Disclaimers in Part 1
The telephone to her ear, Laura swiveled the chair to look out of the window. She sighed. "Mother . . . *Mother*, would you *please* listen to me? I can explain everything- well, almost everything . . . there wasn't *time*- What?! No, of course I'm not- . . ." Another sigh. "It's complicated," she said at last. "Dinner? This evening? I'm not sure- . . . I *told* you that Remington is still in Ireland taking care of some personal business . . . No, I'm not sure when he'll be home, but I'd prefer to wait for him to be here so that we can both explain why we- . . ." Another, deeper sigh, this one of momentary relief. "No, I can't give you a number where he can be reached," she said. "He's not there on personal business, Mother. It's a case. And he's incognito. If you called you might blow his cover and endanger his life . . . Yes, yes, I'll tell him to call you the minute he calls me . . . When are you leaving?" she crossed her fingers in hope. "I'm afraid I'm too busy. With Remington away, I have to take care of clients and keep things going here -- I'll try . . . Give my best to Frances, Donald and the kids . . . Goodbye, Mother." She hung up the telephone and turned toward the desk, burying her head in her hands in frustration.
"Sounded interesting," Tony noted, and Laura lifted her head in surprise.
"You don't know my mother," she told him. "I thought you went to lunch?"
"Mildred decided that she didn't want me along," he said, and held up a couple of Styrofoam plates that he was holding. "So I stopped by the deli downstairs and picked up something for the two of us. Hope you don't mind burgers."
"Mildred did what?" Laura questioned as she took one of the containers.
"I don't think she trusts me. She as much as told me that she wants me to get lost."
Laura winced. "Mildred's very - loyal to Remington," she explained. "He's like the son she never had, I think."
"And I bet he eats it up," Tony muttered, and then lifted his hand as Laura started to chastise him. "Sorry."
"I'll talk to her," Laura offered, but Tony shook his head as he lifted the hamburger from the plate.
"That's okay. I can handle it. Look, if I let you handle it, she'll never respect me. It's best if I win her over on my own."
"It's an uphill battle," Laura warned. "Even knowing what she does, Mildred still thinks that the sun rises and set on him."
Tony stopped eating. "Knowing what she does?"
Laura froze, hamburger in her mouth. Taking a bite, she put the rest down and chewed. "Nothing. It's old news. Doesn't matter anymore."
"Well, if it doesn't matter, then there's no reason you can't tell me about it," Tony pointed out.
Laura sighed. "I always loved excitement," she began . . .
***
Darkness had fallen over the city by the time Remington tracked Marissa Peters down at her hotel. She opened the door with a shocked expression. "Why, Mr. Steele. This is a surprise," she said. "I thought you and your wife would have returned to Los Angeles by now."
"Laura did," Remington confirmed. "But I had some unfinished business to take care of. May I come in?" he asked.
Marissa stepped back. "Of course. You know, I didn't have a chance to tell you how sad I was about Daniel's death, Mr. Steele. I didn't know him very long, and we didn't always get along, but he was a remarkable man."
"He was also my father," Remington informed her, smiling when she gave him another look of surprise. "Something that I didn't know until just before his death."
"Then I am very sorry, Mr. Steele. I know how difficult it can be, searching for your father-"
"Yes. That's why I'm here. Daniel's will asked me to clear up some debts- including yours." Remington drew a bank cheque from his pocket and held it out for her to look at. "I believe the amount was twenty-five thousand pounds? I've added another five thousand to try and make up for the fact that we weren't able to recover your father as Daniel hoped."
Marissa took the cheque. "Daniel told me that he lost it on a horse," she explained.
"He probably did. But he had more- money that he'd put back to leave to me that he couldn't touch. Is there any news about your father?"
Marissa shook her head. "Nothing concrete. I've been haunting the Russian Embassy, hoping that they will take pity on me, and I think I'm making some progress, but it's going to take some time, I'm afraid."
"Good luck," Remington said. "I hope you find him."
"I will, if it's the last thing I do," Marissa promised, going to the door wit him. "Thank you for this," she said, holding up the cheque. "You've no idea how much it will help."
"Have you had dinner?" Remington asked impulsively.
"No. I was going to order something in-"
"Why don't we have dinner together? I have another appointment tomorrow morning, and I think Daniel would approve of our getting to know one another."
"I'd like to hear more about him," Marissa admitted. "Very well. Let me get my purse. I won't be a moment."
***
"How did you come to ask Daniel's help in locating your father?" Remington asked over the meal in the restaurant downstairs.
"I'd heard through various sources that Daniel was good at locating things - the right price, of course. My first offer was for twenty thousand pounds. He talked me up to twenty-five," she confessed.
Remington laughed softly. "Oh, Daniel. Yes, he would have."
"How long had you known him?" Marissa asked.
"Over twenty years. He found me in London, living in the street. Long story."
"And you never knew? Never suspected that he might be your father?"
"None whatsoever. To me, Daniel was always my teacher, my mentor - my friend."
Marissa studied Remington's face for a long moment in the dim light. "You know, I think I can see it. The resemblance. Except for the blue eyes - "
"A legacy from my mother, apparently," he said, pulling out his wallet. He withdrew the small photograph of Sheila that he'd found among Daniel's possessions. "Here."
Marissa took the photo and looked from it to Remington. "Yes. She's certainly your mother. Your smiles are very similar." She handed the photograph back to him. "Is she-?"
"She's dead. She died when I was born."
"I'm sorry."
Remington shook his head. "I don't remember her," he admitted, looking at the photograph. "Not consciously, anyway."
"And you never knew that Daniel was your father." It was a statement this time.
"By the time Daniel caught up with me, I'd managed to put a rather large on my shoulder when it came to my missing father. Apparently he decided that it would best to simply not tell me who he really was so as not to risk losing me again."
"Understandable. I know that my own father and I haven't always seen eye to eye. I didn't want him to go to Russia," she explained. "But he insisted. If I manage to find him, there are going to be some changes. I never realized how much I would miss the old coot until he wasn't there to badger me about getting married instead of concentrating on my career."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Remington said. "You know, I have no idea what you do- other than look for your father, that is."
Marissa smiled. "I own an art gallery in London," she explained. "That's how I got wind of Daniel. Someone who worked for me knew him and suggested that we meet."
"Which gallery?" Remington questioned.
"I doubt you've heard of it. It's rather small." Remington didn't speak, and she finally told him the address.
"The Overman Gallery?" Remington said before she could say the words.
"Then you *have* heard of it," she said.
Of course he had. He had set up a job there to steal the Bordeaux Triptych when it was on display there many years ago. Remington hadn't gone through with the plan, listening for once to Daniel's voice of experience. "I thought the curator was a wizened little old man about so high-"
"Mr. Overman died two years ago," Marissa informed him. "I was his assistant for several years- so he left the gallery to me."
"That's where I'd seen you before," he recalled. "I spent some time at the Gallery about ten years ago."
Marissa looked as though she knew full well why he'd "spent time" at the Gallery. At last she picked up her purse. "Well, I have an early appointment tomorrow morning with the new Russian Ambassador, so I think I'll turn in."
"And I have some calls to make," Remington said.
"Tell your wife that I said hello," Marissa responded, watching him take care of the bill.
Remington hesitated for a moment, and then nodded before rising from the chair. "Shall we?"
***
Mildred's eyes widened as she read the printout. "Oh, my," she sighed. "Oh, my." Laura was out with a client, and the would-be Lothario was who knew where. As soon as Laura returned, Mildred decided, she would show this to her. Maybe *this* would convince her that-
"Whatcha got there, Mildred?" Tony questioned, looking over her shoulder.
Mildred tried to hide the printout from him. "Nothing. Just- just a report that Mrs. Steele asked me for."
"With my name on it?" Tony questioned, extending his hand. "Let me see it, Mildred."
"No," she said, holding it behind her. "I'm going to show it to Mrs. Steele-"
"You're not going to show Laura anything, Mildred," Tony replied.
"How are you going to stop me?" she asked, glancing toward the doors, willing Laura to appear.
"Don't make me do something you'll regret, Mildred," Tony said, his dark eyes watching her every move.
The telephone began to ring, and Mildred tried to take advantage of the distraction to make a run for the door, but Tony was too quick for her. He grabbed her, pulling a small caliber handgun from his jacket pocket at the same time. Bringing the butt of the gun down, he hit her in the head, and then stood there, looking down at her lying on the floor, dazed. The gun was pointed at her head as he calmly picked up the telephone.
"Steele Investigations."
In a hotel room over five thousand miles distant, Remington hesitated as he recognized Tony Roselli's voice. "Is Mildred there?" he asked at last.
He could almost see the other man's lip curling in distaste. "No. She's not here. She had to take a trip out of town. Something about her sister being sick."
"Her sister? Bertha?" Remington questioned. "In New York?"
"She doesn't have a sister in New York, Steele. Eunice in Seattle."
"I see."
"Look, if you don't have anything else to say, it's kinda busy here, I'm meeting Laura for dinner at Rigetti's."
Hearing the name of one of his and Laura's favorite restaurants, Remington clenched his teeth. "I would have pictured you as more of a hot dog and beer man myself, Antony. Isn't Rigetti's a bit out of your league?"
"Hey, whatever makes Laura happy, right?" Tony replied. "I'll be sure to tell her you called."
"I'm sure you will," Remington replied.
"Any idea when you'll be back?"
"No. I have some things to take care of here."
"Bye, then," Tony said, hanging up the telephone.
Remington hung up as well, running a hand over the back of his neck, wondering what it was about the man that set his teeth on edge and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What Laura saw in him, Remington had no idea. But then, he hadn't understood her attraction to that brutish writer, either, he recalled. Butch something or other. Beemis. Butch Beemis.
Hopefully, this was yet another aberration, and Laura would soon tire of Tony Roselli as she had Butch Beemis.
***
Tony reached down and grabbed Mildred's arm, pulling her to her feet. Dragging her around the desk, he pushed her into her chair, and then placed a piece of paper and pen before her. "Write," he ordered, glancing at the door. Laura wasn't due back for another half hour. But he didn't like taking chances.
Mildred just sat there, refusing to pick up the pen until Tony shoved the gun against her head, causing her to gasp. "You wouldn't do it," she insisted. "How would you explain to Mrs. Steele-?"
"I'd just tell her that someone must have come in and blew your brains out while we were both gone and that you were dead when I got here," Tony replied. "Now write."
Mildred picked up the pen…
***
Laura entered the office, apologizing. "Sorry to keep you so late, Mildred-" her voice trailed off as she realized that Mildred wasn't at her desk. "Mildred?" she called out.
Tony entered the office behind her. "Hey there," he said in greeting.
"Hey there," Laura replied, still frowning as she moved to look in the storeroom, and then the other two offices.
"What's wrong?" Tony asked.
"Mildred. She told me she'd stay until we got back. The front doors were unlocked and the lights are all on-"
"Maybe she stepped out for a minute," Tony suggested, watching as Laura went to Mildred's desk and opened the bottom left hand drawer.
"Her purse is gone. That means she's not coming back today. It's not like Mildred to just take off that way," she worried.
"Maybe she left a note?" Tony said.
Laura glanced over the surface of Mildred's desk, which was in some disarray, Laura noted, something else that wasn't at all like Mildred. Moving into Remington's office, Laura found a piece of paper on the desk, written in Mildred's neat hand. Picking it up, she read it.
"What's it say?" Tony asked.
"She's gone to find Remington on her own," Laura said. "She says that this just sitting here waiting is making her crazy, and she thinks she'll be more help 'in the field' looking for him."
"You want me to try and stop her?" Tony asked. "I could make some calls, have her picked up before she boards a flight out of the country-"
Laura turned to look out of the window, the note still in her hand. At last, she shook her head. "No. Let her go. Maybe she *can* accomplish more there." She managed a small smile. "Mildred's got good instincts. Who knows? Maybe she *can* find him." She glanced again at the note. "She says she'll check in from time to time when she can."
Tony shrugged. "Its' up to you. The offer's there if you change your mind."
"For all we know, she's already on a flight back to Ireland," Laura said. "No, we'll carry on with business as usual."
"Without Mildred?" Tony questioned. "Just the two of us?"
"Well, it *will* mean a little more work, -" she paused. "What's wrong? Don't think you can handle it?"
Tony grinned. "Oh, don't worry, Laura. I can handle anything you toss my direction." He touched her arm. "How about some dinner?"
Laura sighed. "We have work to do."
"You still have to eat. I made reservations at Rigetti's."
Laura blinked. "Rigetti's?"
"You don't like it? A friend told me it's very good-"
She flicked the open collar of his shirt. "They have a dress code," she pointed out.
"No problem. I can run by the loft and change, then pick you up at the condo in," he looked at his watch before continuing, "an hour? The reservation is for seven."
Laura drew a deep breath, and then nodded. "Okay. But then I have to tackle the paperwork for the cases we took on today," she agreed.
Tony smiled and flipped off the office lights as he followed her. "How did things go with Mr. Devon?" he asked, referring to the client that she'd been meeting with in his office this afternoon.
"I'll fill you in over dinner," Laura told him. "Did you find out anything about the Clement case?" she countered, locking the outer doors. "Guess I'll need to get you a key to this door in case you get here before I do."
Tony smiled and saw her downstairs to the waiting limo, then went to the Rabbit and got inside. He started the car and left the garage, but didn't turn to the right, as he would have done if he were going back to Laura's loft. He turned left, going to a drive through burger place before heading to an abandoned warehouse.
Pulling the car into the alleyway, Tony got out and went into the building, moving easily through the stacks of boxes and crates and rusted, unused machinery. A metal door fastened with a shiny new padlock made him smile. Taking a key from his pocket, he unfastened the lock, and pulled the gun from his pocket.
Rolling the door aside, he studied the woman who was lying on the narrow cot across the room, still unconscious from the drug he'd given her earlier.
So far, so good.
***
Remington glanced at the house as he got out of the taxi he'd hired in Dublin. The early morning air was thick and heavy with impending rain. The driver looked up at him, his expression uncertain. "D'you want me to wait for you, now?" he asked.
"No," Remington said, handing the man some money. "Thank you."
The house wasn't small, but it wasn't palatial, either. The detective had said that the house was Liam Harrison's country home, to which the old man had retired some years before. The rose bush needed pruning, Remington thought, touching the prickly stem as he passed through the arched gateway. The entire house could stand a coat of paint over the natural stone, he noted as he moved closer to the green door with its peeling paint.
Lifting a hand, Remington raised the lion shaped brass knocker and let it fall to echo inside the building. There was no response, and Remington stepped back, surveying the windows on both levels. He thought he saw a curtain flutter in a window to the right, so Remington stepped up to the door again and knocked on the door with his knuckles.
The door opened to reveal a tall, thin man with a shock of thick white hair - and startlingly blue eyes. "Yes?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"Liam Harrison?" Remington questioned.
"I am." The blue eyes- so like his own- narrowed myopically. "And who might you be?" he asked, but Remington was certain that the old man already knew the answer.
"I'm your grandson," Remington responded.
The blue eyes were guarded."How did you find me?"
"The detective you hired-"
"I've hired no detective," Liam said. "What kind of game are you playin' at, lad? I didn't want to see you when you were born- I don't want to see you now," he declared, and started to close the door.
To Be Continued ---