 | ||||||||||
 |  | |||||||||
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | |||
| ||||||||||
| | |||||||||
| | | | | | | | |||
"Laura," Remington said,
about to take her to task, to remind her of her promise. She'd
asked him to get Bridget out of the way so she could search the
girl's room for the bottle of pills that she'd seen earlier.
"I'll be careful," she assured him. "I need to
find out who prescribed the medicine and what pharmacy it came
from."
"Why don't you distract Bridget, Mildred?" he suggested,
"And I'll keep a watch out for her brother." No way
was he leaving Laura alone in this house - in Bridget's bedroom
with a killer on the loose.
"I think I can get Miss O'Riley to come outside with me for
a few minutes," Mildred agreed.
"Good. Let me get dressed," Laura said, heading toward
the bedroom, and then we'll get started.
As the bedroom door closed, Remington shook his head again. "She's
remarkable, isn't she, Mildred? Someone almost strangles her not
two hours ago, and now she's determined to find out who did it.
Even if it means putting herself in danger again."
"She'll be fine, Chief," Mildred said. "She's got
almost as much luck as you do."
"Ah, but luck can run out at the damnedest times, Mildred,"
he worried.
*****
It was really rather easy for Mildred to convince Bridget to show
her around the garden, and Remington watched as Laura entered
his cousin's bedroom. He remained in the foyer, keeping a watchful
eye on the landing as he pretended to examine a painting of what
might have once been Castle Cleary.
"Inspecting the new property, Cousin?" Quinn asked,
causing Remington to turn around.
"Not really," Remington said smoothly. "Have you
seen John in the last few minutes?"
"Can't say that I have."
"If you see him, would you mind telling him I'd like to talk
to him? I have a - business proposition to put to him."
"Business proposition? For John?" he sneered. "Sorry,
Remington, but our cousin's not exactly cut from the businessman
mold. More of a follower than a leader."
"Which you've tended to use to your own advantage, I'm sure,"
Remington pointed out.
"John's weak," Quinn said. "He'll never be his
own man. He's always found it easier to follow someone else than
to step out on his own. Sometimes, however, he chooses the wrong
person to follow."
"Like yourself?" Remington asked.
Quinn laughed derisively. "No, Cousin. John might be afraid
of me, but he's never followed me." He took a deep breath.
"I'll tell him you're looking for him," Quinn promised,
then went upstairs.
Remington watched him until he disappeared into the hallway, then
looked toward the study door as John appeared from that room.
"Ah, there you are, John," he said, moving quickly to
head the man off as he started toward the stair.
John looked at him curiously. "You're looking for me?"
"Uh, yes. I was. I was hoping to discuss something with you.
If you've a few minutes now, perhaps we might-?"
John looked up the stairs. "I need to go speak to Bridget
about something, first," he said.
Remington stepped into his path. "She's not up there,"
he said quickly.
"She's not? Where is she then? She was going to rest until
dinner. If she overdoes things, she could have a relapse,"
he said.
"She and Mildred are out in the garden," Remington told
him. "I wanted to discuss a possible business arrangement
with you," he said.
John's frown changed to a curious look. "A BUSINESS arrangement,
cousin? With me?"
Remington placed his arm across John's shoulders, steering him
toward the salon, and away from the stairs. "Yes. Once Laura
and I return to Los Angeles, I'm going to need someone here to
keep an eye on things," he pointed out. "An - estate
manager, is it were. And I think you fit the bill nicely."
"Me?" John asked again. "Not- Quinn?"
"Quinn would be too tempted to run the thing into the ground
so that I'd no choice but to sell to him. I think you care about
the Manor, am I right?"
"Well, it IS the only home I've ever really known,"
John agreed.
"I'm sure we could come to some amicable agreement on a salary
for the position," Remington told him. "And it would
allow you and Bridget to remain here for as long as you wish."
"Can I - think about this, Remington?" John asked. "I
mean, `tis a bit of a surprise that you've put on my mind."
"By all means, John." When John would have turned toward
the door, Remington went to the bar. "What say we have a
drink to toast the possibility of the arrangement?" he suggested.
"I really need to go upstairs," John told him. "Bridget's
due for her medication. And it's not a good idea for it to be
late. I'll just go up to her room and get it, then take it out
to her in the garden," he said.
Remington watched him go, a worried look on his face. He'd remained
in view of the landing while talking to John- and he hadn't seen
Laura come from Bridget's room. Which meant she was still there.
Hurrying, he caught up with John on the stairs. "Why don't
I go with you?" he suggested, his voice a trifle more loud
than it should have been. "And we can both go in search of
your sister and Mildred?"
"Whatever you say, Remington," John agreed as they approached
the door to Bridget's room.
As he opened the door, Remington winced, certain that John would
find Laura still in the room. But his cousin entered the room,
leaving the door open as Remington remained there. John took the
bottle of pills from the drawer of the table beside Bridget's
bed, and shook one out into his palm. Remington looked around
the room for some sign of where Laura might be hiding. The door
of the huge armoire against a side wall was slightly ajar, and
he wandered over to it as John poured a glass of water. "Amazing
piece, isn't it?" he asked.
Remington nodded. "Yes. Quite impressive."
"The entrance to the passageway is in the back of that,"
John told him. "Shall I show you-?" he asked, putting
a hand out to open the door.
"No," Remington insisted quickly, "that's quite
all right." But he wasn't quick enough. John opened the doors.
Laura wasn't inside. "It's big enough to hide in without
a secret panel," he commented.
"Bridget used to hide there quite a bit when she was little."
He reached for the release lever as they heard voices approaching
the room.
"I'm sorry, Miss Krebs," Bridget was saying. "But
if I don't take my medicine, my brother will - John," Bridget
said as she entered the room. "What are you doing? Remington?"
Remington met Mildred's curious look with a concerned one, shrugging
as John gave Bridget her medicine and the glass of water. "If
you'll excuse us, Bridget, John," Remington said, pulling
Mildred out of the room with him, "it's getting late, and
we have to dress for dinner. Don't forget what we discussed."
"I won't, Cousin," John told him, frowning as the door
closed behind them.
On the landing, Mildred looked up at him. "Mr. Steele? What's
wrong?"
"Laura was in the room when John and I came upstairs. She's
not there now."
"Where could she have gone, Mr. Steele?" Mildred asked.
"I'm afraid she's gone back into the secret passage,"
he told her, turning toward his room. "Find a flashlight,
will you, Mildred? And then meet me in mine and Laura's room as
soon as you can."
"You got it, Boss," she said, disappearing down the
stairs.
Remington entered the suite, and stopped as the panel next to
the fireplace opened and Laura stepped out. "Laura,"
he said, going to her as she closed the panel again. "I was
worried."
"I barely had time to get into the armoire and get the entrance
open," she told him.
"How did you find your way back here so quickly?" he
asked her.
She lifted the small flashlight she was holding. "I found
this in the bottom of the armoire. As if someone else had been
using it as an entry point recently."
He put his arms around her. "You're determined to give me
a heart attack, you know that, don't you?"
"Well, YOU were supposed to keep him out of the room,"
she reminded him.
"I tried," he said. "But he was insistent that
Bridget needed her medicine and refused to hear of waiting until
she and Mildred returned to the house. At least I warned you that
we were coming."
She smiled, sliding her arms around his neck. "Thank you,"
she said, lifting her lips toward his - only to pause as there
was a knock on the door.
"Mildred," he muttered. "Remind me to put a bell
on that woman. Come in, Mildred," he called out.
"Oh, Mrs. Steele," Mildred exclaimed softly, as she
entered the room, the requested flashlight in hand. "You're
here."
"I borrowed a flashlight from Bridget's room," Laura
explained. "And I got the information about that prescription."
"What took you so long?" Remington asked.
"The bottle wasn't on the table, as it had been earlier.
It was in the drawer. And then I had to find some paper and a
pen to write the information down so I got it right." She
held out a slip of paper to Mildred. "The pharmacist is in
Dublin - and the doctor's name is Douglas," she said.
"I asked Bridget about her medicine while we were in the
garden," she told them. "She says it's a mild sedative
that her doctor prescribed to keep her calm. That she upsets easily
without it."
"It's a lot more than a mild sedative," Laura pointed
out.
Mildred nodded. "I forget to mention earlier that the pharmacist
I spoke to earlier told me that if a person takes this too long,
it can build up in their system and can kill them."
"Find out who's been picking up the medicine, Mildred,"
Laura told her. "And see if you can't speak to her doctor,
find out why he prescribed Prolemathane for her."
"Right away, Mrs. Steele. I'll make the call from my room,"
she said. "Oh, here you go, Mr. Steele," she said, handing
him the flashlight. "I thought I was never going to make
Callahan understand what I wanted. I forgot that they call them
torches here." She turned toward the door. "I'll see
you both at dinner," she told them.
"Torches," Laura mused.
"Makes a bit more sense than "flashlight", Laura,"
Remington pointed out, watching as she moved back to the fireplace
and opened the panel again. "What are you doing?"
"Too bad we don't have time to explore this right now,"
she said, shining the light down the dark corridor, where it disappeared
into the blackness.
"Perhaps after dinner," he suggested, pulling her back
out and closing it again. "Wouldn't do for us to be late
for dinner, now, would it, considering that Aunt Margaret mentioned
that she had asked Cook to prepare a veritable feast in my honor?"
Laura sighed. "I think you're enjoying all of this just a
bit TOO much, Remington Harrison Steele. Just don't expect this
kind of spoiling when we get back home."
He grinned. "Don't worry. I don't think that Mrs. Patterson
will be quite so willing to call me `your Lordship'," he
pointed out, referring to their housekeeper back in Los Angeles.
"I don't know about that. You've got that woman wrapped around
your little finger, and you know it." She turned back into
his arms again. "And she's not the only one."
"Hmm. Sounds interesting," Remington said, smiling at
her playful look. Dropping a kiss onto her waiting lips, he said,
"We'd better dress for dinner."
"If you insist," Laura said with a disappointed sigh,
starting to move away, only to find herself held tightly against
her husband's lean body.
"But later, Mrs. Steele," he promised, "I'm going
to hold you to that invitation."
Laura smiled, then turned to pull her sweater over her head and
toss it toward him. "I'll be looking forward to it,"
she said.
*****
"Thank you, Dr. Douglas," Mildred said into the telephone.
"I appreciate your being so helpful. . . .What's that? Oh,
I'm sure I'm wrong about it. I mean, why would anyone give something
like that to Miss O'Riley?" she asked. "I will."
She hung up, looking at the paper before her on the writing desk.
Between Dr. Ian Douglas and the pharmacist, Mildred was certain
she knew who was responsible for giving Bridget such dangerous
medication. She glanced at the time, and realized that if she
didn't get ready for dinner, she was going to be late.
Rising from the chair, she left the paper on the desk, then went
to the closet, pulling out a dress to change into. As she laid
the dress on her bed, something hit her on the head, and she slid
to the floor, unconscious. Her attacker went to the desk and tore
the sheet from the notepad, then returned to the bed and grabbed
the unconscious woman beneath the arms and began to drag her toward
the closet - and into the passageway beyond. . . .
To Be Continued . . .