura," he muttered,
turning toward the Rossmore Arms.
To Be Continued . . .