Steele Romance

Part 9

by Nancy Eddy

 When Steele and Murphy returned, Laura was just hanging up the telephone.  "What's going on, Laura?"
 She looked at both men.  "First things first.  Mr. Steele, I want you to use your connections to see if you can find out exactly WHO bought that statue- and for how much."
 "Laura, I don't know-"
 She held out the telephone.  "While you're doing that, I'm going to fill Murphy in on what's happened today.  And then, we're going to have a talk with Mitch Crandall."
 "Crandall?  Why?" Murphy asked.
 "Just make the call," she told Steele, moving to the conference area with Murphy to begin relating the afternoon's events in a quiet voice- including the chase up the stairwell to try and catch whoever had shot at them.
 At last Steele hung up the telephone, a thoughtful expression on his face.  He came over to join them as Murphy asked, "And you think Mrs. Crandall fired that shot at you?"
 "I'd be willing to put money on it," Laura confirmed.  "Well, Mr. Steele?"
 "That statue has never been on the market, Laura.  And believe me, if it had been, the people I spoke to would have known about it."
 Laura nodded, as if his words confirmed her suspicions.  She reached across to pick up the extension.  "Now, I want you to call Mitch Crandall and tell him that we have something to tell him about Tricia Petty's death that he might not be aware of."
 "Laura," Murphy objected, "for all we know Crandall may have been involved in that murder -"
 "I don't think so, Murphy.  You said yourself that Crandall had a ticket to New York for the same flight.  And he had three thousand dollars to take with him.  And remember that Mrs. Crandall was always adamant that we not bother her husband with any of this about the statue. We need some more answers.  At the moment, the best place to get those answers is from Mitchell Crandall himself."  She dialed the number and held out the receiver to Steele.  "You're on, Mr. Steele."
 Steele took the telephone as it was answered.  "Crandall Enterprises."
 "Mitchell Crandall, please."
 "May I say who's calling?"
 "Remington Steele."
 "Let me see if he's available," the woman said.
 Laura rose and began pacing the room.  "Just tell him that it's imperative that he meet with us," she coached him.
 "Crandall here," a tired sounding masculine voice answered.
 "Mr. Crandall.  This is Remington Steele-"
 "The detective?  What can I do for you?"
 "I think we need to talk, Mr. Crandall."
 "About what?"
 "Tricia Petty's murder."
 "Murder?  She committed suicide -"  Steele could hear the strain in the man's voice.
 "Then the police haven't contacted you?"
 "No - What is this about, Steele?"
 "There are some matters regarding Miss Petty's death that you might not be aware of- Is there someplace we can meet?"
 "If this is an attempt to blackmail me -"
 "Blackmail?  Nonsense.  I simply thought that since the agency was hired by your wife to locate the Jade Buddha after she accused Miss Petty of stealing it-"
 Crandall sighed heavily.  "Very well.  I can be at your office in ten minutes, Mr. Steele."
 "I'll be waiting," he said, then hung up the telephone.  "He's on his way."
 "YES!"  Laura sat down.  "Good work, Mr. Steele. Now, you have one more telephone call to make."
 Steele picked up the telephone.  "Who to this time?"
 "Homicide detective Simmons.  He'll probably be more receptive to you than to me."
 Murphy sat back, shaking his head.  "And what if this backfires, Laura?"  he asked.  "What if Crandall doesn't believe us?  Or if he's part of all this?"
 "It's a chance we have to take, Murphy," she told him as Steele dialed Simmons' number.  "I can't believe that he would have anything to do with killing Tricia Petty - She was carrying his child, for goodness sake."
 "What if it wasn't his child?  And where does the statue come into this?"
 Steele made the call while listening to Laura and Murphy.  "That's simple," Laura said.  "I think Mrs. Crandall knew about the affair between her husband and Tricia Petty, and she wanted the woman out of her house.  So she hid the statue, claiming that Tricia had stolen it."
 "If she stole the statue herself, why hire us to find it?  And the insurance claim-"
 Steele hung up.  "Perhaps because Crandall insisted that the insurance claim be filed, considering the worth of the statue," he surmised.  "And the insurance company wanted her to hire someone to find proof that Miss Petty was indeed the thief."
 "So she was using us, hoping we would prove the woman's guilt?  Then why didn't she plant the statue in Miss Petty's apartment?"
 "I really think that Mr. Crandall is the key," Laura insisted.  "What did Simmons have to say?"
 "He told us to keep out of things, that it's a police matter."
 Laura scowled.  "He wants the credit for solving this.  That's his only motivation."  Bernice buzzed through.  "Yes?"
 "Mr. Crandall is here to see Mr. Steele," the receptionist said.
 "Thank you, Bernice.  Send him in."  She turned to Steele.  You go over to the desk, and once you greet him, let Murphy and me do all the talking -"  When he would have objected, she said, "Trust me, Mr. Steele.  I know what I'm doing."
 The door opened and Bernice stood back for Mitchell Crandall to enter the room before closing the door.  The white haired man looked the part of a corporate mogul, Laura thought.  But he also looked tired, worn out, - and suspicious.  "Mr. Steele."
 Steele stood from the chair behind the desk, extending a hand.  "Mr. Crandall.  Thank you for coming.  Allow me to introduce my associates, Laura Holt and Murphy Michaels."  He sat back down.
 "What is all this about, Mr. Steele?  Tricia killed herself -"
 "How long had you been seeing Miss Petty, Mr. Crandall?" Laura questioned him.
 "So you found out about that.  Ever since she started working for us.  Just after, anyway.  I'd never met anyone like her.  She was down to earth, sweet - And far too young for someone like me."
 "Were you in love with her?"  Laura wanted to know.
 Crandall sank into a chair. "Yes.  I was willing to give it all up just to be with her.  I thought she felt the same way - we were going to leave, go to New York and then to Europe.  Raise our child-"  He ran a shaking hand over his face.  "I don't know why she changed her mind-"
 "Maybe she didn't," Laura said gently, and she saw him glance at her, confused.
 "What do you mean?"
 "Was Miss Petty left handed, Mr. Crandall?"  Laura asked.
 "Why, yes, she was."
 "Then how do you explain the fact that her LEFT wrist was slashed?"  Murphy asked.  "The coroner said that there was no way she could have cut as deep as those cuts were with her right hand."
 Crandall frowned, moving his dark gaze to where Steele sat, watching him carefully.  "I didn't know-"
 "And he also found traces of chloroform in her lungs.  Apparently she'd been rendered unconscious by someone before they killed her."
 "Why would anyone want to kill Tricia?  She didn't' have any enemies-"
 "What about your wife?"  Laura wondered.  "Did she know about your plans to leave with Miss Petty?"
 "She didn't know we were leaving," he told Steele. "But she did know that I'd been seeing Tricia -"
 "Had you asked about a divorce?"
 "Yesterday.  She refused to discuss it.  So I decided that I'd leave anyway -"
 "You were just going to abandon your wife?  Run away with another woman?"
 "My marriage has been a sham for years.  Until I met Tricia, - And Phyllis would have had the company.  I wasn't taking very much with me-"
 "Is that what the three thousand was for?"
 Crandall shook his head upon hearing Murphy's question.  "You're good, Mr. Steele.  Yes.  That and the other two I'd withdrawn earlier.  I hoped it would keep Phyllis from trying to find us."
 Laura nodded at Murphy.  "Where were you last night, Mr. Crandall?"
 "At the office all evening.  Finishing things up so I could leave with Tricia this morning."
 "How did you find out about her death?"
 He rose from his chair.  "God forgive me.  I  called her apartment around six this morning to make sure she was ready to meet me at the airport - there was no answer, and I became concerned.  So I took a taxi over there.  I used my key to open the door.  I -"  He closed his eyes as his hands gripped the back of the chair, knuckles white against the dark tweed.  "All I could think of was getting out of there before the police arrived - I don't even think I locked the door behind me.  I went home, and Phyllis told me that the statue was back in it's cabinet, and saw that something was wrong.  I told her everything - about Tricia, about our plans to run away -  I expected her to be angry, to  - I don't know what I expected.  But it wasn't her telling me things would be all right, suggesting that we take a trip abroad until things died down.  I didn't want to - but she reminded me that my finger prints would be all over that apartment, and if the police decided to see if they could find a reason for Tricia's suicide, I would become involved-"
 "Where was Mrs. Crandall last evening?"  Laura asked.
 "At home, I suppose," he said, frowning at Steele.  "Yes.  At home."
 Laura decided to take a different angle. "Your wife was here this afternoon, and told us that you had sold the statue because you needed money -"
 "She what?  I never touched that damned thing.  I hated it.  Never understood her attachment to it.  She said that I sold it?  But she told me it had been stolen- she accused Tricia, and wanted to call the police.  I refused to allow that, but I did tell Tricia that it was best that she not work at the house anymore.  That Phyllis was too suspicious - I didn't want her to go the police about the theft, to involve Tricia in it, so I told Phyllis to file an insurance claim and hire a detective agency.  I thought it would be more low key, less likely to cause trouble -"  He shook his head.  "That statue was back this morning.  She told me that she wasn't going to question it, and would call the insurance company and inform the detective of its return."
 "Which she obviously did."  Laura came to rest her hands on the edge of the desk.  "Mr. Crandall, are you absolutely certain that your wife was at home last night?  That she didn't go to Tricia Petty's apartment?"
 "I doubt that Phyllis even knew where Tricia lived," he said.
 "It would have been easy for her to find out - "
 Crandall's eyes narrowed as he shook his head in Steele's direction. "You're trying to say that Phyllis killed Tricia, aren't you?  That's ridiculous."
 "Is it, Mr. Crandall?"  Murphy asked.  "Tricia Petty was taking you away, taking away the status of being your wife -"
 "Did Mrs. Crandall know about the baby, Mr. Crandall?"
 "Not until this morning -"
 "You said she took the news more calmly than you expected her to.  Isn't it possible that it was because she already knew about Tricia's death? Because she'd been there?"
 "She didn't know where Tricia lived, I told you."
 Laura nodded to Murphy, who picked up the cigarette butt that Phyllis Crandall had left earlier.  Murphy carried it to the man. "Do you recognize this, Mr. Crandall?"
 He examined the item, saw the red lipstick on the filter.  "It's the same brand that Phyllis smokes."
 "If she was never in that apartment, then how do you explain the fact that Mr. Steele and I found a cigarette butt just like this one in the bathroom wastebasket of Tricia Petty's apartment?"
 "I'm sure that Phyllis isn't the only one who smokes that brand -"
 "An expensive French brand of cigarettes, Mr. Crandall?"  Laura pushed.  "How many people would Tricia have known that would be able to afford them?"
 "I can't believe that Phyllis would be capable of something so cold blooded -"
 "But she COULD have done it?"
 Crandall took a deep, ragged breath.  "Yes.  She's not as frail as she tries to appear."
 "Would you be willing to tell this to the police, Mr. Crandall?  To give Tricia some peace?  Or are you going to let the murderer of the woman you love and your child get away with it?"
 Crandall sat down again, his head in his hands.

 Later that evening, Laura snuggled against her Mr. Steele as they sat on the sofa in his new apartment, watching the news as a handcuffed Phyllis Crandall was escorted into the police station by a triumphant Detective Simmons.  "Oh, well," Laura sighed.  "At least she's in jail.  Even if the agency only got a small mention on the news."
 "I think Mr. Crandall might change that once he gives an interview," Steele said, picking up the remote to turn the television off.  Putting both arms around her, he looked down at her.  "Now.  Where were we?"
 "Uhmm," Laura murmured, placing her lips to his jaw as she lifted herself into his lap.  "I think, Mr. Steele, we were right - here," she said, kissing him between words.
 "Sounds right to me, Miss Holt," he agreed.  "I don't suppose I could convince you to give up your house and move in here?"  Laura's uncertain look was his answer.  "I understand.  It's too soon-"
 "I just think we need some time to make certain this is going  last."
 "And that I'm not going to take off without warning?"  he pulled her close.  "I've no intention of going anywhere, Laura.  I think I'm going to like being Remington Steele."
 Laura's lips found his, and the room was quiet for some time.