Mildred's eyes never left Laura's face as she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper, which she slid across the surface of the desk. "They sent this via facsimile, Miss Holt. Or should I call you Mrs. Steele now?"
Laura's laughter faded. "Miss Holt will do, Mildred." She glanced down at damning evidence on the desk before her as she sought for an answer. A marriage license wasn't something that could be dismissed so easily. "We wanted to keep it a secret, Mildred," she explained. "Just for a little while. I can't really explain-"
The telephone rang, and Laura grabbed it before Mildred could, grateful for a distraction from the matter at hand. "Remington Steele Investigations," she answered.
"Laura? Where's Mildred?"
"Harry. She's right here. I was closer to the phone," Laura lied, ignoring Mildred's glare of disapproval. "I'm glad you called. We need to talk. Do you have a few minutes?"
She could see him checking his watch. "A few. Racine is getting ready for dinner before the premiere. Did Murphy find out anything about the bomb?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet, Laura decided, so as not to alarm their client.
"He's not back yet," Laura answered. "Let me put you on 'hold' so I can go into my office."
"Okay," he said.
Laura pressed the "hold" button and put the receiver down as she gave Mildred a tight smile. "I'll be in my office," she said unnecessarily, and then disappeared, closing the door with a relieved sigh before picking up the telephone and pressing the proper button. "You still there?" she asked.
"I'm here. What's wrong?" Remington asked.
"Mildred and Murphy know about 'The Little Chapel of Perpetual Happiness'," she explained.
Remington was quiet for a second. "I see. Well, we knew it could happen, Laura. I mean, Murphy's a good detective. And Mildred's the best I've seen at digging up information. I'm sure they'll keep quiet about it until we're ready to go public."
"Mildred's pretty upset that we kept it from her. Disappointed."
"No doubt she is," he mused. "I'll speak to her about it, try to smooth the waters, as it were."
"Thank you. Was there another reason you called?"
"Yes. It has to do with Mildred's talent for digging, actually. I need her to find out everything she can about Racine's chauffer, Jack Gianelli."
Laura found a sheet of paper and wrote down the name. "Any particular reason?" she questioned.
"I had a chat with him earlier- and, well, you know that feeling that tipped you off to the bomb?"
"The hairs on my neck standing up?" Laura asked.
"Something about him gave me that same feeling. Ask Fred about him. He might have heard something about the man through the grapevine."
"You think he might be the stalker?"
"It's a possibility. I checked one of Racine's contracts with Howard Forrester. Unless the typing ball has been changed, it wasn't typed on the same machine."
"I thought we'd ruled Howard out anyway?" Laura asked.
"I just wanted to be sure. You know as well as I do that stalking isn't necessarily about sex. It's about power and control over the victim. Something that we've already established that Howard enjoys as far as Racine is concerned. I'm hoping to talk to Nick Constantine this evening after the premiere about how involved Howard is in his career." His voice dropped even further in volume. "I'd much rather be spending the evening with you, though," he told her.
Laura smiled into the telephone. "So would I. While you're out rubbing elbows with the beautiful people, I'll be at home having a pizza."
"I'll make it up to you once this case is over," Remington promised.
"I'll hold you to that."
"I'm sure you will. Along with holding me to other things, I hope." His laughter was soft and sexy, and Laura felt herself falling under its spell until he spoke again. "Put me back through to Mildred, please?"
Laura pressed the "hold" button again, and then connected the intercom through to Mildred's desk. "Yes?" the receptionist said.
"Mr. Steele wants to talk to you, Mildred," Laura explained, then cleared the intercom before going over to the computer. Mildred wasn't the only one who could "dig", she told herself as she accessed the database they used for research.
***
Mildred nodded into the telephone. "I promise, Mr. Steele. I won't say a word. And I'm sure Mr. Michaels won't either. He didn't even want me to bring it up until you or Miss Holt, I mean, Mrs. Steele did."
"I think we'll stick with Miss Holt for the time being, Mildred," Remington pointed out. "I hope that we won't have to keep it a secret for very long, but I gave Laura my word. And I've no intention of going back on that."
"Okay. Did you call about something else or just to talk to Miss Holt?" the woman questioned.
"I need you to do a background check for me. Laura has the information. And I need it yesterday, Mildred."
"You got it, Chief," Mildred assured him eagerly. "You know me. I love to dig."
"That's what I was counting on," Remington said. "And when Murphy returns, tell him that I'd like him to keep an eye on Racine's house while we're out, just to make sure the stalker doesn't leave any other little 'gifts'."
"Got ya," Mildred said as she heard Racine Douglas' voice in the background.
"I'm ready, Remington."
"I have to go, Mildred. Tell Laura that I'll call her later if I can."
"I will."
"And we agreed, no questions, right?"
"Not a one," Mildred promised.
"Night."
"Have fun at the premiere," Mildred said as he hung up.
The intercom buzzed again, and Mildred flipped the switch. "Yes, Miss Holt?"
"Could you come in here for a moment, Mildred?" Laura asked.
"On my way," Mildred answered eagerly, rising and going toward the closed office door. She might have promised Mr. Steele not to ask any questions, but that didn't mean she couldn't *listen*, in case Miss Holt decided that she wanted to talk. Mildred didn't bother to knock, and as she entered, she said, "Before we start, I'd like to apologize-" Mildred's voice trailed off as she realized that she was talking to an empty office. "Miss Holt?" She looked under the desk, and then went to the door that connected with Mr. Steele's larger office.
It was empty as well, but the outer door was slightly ajar, and Mildred was sure that she had closed it earlier. Going through it back into reception, Mildred called out again. "Miss Holt?" Mildred went into the hallway, and then down to where she could see the elevators, but there was no sign of Miss Holt.
Frowning, Mildred returned to the office and sat down at her desk, only to find a slip of paper there with "Full background check of Miss Douglas' chauffer, Jack Gianelli, ASAP," written in Laura's neat handwriting.
Lifting her shoulders, Mildred turned to her computer and went to work.
***
Laura gave herself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to take the stairs down to the next floor, avoiding having to wait for the elevator and possibly being caught out by Mildred.
As much as she trusted Harry, the knowledge that Mildred, who was very close to Harry's father, Daniel Chalmers, knew about their elopement, meant that keeping it a secret wasn't going to last very long. But before she had to 'go public' as Harry had said, Laura was going to prove once and for all that she was as good a detective as Harry, or Murphy, or anyone else. She'd get the proof that Jack Gianelli was stalking Racine Douglas, no matter what it took to do so.
The limo was waiting for her in the garage, as she'd arranged, and as she got inside, Fred gave her a smile. "Where to, Miss Holt?"
Laura shook her head. "Right now, I just need some information, Fred," she told him.
Fred turned in the seat to look at her. "Information, Miss Holt?"
"How much do you know about a chauffer named Jack Gianelli?"
Fred thought for a moment. "He drives for that actress, doesn't he? Racine Douglas?"
"Yes. I don't suppose you've ever met him?"
"I've seen him around. Every month a group of chauffeurs gets together around town," Fred explained, and gave her a wry grin. "Usually we end up playing poker."
"Does Jack Gianelli attend those get-togethers?"
"He used to. Before he started driving for Ms. Douglas. After that, he kinda fell out of touch. Some of the other drivers say that he thinks he's too good to pal around with the rest of us, you know?"
"How so, Fred?"
"Well, sometimes while drivers are waiting at a big party or something, they'll go to a nearby coffee shop and sit, talk,-"
"Compare notes?" Laura suggested.
"Yeah," Fred nodded, giving her a nervous glance. "Not about our employers," he clarified quickly. "About driving. Cars. Easier ways to get around traffic. That kind of thing."
Laura smiled in response as she continued her questions. "But this Gianelli guy doesn't do that?"
"No. He goes for coffee, but it's usually to another place farther away." The chauffer shook his head. "If it were me, I wouldn't risk being gone if you or Mr. Steele decided to leave early, but -" he lifted his shoulders.
"Have you seen Gianelli do this, Fred?" Laura asked, sitting forward as an idea struck.
"No," Fred answered with another grin. "We don't usually travel in the same circles. But I've heard some of the other drivers talk about how he disappears after dropping Ms. Douglas off sometimes and doesn't get back until just before she leaves, and she's never the wiser." He frowned. "Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?"
"He could be. How much do you know about him personally? Is he married? Any family? Lady friends?"
"I know he's not married," Fred said. "And I don't think he's from this area. Somewhere back east if I remember right. Ziggy knows more about him than I do."
"Ziggy?" Laura repeated.
Fred gave her a wide smile. "Hobart Zigapolow," he answered. "He's another chauffer. At least, he used to be. He's retired. Works as a kind of - one-person aide society to new chauffeurs in town. Gets 'em set up with a job and a place to stay."
"Do you know where we could find him, Fred?"
"Sure."
Laura sat back in the seat. "Take me to Ziggy."
***
Hobart Zigapolow, known to most professional chauffeurs in Los Angeles as simply "Ziggy", was, Laura guessed, somewhere between sixty and ninety, painfully thin, with snow white hair that looked as if it hadn't seen the business end of a comb in days. But what Laura noticed most about the man was his smile. He seemed as full of the joy of life as anyone she'd ever met, and Laura found herself smiling in return as Fred introduced them in the living room of his small house. Fred had mentioned that Ziggy had once driven for some of Hollywood's biggest stars, and had dedicated himself to making sure that the high standard of service for chauffeurs was upheld.
"Ah, the lovely Miss Holt. Fred here has mentioned you on many occasions," the man said, retaining his hold on her hand. He leaned closer, as if to keep Fred from hearing his next words. "He's quite impressed with you, you know."
"Really?" Laura questioned, giving an embarrassed Fred a wink. "Well, I'm impressed with Fred. Putting up with Mr. Steele for all these years can't have been easy," she confided in an equally serious tone. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zigapolow."
"Oh, Ziggy, please," the old man insisted, releasing her hand. "I'm far too old to change things now. What can I do for the star assistant of Remington Steele?" he asked.
"I'm working on a case, and I need some information on a chauffer."
"Which one?" Ziggy asked. "I daresay I've known most of them that are legit. Occasionally one will slip beneath the radar, but if I can help - "
"Jack Gianelli," Laura said. "Rachel Douglas' chauffer?" She saw him frown at the name. "Don't tell me that Mr. Gianelli's one of the ones who 'slipped beneath the radar," she pled softly.
"Oh, no. I remember him. I didn't know Jack very well, I'm afraid. He was a very - withdrawn young man. Kept to himself, wasn't much for gossip. That's one reason I suggested him for the position as Ms. Douglas' driver. He agent was looking for someone with a great deal of discretion." Ziggy smiled as he looked at Fred. "If Fred hadn't been already on retainer to your boss, I would have recommended him for that job."
"It's a good thing he was," Laura said. "I don't know what the agency would do without Fred. Where was Gianelli from?"
"Somewhere back East, I believe." Ziggy frowned again, and then rose slowly from the chair in which he'd been sitting to go to a row of file cabinets that lined the wall of the room. Searching the labels, he removed a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked one of them. "I have every chauffer that comes to me fill out a questionnaire so that I can find just the right place for him - or her," Ziggy amended. "Been hiring quite a few women as drivers these last few years," he informed her, as he looked through the drawer. "I'm afraid that it's still a man's game, however," he sighed, and then pulled a folder out. "Here we are. Jack Gianelli," he read from the tab and brought it over to Laura.
She took it, uncertain. "You haven't asked why I want the information, Ziggy," Laura pointed out.
"You said you were on a case," he reminded her. "And everyone knows the reputation of the Steele Agency. I'm sure that if it wasn't important, you wouldn't have asked Fred to bring you here."
Laura accepted the file and nodded. "When is the last time you spoke to Mr. Gianelli?" she wondered, glancing through the questionnaire.
"Oh, it's been some time. Not everyone is as loyal as Fred is," Ziggy said with a regretful sigh. "A good many of the chauffeurs that I place tend to drift away."
Laura considered her next question carefully before asking it. "When he was staying with you, did he ever show any sign that he had - problems with women?"
Ziggy laughed. "Jack? Oh, no. As good-looking as he was, he was out every night with a different woman. Believe me, he likes the ladies."
That hadn't exactly been what Laura had asked, but she nodded anyway and stood, folder in hand. "Well, I hate to run, but, -"
"The case awaits," Ziggy suggested with a melodramatic air.
"Something like that," Laura agreed, laughing softly as he took her hand and brought it to his lips for a salute before releasing it. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ziggy," she told him.
"Oh, it was my pleasure, Miss Holt. If I were a few years younger," he said with a regretful sigh.
Back in the limo, Laura thanked Fred for his assistance. "I didn't do anything, Miss Holt," he insisted.
She held up the folder. "You might have just cracked this case wide open," she informed him.
Fred looked pleased at her words. "Where to, Miss Holt? Back to the office?"
Laura was silent for a moment as she considered her answer to that question- and wht her next move should be. Showing up at Gianelli's apartment in a limo would draw a lot of attention. But no one would notice a little white VW Rabbit sitting on the street. They were a dime a dozen in LA.
"Miss Holt?" Fred asked again.
"Back to the office, please, Fred."
***
Once in the underground parking garage, Laura thanked Fred again and started toward the elevators, glancing back to see if Fred was watching her. Seeing him get out of the car and move around to the hood, where he used a rag to rub at the already high-gloss surface, Laura pressed the button to summon the elevator, smiling as Fred looked up at her.
The elevator doors opened, and Laura got inside, pressing the button for the correct floor. As the doors closed, she quickly pressed the button for the first floor as well, still smiling as the doors opened almost immediately.
Exiting the elevator, Laura went to the stairs and took them down to the garage again, where she cautiously opened the door to peer out. From this angle, she couldn't see Fred or the limo, and Laura took a deep breath before going through the doorway and diving into the shadowy interior of the parking garage.
The "click" of the door closing behind her echoed through the garage, and Laura froze as Fred's voice called out. "Is someone there?" She heard his footsteps as he approached, and slipped between two cars before he found her, making her way toward the Rabbit's parking spot.
Laura managed to get the keys from her purse without making any noise, and even managed to open the door without creating a disturbance. She slid behind the wheel, put the key into the ignition, and it roared to life.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred moving toward her. "Miss Holt?" he called, looking confused.
Smiling brightly, Laura waved, put the car into gear, and sped away toward the exit, barely pausing to insert her card into the machine at the gate to raise the bar.
***
Murphy was turning into the garage when he saw Laura's white Rabbit pulling out and turn down the street. He frowned, and put his card into the slot to open the gate so that he could park his Ford.
Seeing Fred standing there, he approached the chauffer. "Something wrong, Fred?" he asked, noticing the concerned look on the other man's face.
"I don't know, Mr. Michaels," Fred told him. "I brought Miss Holt back here like she said, and she got into the elevator to go up to the office. Next thing I knew, her car was tearing out of here like she was going to a fire or something."
"Brought her back here from where, Fred?" Murphy questioned.
"She asked me to take her to someone who could give her some information on Jack Gianelli," Fred explained.
Murphy frowned now. "You'd better come with me, Fred," he told the still confused driver as he headed for the elevator. "And I want you to tell me everything that Miss Holt told you."
***
Mildred looked up as they entered the office. "Mr. Michaels. Hello, Fred," she added as an afterthought, giving Murphy a confused look.
"Do you know why Laura might have been asking Fred questions about Racine Douglas' chauffer, Mildred?" Murphy asked.
"Mr. Steele called," Mildred explained. "He talked to Miss Holt, and then asked me to do a full check on Jack Gianelli. I didn't know that she was doing one, too. I just thought she didn't want to talk."
"You want to explained that, Mildred?" Murphy asked.
She grimaced. "I kinda- spilled the beans, Mr. Michaels," she confessed. "I'm sorry. But I was just so upset, and she asked me directly what we'd been talking about, and, well, you know that I can't lie to either of them . . . I'm sorry, Mr. Michaels," she said again.
Murphy exhaled, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "We'll discuss it later, Mildred," he said, and then turned to Fred. "Tell Mildred what you told me, Fred," Murphy instructed the totally bewildered chauffer.
***
Laura easily gained access to the small house that Jack Gianelli called home. Since he was out driving Harry and Miss Douglas around, she figured it would be a good time to check things out.
The inside was extremely neat for a bachelor's place, she thought, unless he had someone come in and clean for him, she supposed. Nothing was out of place, and there was nothing proclaiming him to be a stalker.
A third door out of the kitchen was locked, and Laura took out her lock picks, quickly dispensing with another impediment to her investigation. Through the doorway, she made out a flight of steps leading down into the darkness below. Laura closed the door behind her and paused to let her eyes adjust to the inky blackness that surrounded her before she started downward.
One step at a time, she descended into the darkness. Suddenly something touched her face, and Laura barely kept from screaming as she reached up to bat it way, only to discover that it was a string hanging from the ceiling. Probably a light switch, she decided, and pulled on it.
Laura's eyes grew wide as the light illuminated the room before her . . .
***
"You don't think Miss Holt's in some kind of trouble, do you, Mr. Michaels?" Fred asked once he finished telling his story.
"With Laura, there's no telling, Fred," Murphy responded.
"I feel responsible," Fred worried. "I should have stopped her-"
"You had no way of knowing what she might be up to, Fred," Mildred insisted.
"Thank you, Fred," Murphy said. "Mildred and I will take it from here."
"You going to call Mr. Steele?" Fred wanted to know. "Tell him I'm sorry-"
"He'll understand, Fred," Murphy assured the driver as he escorted him toward the doors. "He knows how impulsive Miss Holt can be at times. Don't worry about it."
Fred sighed, nodded, and then left the office.
Murphy turned to look at Mildred. "You think she's in trouble, don't you, Mr. Michaels?" Mildred asked him.
"It's possible, Mildred. That bomb? My contact told me that it was made by someone who knew what they were doing." He picked up the information that Mildred had gathered about Jack Gianelli. "Maybe even someone who learned how to make bombs while in the service."
"What are we gonna do?" Mildred asked.
"Did you find an address on Gianelli?" Murphy asked.
"Yeah. It's in the report," she told him, moving to show him where.
"I'm going over there," Murphy decided.
"What should I tell Mr. Steele if he calls?" Mildred asked.
"Tell him that- tell him that Laura and I went to get something to eat. Hopefully we'll be back before he's any the wiser."
"Good luck," Mildred said as he left the office.
***
Laura stared, sickened by the array of photographs that lined the walls of the underground room. Racine Douglas' face stared back at her. The poses were varied, most of them taken without the subject's knowledge, Laura surmised. Especially the ones of Racine in her bedroom in various stages of undress.
Expensive camera equipment sat nearby, along with a typewriter. Excited, Laura lifted a piece of clean paper from a stack and rolled it into the carriage. A moment later, she realized that she'd located the machine that the notes had been typed on.
Something in a dark corner drew her attention, and Laura approached, gasping as she saw the wires and the box marked with "DANGER! EXPLOSIVES! HANDLE WITH CARE!" in bright red letters.
Backing away, Laura retraced her steps, turning off the light as she climbed the stairs. At the door, she grasped the doorknob and turned it.
Nothing happened. It wouldn't budge.
She was locked inside.
Suddenly the light came on again, and Laura turned to find Jack Gianelli standing at the bottom of the steps.
"Hello, Miss Holt," he said, and his smile made Laura's blood run cold . . .
TBC