Steele With a Twist 3:
Tarnished Steele
Episode One
Laura Holt pushed open the door to Remington Steele Investigations, sighing deeply as she became the momentary center of attention for most of the twenty or so other women in the room. "It's not him," one of them, a tall, leggy blonde commented, and Laura heard the disappointment in that voice.

She sighed again, well aware that replacing Bernice was NOT going to be an easy task.

Two days of interviews had yet to reveal the "gold among the dross" as Harry had put it. Now, a besieged Murphy pushed his way through the women, telling them, "Mr. Steele will be with you in a moment, ladies," as he grabbed Laura's arm and pulled her into Steele's office. He closed the door with a relieved sigh of his own. "Do you have any idea what I've been going through? The phones have been ringing off the wall with clients calling, canceling appointments, -and secretary wannabes are circling like vultures."

Laura grinned. "Come on, Murph. Don't tell me you aren't flattered to be the center of attention for so many women."

"They're not looking for me," he reminded her. "They're looking for HIM."

She looked around the office. "Where is he?"

"That's what I was going to ask you. I thought he'd be right behind you or something. You and he DID have dinner last night, right? I thought maybe you'd overslept."

"Have you called his apartment?" she asked, choosing to ignore her friend's implication for the moment.

"Yeah. No answer. That's why I thought maybe he stayed at your place last night."

Laura picked up a silver pen from Harry's desk and started spinning it idly on the smooth surface. "Harry and I haven't been- well, you know- in several weeks."

"But you and he had dinner last night."

"And he left my house around eleven," Laura confirmed. "As usual." She noted the confusion on his boy-next-door face. "Harry's idea, not mine. Ever since that tabloid did a hatchet job on us a few weeks ago, he's been worried that our being- involved- could have a- negative impact on my future as a Private Investigator."

"He could be right, Laura," Murphy pointed out as the telephone rang. "Damn."

"I'll get it," Laura said, picking it up. "Remington Steele Investigations, may I help you?"

"Mr. Steele, please."

"Mr. Steele isn't in right now, I'm Mr. Steele's associate, Laura Holt. Can I be of help?"

"Maybe you CAN help, Miss Holt. How does it feel to be working for a blackmailer?"

"A blackmailer?" Laura repeated as there was a knock on the door. She waved at a reluctant Murphy to answer it. "What are you talking about? Who is this?"

"Guess you haven't read this morning's paper. I'll be in touch, Miss Holt."

Laura hung up the telephone as Murphy said, "Please be patient, ma'am-I know you've been waiting, and I apologize-"

The object of his apology was a short, blonde woman, middle aged, wearing a dark business like dress. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that Laura winced. "Are you Remington Steele?" she asked through narrowed eyes.

"No. I'm his associate, Murphy Michaels. Look, if you'll just wait a little longer-"

"I had a ten thirty appointment with Mr. Steele," she informed him in a brisk, businesslike tone as she pulled a wallet from her pocket. "Mildred Krebs, IRS." Laura leaned over Murphy's arm to inspect the identification, and Miss Krebs used their distraction to enter the room. "Where is Mr. Steele?"

"That's what we'd all like to know," Laura muttered, watching as the woman placed her heavy briefcase on the desk and began to pull out some papers.

Miss Krebs placed some reading glasses on her nose and consulted those papers, then looked over the lenses at Laura.

"Are you Bernice Foxe?"

"No. I'm Laura Holt. Bernice got married last week and moved to New Orleans."

"She eloped," Murphy corrected darkly.

"I'm sure that Mr. Steele simply overlooked your appointment in the confusion. The office has been a bit unsettled-"

"I made the appointment with Mr. Steele himself," Miss Krebs informed them. "Yesterday afternoon."

Laura grabbed Murphy's arm and pulled him toward the door to her office. "Excuse us, Miss Krebs," she said. "We need to caucus." She closed the door behind them. "We have a problem, Murphy."

"You're telling me. I've never known Steele to be this late without calling in."

"You mentioned something about clients canceling their appointments?"

"Yeah."

"Did they happen to say why?"

"I wasn't listening, Laura. Between those women out there and trying to track down Steele-" she reached for the door to the reception area. "Hey- Where are you going?"

"To find our boss- and to buy a paper."

"A paper? And what about Miss Krebs?"

"Sit on her if you have to. And see if you can find out WHY she wants to see Mr. Steele."

"How long?" he asked, following her out, and immediately regretted the action as the waiting women looked around. "Laura!" he called as the doors closed behind her.

Laura escaped, stopping by the newsstand downstairs to grab a morning paper. "Dear God," she sighed, glancing at the headline beneath a photograph of Harry.

"Steele Blackmailing?" the larger words read. "Woman claims famed Private Investigator blackmailed her father to his grave."

"Oh my God," she said, stepping into the garage beneath the building. She was relieved to see the Fred leaning against the agency's limo. "Fred." Laura glanced into the car, but it was empty. "Have you seen Mr. Steele this morning?"

Fred shook his head. "No, Miss Holt."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Around eleven thirty, when I left him at his place," the chauffeur explained. "Is there a problem?"

"Very possibly." She opened the back door and slid inside. "Mr. Steele's apartment, please, Fred. And hurry."

***

"Did you need Mr. Steele's help with a case, Miss Krebs?" Murphy as he handed her a cup of coffee.

"No. It's an official matter."

"Maybe you should talk to the Agency's accountant, then," Murphy suggested, starting to rise. "I'd be glad to call him-"

"I have questions that only Mr. Steele can answer, Mr. Michaels," she informed him as her scowl deepened. She glanced at her watch. "How much longer did you say that Mr. Steele was going to be?"

"Hopefully not long."

She sighed. "I hope not. If I can't get this cleared up today, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to request a court order to gain full access to Mr. Steele's private financial records."

"It will go nicely with this one," a man said, causing Murphy and Miss Krebs to look toward the door, where a man was standing, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Through the still open door, Murphy could see other men escorting the women out of the office.

"Who are you?" Murphy wanted to know, on his feet now.

The man flashed an ID at him that revealed his name to be Leonard Newman- and that he was with the State Board of Private Investigators. "Leonard Newman," he said, "And you are?"

"Murphy Michaels."

Newman held out the papers. "The Remington Steele Agency is hereby ordered to cease and desist all operations until a thorough investigation can be made into the charges being considered against Mr. Steele."

"Charges? What charges?" Murphy demanded to know.

"It's in the court order," Newman assured him. "If I were you, I'd seriously consider finding another job." He looked at Miss Krebs. "And if you're a client, ma'am, I'd find another agency."

"I'm not a client," Miss Krebs began, putting her hand into her pocket, intending, Murphy was sure, to pull out her own identification. "I'm-"

"Mildred Krebs," Murphy said quickly, grabbing the woman's arm. "Our new receptionist."

"What?" she asked- obviously stunned.

"I know," Murphy told her. "It's hard to believe that you got the job when there were so many applicants-"

"But-"

"Right now, she doesn't have a job at all, Mr. Michaels," Newman pointed out. "And neither do you. Mr. Steele's- and the agency's license have been suspended for failure to file a report and allegations of blackmail which may or may not have resulted in the death of one Louis Malone. The Agency's files will be confiscated, pending review, and the office padlocked."

"But I'm-" Miss Krebs tried again.

"Come on, Miss Krebs," Murphy said, picking up her briefcase and shoving it at her. "Let's go find Mr. Steele, shall we?"


He hustled her out of the office, and once they were in the elevator, Mildred Krebs pulled away from his hold on her arm. "Why did you do that? You lied-"

"Look, Miss Krebs, right now, a man I respect and consider a friend is apparently in a LOT of trouble. The last thing he needs is for the IRS and the Board to link up against him. I'm just trying to give him a chance to fight one battle at a time."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Michaels, but the evidence I have backs up what Mr. Newman was talking about," the woman told him. "I can't overlook it."

"I'm not asking you to overlook it," Murphy told her. "Tell you what, if you'll tell me what that information is, I'll see that you get first crack at Mr. Steele when we find him." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal. We got an anonymous tip that Steele is hiding some assets. In doing a check, I found a hidden account that he hasn't reported to the IRS. The balance is over three quarter of a million dollars."

Murphy leaned against the elevator wall. Steele was in BIG trouble.

***

Laura used her key to enter Harry's apartment, and wasn't surprised to find it empty. In fact, there was no sign that he'd been here at all last night. The bed was perfectly made, the shower hadn't been used- everything was in its accustomed place. She paused, touching the waxy blooms of a spray of white lilies sitting in a vase on the coffee table. Idly, she wondered where they had come from. But her curiosity about it was transferred to the blinking message indicator on the answering machine.

She pressed the "retrieve" button, and listened, hoping that Harry might have called in here instead of to the office for some reason. But it wasn't Harry's voice- it was the voice of a woman, obviously distraught and angry.

"Mr. Steele, it's Lila Malone again. We need to talk. It's eleven, and I'm at the Devonshire Inn, Bungalow Six. If you aren't here by midnight, my reporter friend will run the story about how you drove my father to his death with your blackmail."

Laura looked at the paper again. Lila Malone had apparently made good on her threat. She'd read the article during the ride over, and still didn't believe the words before her.

The sound of the key in the lock brought Laura to her feet, watching the doorway until she saw a disheveled, exhausted Harry standing there. "Harry!" she cried out, rushing to throw her arms around his neck. "Thank God! I was-" she stopped as her gaze fell on the front of his shift. "Worried," she finished. His dark hair was uncombed, his jacket was rumpled, as if he'd slept in it. But it was the blood on the front of his white shirt that caused Laura's eyes to widen. "Are you hurt?" she asked him, pointing to the blood.

"No. Not so as I can tell, anyway," he responded. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. All hell's breaking loose. There's a woman from the IRS waiting at the office, clients have been canceling- What happened last night, Harry?" she asked as he sat down heavily on the sofa.

"I wish I knew. Fred dropped me downstairs around eleven thirty, and I came up here. I no more than got inside the door when someone hit me and the lights went out." He lifted his right hand to the back of his head and winced.

Laura knelt beside him on the sofa. "Let me see." She poked around, looking for a wound.

"Ouch. Careful."

"I'm sorry. You WERE hit on the head. At least you're telling the truth about that."

"What do you mean? I wasn't aware that my veracity was in doubt."

She held out the paper. "Try this on for size."

Remington focused on the newsprint with difficulty. "Blackmail? Who the bloody hell is Louis Malone?"

"According to that-" Laura said, indicating the article, "he stole a fortune in rare coins seven years ago. YOU were hired to find the thief, and return the coins."

Steele shook his head in denial. "I never handled that case. I mean, I remember it, but I was just starting out in Los Angeles seven years ago. Never even got a shot at it. In fact, I don't think the man who owned the coins HIRED a private investigator. The police weren't able to find the thief- or the coins. As far as I know, they never resurfaced- and the man they were stolen from died last year."

Laura looked sideways at him. "For someone who DIDN'T take the case, you know an awfully lot about it."

"You have to remember that I'd just left that life behind. I was relieved not to be involved, actually, worried that I might know the thief from my life before I became Remington Steele. I read as much as I could about it, for that reason. No other." He read part of the article. "But this man's daughter claims that not only did I take the case, but I found out that her father had stolen the coins."

"And then," Laura finished, "instead of turning him in, you kept quiet and decided you could make more money blackmailing him." She sat back. "Lila Malone returned from school in Europe six days ago to find her father dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound. She somehow found out what you had been doing, and went public with the story."

Remington sat forward, burying his face in his hands. "Dear God."

To Be Continued---
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Original content ©2000 by Nancy Eddy