Steele With A Twist

Part 12

"What did you say?" Steele asked, looking down at Laura.
"I suggested that you and I steal that painting. Tell Felicia that you'll help her, but we'll beat her to it."
"And do what with it?"
"Use it to trap Gutman," Laura said. "As long as we have that painting, he won't dare say a word - Our having that painting would give us leverage."
"It might work-" Steele mused. "But you're not going to-"
"Why not?"
"Laura, if you were caught it would be the end of your career -"
"And if you do it alone and are caught, then that career will be finished anyway. So will Murphy's."
"But you wouldn't be facing a charge of grand theft. Plus whatever else they might choose to charge me with as a result of this little charade."
"Would you rather have to trust Felicia as a partner?" Laura asked him.
"You've never done anything like this- "
"I'm a quick study."
"What about the curse?"
"That's probably the only thing I have in common with Felicia," she said with an elfin grin. "I don't believe in curses."
Steele shook his head, rising from the couch. "Laura, you've no idea what you're considering. Stealing a painting isn't something you can decide to do on the spur of the moment. It takes planning- careful planning -"
"Well," she said, rising to walk toward him. "Then I'm lucky that I've got one of the best art thieves in all of Europe to plan it, aren't I?" She slid her arms around his neck. "How about it, Mr. Steele? Can I tempt you into a touch of larceny?"
Steele tried to think of something to talk her out of this, something to make her understand what she was suggesting. But the longer he looked into those brown eyes, the more he came to think that she had come up with the only plan that had any chance of getting them out of this mess and catching Lyle Morrison's murderer. Be careful what you wish for, he told himself. Had it really been less than two weeks ago that he had been wishing for some excitement in his life? Something to relieve the day to day routine that his life had become? "All right. We'll do it. I'll do some more investigating while we're at the gallery tomorrow morning."
"You mean 'case the joint'?" she asked with a grin.
"Exactly, Laura.," he agreed, pulling her closer. "Exactly."

He walked her downstairs to the Rabbit around midnight. She'd parked in the underground garage, so Steele decided it was safe enough to give her a long kiss before she got into the car. She turned the key, to start the engine - and nothing happened. "Sounds like the battery," he told her.
"I noticed it was weak before I went down to Mexico," she told him.
"And you drove it all the way down there alone?" Steele questioned.
"Nothing happened, did it?"
"Because you just happen to be damned lucky," he said, opening the door so she could get out. "I'll call Fred to drive you home. And I'll have your car seen to tomorrow morning-"
"You don't have to disturb Fred - it's late-"
"Nonsense. That's what he's paid to do. Let's go back upstairs and I'll call him from the apartment."
"I can just grab a cab," Laura still insisted.
"Alone? At this time of night?"
"I can take care of myself, remember?"
"I know that, Laura," Steele said gently. "But it would make me feel better." He sighed. "Let's call a cab, then. But I'm going with you. At least as far as your apartment building." They went out to the street, where Steele easily flagged down a cab. He gave the man the address, then sat back.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
"Did you get your business taken care of this afternoon?"
She smiled, letting him change the subject. "I signed a lease on that house I showed you yesterday evening. I move in this weekend."
"When are you going to tell your mother?"
"I'm hoping she'll be gone by then. And if she's not- do you think she'd notice?"
"I think she would. She'd probably come knocking on my door looking for you." He took her hand in his. "Are you certain about what we discussed earlier? You can still back out-"
"I'm in, Mr. Steele," Laura told him. "You just get those plans made."
He waited until she had entered the building, then instructed the driver to return to his apartment building. What on earth had he gotten himself into? he wondered. But he was smiling just the same.

Laura let herself into the apartment as quietly as she could. There weren't any lights on, and she turned the security locks on the door, wincing at each click or rattle. Her mother had always slept lightly. But there was no sign of Abigail Holt as Laura started down the hall on tiptoe. She was passing the spare bedroom when she heard, "It's about time, Laura. Where were you all evening?"
Laura exhaled the breath she had been holding as she paused. "I told you. We were working on a case -"
"I called the office, Laura -" Abigail told her.
"I never said we were meeting at the office. And you've no right to check up on me, Mother. I'm a big girl. I don't need you to watch out for me."
"Someone needs to. Laura, I've seen Mr. Steele's picture and name in the paper on numerous occasions. Always a different girl -"
"So? We were WORKING, Mother. On a case. Now it's late, and I have to be at the office early tomorrow - or this morning, rather. Oh. You might want to know that I'm going to be moving out this weekend."
"Moving? To where?"
"I've found a house. I signed the lease this afternoon. So tomorrow I'm going to call a moving company to start packing my things."
"But- you and Wilson bought most of the furniture- he might want some of it back-"
"Wilson told me to keep it, Mother. He's happy with the way things are. Why can't you be? Good night, Mother."
Laura went to her room and closed the door. She was a fine one to lecture Remington on his relationship with his father when she couldn't even get along with her own mother. She deliberately turned her thoughts to the evening. No wonder he'd seemed so distant. He'd been keeping the secret of his past for five years with no one he could relax with, be himself with. Well, that was going to change. She occasionally caught glimpses of someone hiding behind that cool exterior. Someone who longed for a place, to be accepted - and loved. Not because he was the great detective Remington Steele, but simply because he was a very special man.
Brushing out her hair, Laura looked at herself in the mirror. "Urchin", Felicia had called her. Common. She twisted her hair atop her head in a soft style and smiled. The blonde would eat those words before she was through.

She left the house early again, and was surprised to find Mr. Steele already in his office. "I saw my car downstairs," she told him.
"I called the auto club after I got home," he explained, handing her the keys. "They replaced the battery."
"And how did it get here?"
"I drove it to work."
"You drove? - I -"
"I DO have a driver's license, Miss Holt," he told her. "I might not use it often, but I do have one."
"What time are we going to the gallery?"
"I thought we'd wait until Bernice arrives." He picked up a cup. "There's some coffee out there - and some water for tea."
"Thanks. I need to call a moving company -"
"Did you tell your mother your news?"
"Yes. I don't think she was very pleased. And she didn't mention anything about leaving before I move, either," she told him with a grimace, going to her office and picking up the telephone. It was then she saw the single red rose in a vase beside the computer and smiled. Her fingers moved to touch the soft petals as someone answered. "Hello. . . "
Steele forced himself to concentrate on the report Murphy had left on his desk about the Howard case. He was right. Terrance Carter had indeed had a motive- and the opportunity to kill Marcus Cole. It was simply a matter of gathering enough evidence to convince the police that they were holding the wrong man. He heard Murphy's voice in the other office and tried not to listen to the conversation. But the door was partially open, and their voices carried easily into the larger office.
"How'd dinner go with your mother last night?" Murphy asked Laura.
"Oh, fine." She responded noncommittally, lowering her eyes to her desk. She didn't like lying to Murphy. He didn't deserve it. "As fine as it could be, I guess."
"You free for dinner this evening?"
"Murphy, I-"
His eyes found the rose that she had moved to her desk, and he sighed, glancing toward the partially open door. "Never mind. I think I just figured out what Bernice meant yesterday. You didn't have dinner with your mother, did you, Laura?"
"I -" She finally looked at him again.
"She called here looking for you just before I left. You were with Steele, weren't you?"
"We were working on the Morrison case, Murphy -" It was the truth, after all.
"Yeah. And you did so well that he sent you a rose this morning."
Laura's face was a mask of uncertainty. "I'm sorry, Murphy. I-"
"Hey. That's okay." He looked at her, saw the look in her eyes, and smiled. "I knew I never stood a chance, anyway. Friends?"
"You know we are. At least, I hope we are."
"Always. I need to talk to the boss about the Howard case - Think you could get away for lunch?"
"I think so."
"Good." He smiled and turned toward the other door. Rapping once on the wood, he entered Steele's office, then closed the door behind him.

Steele was apparently reading a report, and looked up as Murphy closed the door. "I didn't know you were here, Murphy-Have you spoken to Terrance Carter?"
"Not yet. I've got an appointment with him for this morning. How did that luncheon go yesterday?"
"Oh, it was canceled at the last minute- Good thing, too, since I was already involved in this Morrison business."
"Why? I mean, you turned down the case when Morrison brought it to us. Now, you're bending over backwards to find his killer."
"The man did die in our office, Murphy," Steele pointed out. "Practically in my arms. And he did ask me to help him just before he died. I think that made us involved."
"And just WHO is going to pay the fee on this one?" At Steele's flustered look, Murphy shook his head. "It's not like you to go quixotic about a case, Steele."
"Consider it training for Miss Holt, then."
"Speaking of Laura, did Bernice tell you that Alan Grievey sent a package to you? Laura's records from Havenhurst?"
"I have them here. I don't think we need worry about Miss Holt, Murphy. Her instincts are excellent. I don't think I've ever seen anyone with a better feel for detective work."
"I have to meet Carter. See you later." He paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Steele-" Steele looked up from the file before him. "I think the best man did win, after all." He grinned as Steele did, then closed the door behind him. Bernice came into the office, removing her coat and pulling the cover from her typewriter. "Running a bit late, aren't we?"
"Sorry. I overslept. Is Mr. Steele already here?"
"He and Laura both. I'll be at Terrance Carter's office if you need me."
"Okay." She smoothed her skirt and picked up her appointments book before entering Steele's office. He and Laura were behind his desk, Laura bent over looking at a file on the desk as they spoke quietly. "Good morning, Mr. Steele. Laura."
"Bernice."
"Good morning."
"I'm sorry for being late-"
"Were you? I hadn't noticed. What's on tap for the day?"
Smiling gratefully, she consulted the book in her hand. "You're clear this morning But Mrs. Davenport will be here at two, and someone called yesterday to make an appointment for four. She wouldn't give her last name, just Felicia. Said she'd be waiting for you at La Royale."
Laura and Steele glanced at each other. "Thank you, Bernice. Miss Holt and I will be at the Hopewood Art Gallery." Laura went to her office and retrieved her coat and purse.
"If my mother calls about lunch, Bernice, I've already made plans."
"Whatever you say."

In the limo, Laura didn't look at Steele as she said, "Thank you for the rose."
"I thought it would mean more than a room full of them," he said. "What did Murphy say?"
"He asked if we could be friends. I don't think he's very happy with you."
"I don't know about that. He told me that the best man won."
"Won? What? Me? Really, I-"
"Laura, calm down. It was a joke. What are these lunch plans you mentioned to Bernice?"
"Murphy asked me to lunch. I didn't have the heart to say no."
"It will give me a chance to work on the plans undisturbed," he told her. "I want to get as much done as I can before speaking to Felicia. And I think it's best that I speak to her alone. You and she - "
"Detest each other?" Laura supplied.
"An accurate description, I think. If I'm going to convince her of my sincerity, I might need to be a bit friendlier than I could be with you there."
Laura smiled at him, but her eyes were serious. "Just remember that she double crossed you once, Mr. Steele. And I don't think she'd hesitate to do it again."

The Hopewood Art Gallery was a small - and until Lyle Morrison's untimely death - privately owned gallery which had a reputation for showing only rare and priceless objects d'art. After speaking for a moment with Morrison's still upset receptionist, Steele unabashedly used his charm to convince her to let them into her late employer's office to have a look around. "The police were here yesterday," she told them. "I suppose it would be all right." She sniffled, gave Steele a look of gratitude when he handed her his handkerchief. "I'm sorry. It's just that- I worked for Mr. Morrison for six years- I still can't believe that he's gone. Excuse me-" She rushed down the hall, leaving Steele and Laura to enter the office alone.
"I wonder what will happen to this place now?" Laura mused as they looked through the room.
"I imagine most of the art will be auctioned off," Steele told her, examining a painting on the wall behind the desk. The frame opened away from the wall. "There you are," he said softly, drawing Laura's attention to the safe. "Watch the door, will you, while I have a go at this?" It had been a while since he'd done something like this. It took him two tries to get it open. "Out of practice," he told Laura with a grimace. "Five years ago, I could have opened it in half the time." He pulled the items inside out to examine them. There wasn't much. "Nothing here," he said.
Laura came forward. "She's on the telephone," she assured him. Stooping, she picked something up from the floor. "What's this?" She opened it. "A matchbook. From a place called the Cave. -"
"Can't picture Morrison in a place like that."
"You know it?"
"Yes." He closed the safe. "Shall we go, Miss Holt?"

After walking Laura though the gallery and showing her the painting that was the cause of all of the turmoil, Steele turned her back toward the limo. "Still think it's a piece of cake?" she asked him, hoping to remove the frown from his handsome face.
"Yes. I can't see that they've increased security at all. Apparently no one has made the connection between Morrison's death and the painting."
Laura looked at the matchbook. "What is this- Cave?"
"Not a very nice place. It's a gathering point for thieves, con artists, the odd hit man or two. People looking to find a score- or to find out who just made one."
"Not the kind of place I'd think that Morrison would have frequented," Laura commented. "I wonder if his killer dropped this?"
"It's quite possible," Steele said, taking the matchbook from her to examine it more closely. "There's some writing inside- behind the matches-" He folded the cardboard back. "Lisanne-and a telephone number. Probably someone our killer met at the Cave and wanted to see again."
"Maybe we should try to find this - Lisanne," Laura suggested. "She might be able to lead us to the killer -"
Steele picked up the telephone and dialed the number. Adopting a smarmy, broad accent, he told the sleepy woman who answered, "Yes. I 'm looking for Lisanne- Oh, I see. Well, we met the other night, and - could you give me that number?" He returned Laura's smile, winking. "Thank you, love. No, no message. I'll find her." He hung up. "She went to pick up her check from work - and the number for her work is this one-" he indicated the number for the "Cave" from the matchbook.
"Then it should be easy to find her-"
"You are NOT going to that club, Laura. It would be safer to walk down Hollywood at midnight than to set foot in that place."
"But we need to find - And you can't go there alone, without backup-"
"I'm not going either." At her confused expression, he shook his head. "Laura, that place is crawling with people I've probably met at one time or the other. Back then I was just another face. Now, I'm Remington Steele. I can't risk any of them making that connection. We'll do this without involving Lisanne."

She and Murphy left for lunch, with Laura promising to show him her new house on the way. Bernice came to the door moments later. "I'm going to lunch now," she told Steele.
"Very well."
"Can I bring you something back?"
"A sandwich, I suppose." His attention was focused on the plans he was studying.
"I'll be back in an hour, then."
He nodded, not really listening. The only problem he could see was how to distract the guards and force them to turn off the security grid that would allow access to the room in which the painting hung. Something that would make them hesitate to report a problem.
"Hello?" Steele's head came up as he heard the voice. It was familiar - "Is there anyone here?" He rolled up the plans and stuck them beneath the sofa, rising to his feet as Abigail Holt appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Holt." He took her hand. "This is a surprise. I'm afraid Laura's not here-"
"It's not Laura that I came to see, Mr. Steele," Abigail told him, her eyes on him. "You're the one I want to talk to."
"Me?" he indicated one of the chairs for her to sit in.
She didn't move. "Yes. I want you to talk Laura out of this ridiculous idea of being a private detective."
Steele stood there, watching her for a long moment, considering his words carefully. "Please sit down, Mrs. Holt. I think you and I DO need to talk."