Steele Romance

Part 8

by Nancy Eddy

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      Laura and Mr. Steele paid an early visit to Reuben Saltzman's office on their way to the agency that morning to sign the papers for the condo.  Murphy was already in the office when they arrived, watching as Bernice typed something for him.  "Good morning."
        "Laura.  Mr. Steele."
        "Anything new, Murphy?"  Laura asked, pretending to ignore the glare Murphy sent toward Harry.  
        "I haven't gotten the call yet.  When are you going to see Tricia Petty?" he asked, ignoring Harry now as he spoke directly to Laura.
        "We're on our way there," Laura told him.  "Call us on in the limo when you find out anything."  She and Steele left the office, and Murphy turned back to see Bernice smiling at the closed door.
        "What are YOU smiling about?"  he asked testily.
        "They make a cute couple," Bernice told him with a sigh.  "Too bad I can't find anyone tall dark and handsome like him."
        "He's a CON MAN, Bernice," Murphy reminded her.  "He's NOT Remington Steele."
        "That doesn't seem to make any difference to Laura," Bernice pointed out evenly.
        Murphy grabbed the paper she held out to him and turned toward his office.  "I give up.  I just give up!"  The door slammed behind him, a sign of how angry he was.

        "Not a very impressive address for the mistress of someone like Mitch Crandall, is it?"  Laura asked, frowning at the nondescript apartment complex.
        "If he was trying to keep her a secret, he couldn't very well set her up in a luxury apartment," Harry said as they moved toward the door of apartment 201.  
        "I suppose you're right," Laura agreed.  "I just can't see her continuing to work for MRS. Crandall while she's involved with MR. Crandall."
        "That's something you'll have to ask her to find out," he said as she lifted her hand to knock on the door.  
        When there was no response, Laura knocked again, louder this time.  Harry exchanged a glance with her, then started to put his hand on the door knob.  "What are you-"
        "Murphy's report stated that Miss Petty owned a green Ford," he recalled, nodding toward the parking area nearby.  "The car is there, in the appropriate slot.  So it stands to reason that Miss Petty must be home."
        "She could be in the shower - or still asleep -"
        His hand closed over the doorknob.  "In which case the door would be locked," he told her, "and bolted from the inside, I'm certain."  With a flick of the wrist, he opened the door, smiling at Laura's expression.  "Miss Petty?"  he called softly.
        Still no response.  Laura moved past him, saying,  "I don't know about this."  He close the door behind them, surveying the small room.  Nothing of value - a bit messy, he thought, watching Laura move cautiously toward the bedroom, calling Miss Petty's name again.  He followed her, finding her examining a suitcase that lay open on the bed, obviously ready to be closed.  The items were neatly folded, obviously not packed in haste, Laura noticed.  "Looks like she was planning a trip," she said. An airplane ticket was under the case when she moved it. "New York, apparently.  No return ticket -"
        "I wonder where she is?"  Harry asked.  
        Laura shook her head as she moved toward the closed bathroom door.  "Maybe she stepped out for a minute to visit a neighbor -"  she suggested reasonably, entering the small room.  "To say good-bye, or -" her voice ended in a gasp as she drew back the shower curtain.
        Harry became instantly alert, following Laura to peer over her shoulder.  The tub was filled with bath water, and Tricia Petty was sitting there, head back, eyes closed.  They both knew she was dead.  The water was tinged a dark pink and was a stark contrast to her porcelain white flesh.  He winced, drawing Laura away from the gruesome sight, pulling her into his arms for a moment.  "What do you think happened?"  he asked at last.
        She glanced to the floor, then knelt to look at the razor blade laying beside the bathtub.  Tricia Petty's right arm was dangling from the side, as if she had dropped the blade.  Her left arm was in the water, and after seeing the blade, Laura could easily guess what had happened.  "She killed herself."
        Harry saw the blade as well, then grabbed the wash rag hanging nearby and bent gingerly across to lift the woman's left arm from the water.  Two deep gashes showed clearly against the bloodless skin.  He heard Laura choke, and returned the arm to the water.
        Laura turned on her heel and went out to the telephone, and when Harry followed, she grabbed his handkerchief to pick up the receiver before dialing. 

        "It couldn't have been a suicide!"  Laura insisted as they returned to the agency offices two hours later.  "That stupid police detective couldn't find his way out of a cardboard BOX!"  Laura declared as Murphy came from his office to find out what was wrong.  "People don't make airplane reservations and pack a suitcase before they kill themselves," she said.  
        "Someone want to explain to me what's going on?"  Murphy asked, his eyes on Laura as she paced around Steele's office, obviously furious.
        Steele answered.  "Tricia Petty was dead when we got to her apartment.  She apparently slit her wrists -"
        "No, she didn't," Laura said, still pacing.  "Someone did it for her."
        "There was no sign of a struggle," Steele pointed out.  
        "They'll do an autopsy," Laura told them.  "I need to know EXACTLY what they find, Murphy."
        "No problem."  
        "Did you get a response back on that information about Crandall's finances?"
        "Not yet.  Laura, I don't think Crandall would risk -"
        "We didn't think he would have anything to with the statue's theft, either, remember?"
        "We still don't know that he did," Murphy pointed out.  "It's still only a theory." He glanced at the source of that theory as Steele moved to the window, hands in his pockets.
        "Tricia Petty's dead body was no theory, Murphy.  I think she knew something and was killed to keep her quiet."
        "But you said she was leaving town -that she had packed a bag -"  He frowned.  "Although when we talked the other day, she said she was barely making the rent and her car payments since Mrs. Crandall fired her."
        "She expected to come into some money, then," Laura said.  "Maybe she was blackmailing Crandall.  I want that information, Murphy.  ASAP."
        "You got it."  He paused.  "Are you all right?"  She still looked a bit green, he thought.  Bodies and blood tended to do that to her.  It's the reason he tried to handle the coroner's office reports.
        Hearing Murphy's question, Steele turned around.  He couldn't understand Murphy's concern.  Beneath that veneer of outrage, Laura looked very much as she had when she had found that body.
        "I'm fine, Murphy.  Thanks."
        He glanced at Steele again, then left them alone.  
        "You're doing it again," Steele said.
        "Doing what?"  Laura asked, sitting down to go over the notes she had made before the police arrived.  
        "Freezing me out of this case.  Murphy I can understand.  But I thought we agreed-"
        "We agreed to go slowly, remember?  You were only along as an observer this morning - simply because it didn't go the way I thought it would -"
        "Then why won't you let me tell you what I observed?"
        She looked up at him as Bernice tapped on the door.  "You're due at the mayor's luncheon, Mr. Steele.  Fred's downstairs, waiting for you."
        He sighed.  "Thank you, Bernice."
        Laura smiled.  "Go on, enjoy yourself.  You'll love rubbing elbows with the mover and shakers of Los Angeles.  Just make sure Hawkins does his job and gets those pictures you want."
        Steele went to the small rest room and straightened his tie.  "Very well.  But this isn't finished, Miss Holt."
        "We'll see, Mr. Steele," she said sweetly, walking him out into the main office.  He put on his sunglasses, then gave her a half smile before leaving.  
        "Think you might be creating a monster there?"  Bernice asked.
        "No.  No, I don't think so."  
        "Wanna have lunch?  I'll buy."
        Laura shook her head.  "Too much to do on this case.  Thanks anyway."
        Bernice shook her head as she grabbed her purse.  "See you later, then."
        Laura went back to her office and sat down, reading her notes again as the third door opened.  "He gone?"  Murphy asked, standing in the doorway.
        "To the mayor's luncheon."
        He entered the office to sit on the edge of her desk.  "You didn't find anything at Tricia Petty's apartment?"
        "I didn't have much time to search, but there didn't appear to be anything there that would tie her to someone like Mitch Crandall.  Where did you get your information about them?"
        "They've been seen around town - places where Mrs. Crandall wouldn't be caught dead."
        "I wonder if they started seeing each other before or after she went to work at the Crandall house as a maid?"
        "After probably.  No one I talked to remembered seeing them before six months ago.  And she went to work for the Crandalls seven months ago."  He reached across to look at her notes.  "This can't be right."
        "What?"  Laura asked, putting her feet on the corner of her desk.
        "Your notes.  It says here that her LEFT wrist was slashed, and the razor was on the floor under her RIGHT hand?"
        She nodded.  "THAT I'm certain about," she said, shivering at the memory of those cuts on the woman's arm.
        "Laura, Tricia Petty was left handed."
        Laura sat up.  "You're certain about that?"
        "I remember it very well, because she commented on my being left handed.  We got to talking about how it's a right handed world and all that."
        "Then she COULDN'T have killed herself.  She would have slit her right wrist."  The telephone rang, and Laura picked it up since Bernice was gone.  "Remington Steele Investigations -"
        "I just realized something, Laura-"
        "Mr. Steele?  Where are you?"  Laura asked, glancing at her watch.  "You're supposed to be-"
        "Fred is just turning into the parking lot as we speak," he assured her smoothly.  "I know what was troubling me about Miss Petty's death."
        Murphy rose to pace across the room.  "Mr. Steele-"
        "I was checking my watch when it hit me.  She must have been left handed, Laura."
        Laura grinned.  "What makes you think that she was left handed, Mr. Steele?"  she asked, drawing Murphy's attention. 
        "I noticed the faint impression of a wristwatch on her right arm - most people, right handed people, wear their watch on their left hand.  But most left handed people wear them on their right - or am I mistaken?"
        "No, you're not.  And you just might be right about Tricia Petty being left handed.  Murphy and I  were just comparing notes and he told me the same thing.  Very good, Mr. Steele."  She heard the car door open.  "Enjoy your lunch."  She hung up the telephone as Murphy shook his head.  "He noticed the impressions from her wristwatch on her right arm and guessed that she was left handed," she told him.
        "So what are we going to do with this information?"
        "The first thing I'm going to do is call that idiot police detective that was at Miss Petty's apartment and give him the information."
        "And -?
        "And then I'm going to find out exactly WHEN Miss Petty made that airplane reservation.  It was scheduled to leave this morning - "
        "I'm going to go call the coroner again, let him know as well.  Might help in his autopsy."  He grinned back at her.  "How about going to get some lunch?"
        Laura shook her head.  "I need to do some more research on Miss Petty.  Maybe find out why she was going to New York."
        Murphy frowned.  "No, you don't.  That will wait.  Let's go to that little lunch counter on the corner - "
        She shook her head.  "Murphy, I -" 
        He came around her desk and pulled her to her feet.  "Put your shoes back on and let's go."
        "But-"
        "I know you didn't eat breakfast -"
        "Yes, I did."  When he gave her disbelieving look, she smiled uncertainly.
        "Mr. Steele fixed breakfast this morning -"
        "You mean the guy cooks too?"  
        She nodded, then picked up her purse.  "Maybe you're right, Murphy.  Let's go to lunch."
        Murphy followed her from the office.  "So, what did he fix for breakfast?  Cold cereal and toast?"
        "You don't really want to know, Murphy," she told him, watching as he locked the doors.
        "Sure I do."
        "No, it wasn't cold cereal," she told him.  "He fixed omelets," she admitted as the doors of the elevator opened.  
        
        Bernice was already at her desk when the two of them returned.  "Where were the two of you?"  she asked, handing them each a stack of messages, Laura's bundle also containing the mail.  
        "We went to lunch, Bernice," Laura told her as Murphy glanced through his messages.  
        "Got it," he exclaimed, turning toward his office.  "The information I was waiting for about Crandall's financial situation," he told Laura.
        Laura turned back to Bernice.  "Has Mr. Steele called in yet?"
        "Not yet.  He's probably still shaking hands and getting his picture taken."
        She smiled.  "Probably.  Let me know when he gets back or calls in," she said, following Murphy.
        "Will do."
        Murphy was writing something on the notepad before him.  "Yeah, . . . I got it. . . ." He frowned.  "You're sure about that? . . . And when was the last  - I see.  Thanks, Janet.  No, I won't forget. . . Just as soon as this case is finished," he promised.  When he hung up, he gave Laura a sheepish grin.  "I had to promise to take her to dinner if she got the information for me."
        "What did she find?"
        He looked at the notes.  "Crandall's got markers out all over town - seems he made some bad investments - Janet's going to send the full report over later.  His personal account has had three big withdrawals over the last three months.  Two for a thousand dollars each.  The last one was for almost three thousand - and it was withdrawn late yesterday afternoon, in cash. The other two were cashier's checks."
        "Who withdrew it?"
        "Janet wasn't certain about that.  Only that a courier picked up the money."
        "What courier company?"
        "Randall Armored."
        Laura grinned.  "Why don't you give Leon Randall a call, see if you can find out who hired him?"  The agency had used Randall several times, the last to transport the Royal Lavulite to and from the airport.  
        "What are you going to be doing?"
        "Paying another visit to Miss Petty's apartment.  I might have missed something this morning -"
        "You might not be able to get in there, Laura -"
        "Why?  It's not a murder investigation as far the police are concerned.  They don't' have any reason to cordon off the area."
        "I thought you were going to call Detective Simmons about her being left handed."
        "I will.  AFTER I have another look at that apartment."

        
        The telephone rang as Laura stepped back into her office, and a moment later, Bernice buzzed her.  "Laura, Mr. Steele's on line one."
        "Thanks."  She punched the flashing button.  "Hello there."
        "You sound happy about something."
        "We got some information that might help on the case.  Where are you?"  
        There was a pause as he got his bearings.  "About ten minutes from the office."
        "Have Fred take you back to Miss Petty's apartment.  I'll meet you there."
        "Why do you want to go back there?"
        "We didn't have a chance to look through it.  And I want to do it before I tell Simmons that Tricia Petty couldn't possibly have slit her left wrist since she was left handed."
        "I'll meet you there, then."
        She stuck her head back into Murphy's office.  "I'll see you when I get back."
        "You sure you don't want me to go with you?"
        "Mr. Steele's meeting me there," she told him.  "Really, Murphy, if it hadn't been for his starting all of this, we might never have realized something was going on.  I think he's earned the right to be a part of the case."
        "Just keep an eye on him.  Make sure he doesn't embarrass us.  All someone has to do is ask the wrong question - and it's all over."  
        "Don't worry, Murphy.  And don't call the coroner until I give you the word.  Wouldn't do for Simmons to show up while Mr. Steele and I are searching the place."  She grinned as she put on her jacket.  "You COULD call your friend Janet and arrange to take her to dinner."  When Murphy's eyes widened, her smile did the same.  "Who knows?  She might remember some more information."  Eyes shining, she said, "Later," waving her hand as she breezed through the doors.

        Laura parked the Rabbit beside the limo and got out as Fred opened the door for Harry.  "What took you so long?"  he asked.
        "I had to discuss something with Murphy," she told him, looking around before moving toward Tricia Petty's apartment.  "His contact at the bank called," she said, trying the door, only to find it locked.  "It seems that Mr. Crandall's finances aren't what they should be.  And there have been some sizable withdrawals in the last few months."  She pulled out her lock pick set and withdrew a tool.  
        Steele watched her try to trigger the lock, then held out his hand. "Allow me."  As she kept watch, he asked, "When was the last one?"  He held out the picks, and turned the knob as she shook her head.  
        "I should have let you do it to begin with.  Your field, in a way."  She entered the apartment and he closed the door behind them.  "The last withdrawal was made yesterday afternoon, all in cash, and was picked up by Randall Courier Company.  It was for three thousand dollars."
        Steele watched her search the room, careful not to leave anything out of place when he knew her fingers were itching to bring some order to the untidy room.  "Three thousand?  Blackmail?"
        "Possibly.  Or a ransom for the statue."
        "That's possible as well.  It's an old scam," he explained as she turned to look at him.  "Steal a valuable object, then arrange to return it to the owner for a small finder's fee."
        "Do you know of anyone in the area who might have done something like that?"
        "No one that I know," he told her, moving through the bedroom to the bath to search it so that Laura wouldn't have to.  He heard her moving about in the bedroom as he opened and closed the medicine cabinet - then opened it again.  There were several different bottles of sleeping pills there.   And a bottle of vitamins as well.  He picked it up, to examine the label, but moving it dislodged something behind it which fell into the trash can beside the sink.  Bending, he looking into the nearly empty receptacle and started to reach inside - "Laura?"
        "Yes?"  she called back.
        "Do you know if Miss Petty smoked?"
        Laura got up and did a quick inspection of the room and of the living room before returning to the bathroom door.  "There are no ashtrays in the apartment," she told him.  "Why?"  Carefully avoiding looking at the bathtub, she joined him.
        "Someone was here that smoked," he told her.  
        Laura grabbed a tissue from the counter and picked up the filter tipped cigarette butt. "It's not an America brand," she said, showing him the imprint.
        "French.  Very expensive."
        Laura put the cigarette into a plastic bag then into her purse.  "I wonder if Mr. Crandall smokes?"  she asked aloud. "Any thing else?"
        He reached into the waste basket again to pull out the bottle that had fallen.  "There are no less than six bottles of sleeping pills in that medicine cabinet," he told her.  "And two bottles of vitamins-"
        "Sleeping pills?  Why would a woman with that many sleeping pills slit her wrists to kill herself?"
        "We already established that she couldn't have, Laura," Steele reminded her. 
        "Exactly.  Let me see that bottle of vitamins."  She took it and read the label.  "Well, I think we know why she was leaving Los Angeles," she said.
        "Why?"
        "These are prescriptions for PRE-NATAL vitamins."
        "You mean she was-"
        "Pregnant," Laura nodded. "The autopsy will confirm that.  Maybe NOW Det. Simmons will listen to me."

        Hal Simmons heard Laura out, then sighed deeply before shaking his head in Steele's direction.  "Really, Mr. Steele.  I didn't think you'd approve of one of your operatives breaking into an apartment-"
        "I think you should listen to her, detective," Steele said. 
        "She's practically accusing one of the richest men in California of murder, Steele, and you expect me to take her seriously?"
        "I EXPECT you to do your job and investigate a suspicious death," Laura ground out.  
        "What suspicious?  The woman was upset because she was unemployed,  possibly pregnant, and unmarried, so she  slit her wrist with a razor blade."
        "Why?  Why not just take all those sleeping pills?" Laura asked.  "And who left the cigarette in her bathroom trash?  She didn't smoke."
        "She probably had a boyfriend who did," Simmons pointed out.  
        "And she was LEFT handed, Detective Simmons.  How many left handed people cut their LEFT wrists to commit suicide?"
        "Really, Miss Holt - You need to try to rein the lady in, Steele," he said.  Steele grabbed Laura by the arm as she counted to ten, then to twenty.  The telephone rang. "Excuse me.  "Simmons. . . "  He glanced up at Laura and Steele.  "What?  You're sure about -  Can you tell me if she was right or left handed, Doc?"  he nodded.  "And what about signs that she smoked-"  His lips thinned.  "Thanks.  If you get anymore information, let me know."  He hung up and looked up again.  "Seems you might be right, Miss Holt -" he said slowly.  "BUT - there's still no connection to Crandall -"
        "She WORKED for him," Laura pointed out.  
        "And we'll question them both," Simmons told her.  "You're out of this now, Miss Holt.  It's officially a murder investigation."
        
        Laura got behind the wheel of the Rabbit, barely waiting for Steele to close the door before putting the car into gear and laying a trail of rubber as they left the parking lot.  "Something tells me you're angry," he managed.
        "Angry?  Why should I be angry?"  she raged.  "Simply because WE did all the work on this case and now Detective Simmons is going to take the credit for it?"
        As they turned a corner, Steele worried about the car not turning over.  "Laura, I think you need to calm down-"
        "He's got another thing coming if he thinks I'm just going to roll over and forget this one.  I didn't tell him everything-"
        "Laura- the red light-"
        She braked sharply, almost sending him into the windshield.  Quickly, Steele reached out and grasped the key, turning off the engine.  "What are you doing?!"  Laura yelled.  "Give those back!"
        He shook his head.  "I think I'll drive."  He got out of the car and came around to open the driver's door, holding out his hand to help her out.  
        She ignored his hand and got out, head held high as the light changed and the cars behind them began to honk.  Steele smiled tightly at the drivers who were beginning to shout, watching Laura get into the passenger side of the car before getting in himself.  He started the engine and put the small car into gear, driving at a more sedate speed back to the office with a now quiet, obviously furious Laura.  
        When he stopped the engine, she started to get out, but his hand grabbed her arm to stop her.  "Laura - wait.  I'm sorry -"
        "No, you were right to do what you did.  I shouldn't have let myself become that angry."  She managed a small smile, rolling her eyes.  "I haven't been that angry since-"
        "Since the night I became Remington Steele?"  he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.  "I don't know how you kept from strangling me."
        "I would have-," she admitted. "But there were too many witnesses.  And don't think it would have looked good in the papers.  Furious Associate Strangles Boss."  She laughed.  
        "I didn't realize that you HAD a real temper.  I could understand your anger that night, but this-"
        "I don't usually lose it.  But Simmons just mad me so angry with his patronizing attitude - I don't think he said ten words to me."
        "You wanted me to be Remington Steele, Laura.  That means that you'll have to accept not getting all of the credit you deserve for solving a case-"
        "I know.  I know."
        He touched her cheek.  "But I'll try to see that you get as much of the credit as possible.  You, and Murphy.  Although I don't think he'll thank me for it."
        She brought his hand to her lips, then leaned close to him in the dark garage.  "Well, I'll thank you for both of us, then," she said as her lips found his.  The sound of gunfire and then glass shattering sent them both down in the seat.  "What on earth?"
        "Are you all right?"  Steele asked.
        "I think so.  What happened?"
        "Someone took a shot at us," he told her, pointing up to the broken windshield.  
        "Why?"  she asked.
        "Because we were kissing."  He declared, only half in jest.  Someone running toward the car caused him to tense.
        "Miss Holt?  Mr. Steele?"  a concerned voice called out.
        "It's Murray," she told Steele.  "Garage security."
        They both sat up, and exited the car as Murray approached.  "Are you all right?  I thought I heard a gunshot.  Thought at first it might be a car backfiring-"  He saw the broken window.  
        "We're fine, Murray," Laura assured the elderly man.  "Did you see anyone leave?"
        "No, Miss Holt.  They didn't go past the guard shack.  Only way out would be in the elevator."
        "Thank you," Laura said, running toward the corner to the elevator, with Steele right behind.  The doors were closing as they arrived, and Laura hit the doors in frustration.  "The stairs -" she said, turning in that direction.  
        Steele followed, shaking his head.  In the stair well, he caught up with her as she opened the first floor door to enter the corridor.  The elevator didn't stop, and she dashed for the stairs again.  "Laura," he called, out of breath after repeating that scene four times, "Give it up.  He can ride that damned thing up to the top floor and we'd never get back down to catch him.  Let's just call the police -"
        She sat down on the steps and waited for him.  "You're right."  Her eyes took on a speculative look.  "But he's got to come down sooner or later."  She started back downstairs.
        Steele stood there, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.  "Where are you going?"
        "To stake out the entrance.  No one takes a shot a me and just walks away," she declared.
        Sighing, Steele followed her.  

        After ten minutes of watching the elevator, Laura spoke to the front guard, asking him to watch for anyone suspicious, then agreed to go back to the office and tell Murphy what had happened.  But when they arrived, they found him just coming from Steele's office.  
        "Where the hell have you two been?"  he demanded to know.  "Mrs. Crandall's in there, and insists on talking to Mr. Steele."
        Steele saw Laura's shoulders set.  "Now, Laura -"
        "What happened?"  Murphy asked.
        "It's a long story, Murphy," she told him.  "But the police are finally convinced that Tricia Petty was murdered.  Now, we have to find out who did it."
        "But that's what I was going to tell you, Laura.  It couldn't have been Crandall."
        "Why?"
        "I talked to Leon.  The money was delivered directly to MR. Crandall last evening around six.  And it turns out that Tricia Petty wasn't the only one with an airplane ticket to New York.  Crandall was going as well."
        Laura turned on her heel and entered Steele's office.  Mrs. Crandall was just putting out a cigarette, waving the air to clear it.  "Forgive me.  I know it's a  terrible habit," she said.  "I've been trying to quit, but when I get nervous -"  She saw Steele behind Laura and smiled.  "Mr. Steele.  I'm so glad you're here.  I wanted to tell you that it is no longer necessary for you to look for my statue.  I know what happened to it."
        Steele drew her attention as Laura moved to the ashtray.  "Indeed?  May I ask-?"
        She looked a trifle embarrassed. "My husband took it.  He's had some trouble lately - and decided to try to sell the statue."
        "Without telling you?"  Steele asked.  "How thoughtless."
        "He found a buyer last night, and so it's gone."  She lifted a handkerchief to her eyes.  "I feel such a fool -"
        "Why didn't he tell you about this before you hired the agency, Mrs. Crandall?"
        "He didn't know that I had hired you.  You see, Mitchell and I haven't been very- close these last months.  Stress over his work - we haven't really talked at all.  Well, we talked last night.  And we've decided to start over.  Take a trip. A sort of -second honeymoon.  And so I shan't be needing your services any longer, I'm afraid. Send me a bill for your expenses up to now and I'll see that you get paid."
        Steele rose when she did.  "Thank you, Mrs. Crandall.  Good luck."
        "Thank you, Mr. Steele.  For trying.  And you, too, Miss Holt.  Good bye."  The door was barely closed behind her when Laura grabbed the cigarette butt and examined it.  
        Taking a deep breath, she held it out to Steele. "It's the same as the one we found at Tricia Petty's," she announced.  
        "Laura, she couldn't have killed the woman.  Miss Petty would have put up a fight-"
        "When Simmons talked to the coroner, he was writing something down.  Miss Petty had chloroform in her lungs.  She was knocked out - something even Mrs. Crandall could have done."
        "But how do we prove it?"  he asked.
        Laura picked up the telephone.  "Ask Murphy to come in here, please."

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