This story is a big departure from the series, but I hope you'll like it.  I thought combining two of my favorite shows, "The Nanny" and "Remington Steele", would be fun!  "The Nanny" is a copyright of Sony Pictures, etc.  I also wish to thank the producers and writers of "Remington Steele", with special thanks to Pierce Brosnan and Stephanie Zimbalist, the original Remington Steele and Laura Holt.

A Steele Dream

by

Beth
(bethkelley@prodigy.net)

Fran and Gracie were sitting on the living room couch watching the television.  Maggie and Brighton had gone up to their rooms about an hour before.  Niles was out with some of his friends, and Max was working late at the theatre on a new show.

Val had that very afternoon brought over a videotape of the eighties series “Remington Steele”.  Every time Pierce Brosnan appeared on screen, Fran just melted.

“He is so cute!” she told Gracie.  “And I love that accent.”

“Yeah,” Gracie agreed, “but he wasn’t that smart.  I mean, Laura Holt is the one picking up on all the clues and solving the crimes.  Even her other two associates, Murphy and Bernice, had a better understanding of what was going on.”

Fran frowned. “Sounds like some other handsome man I know,” she murmured.  “Well, it’s past your bedtime,” she said, standing up with Gracie to give her a quick hug.

“Okay.  Goodnight, Fran.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.”  Fran watched Grace walk up the stairs then turned, intending to turn off the television.  Instead, seeing that another episode was beginning, she sat back down on the couch.  Fran fluffed up the pillow, making herself more comfortable.

‘Boy, I wonder what it would be like to be in Laura Holt’s shoes,’ Fran thought.  She continued watching, laughing at the barbs Remington and Laura threw at each other and sighing when he looked deep into Laura’s eyes, knowing he wanted to kiss her, but not making the move.

After awhile, Fran’s eyes became heavy and she started to fall asleep.

Laura Holt, alias Fran, walked into the Remington Steele Detective Agency, turning to smile at her blonde haired secretary.

Bernice Foxe (C. C.) smiled back, handing her a note.  “Richard Crawford from Crawford Productions.  He came in late last night.  Good thing Murphy was still here.  Murph’s already started gathering material.”

“Where’s our fearless leader?” Laura questioned sarcastically, looking down at the paper.

“Not in yet.  His chauffeur called and said he would be here any time.”  Bernice turned back to her typing and Laura walked on through to her cubbyhole.   She dropped her purse on the desk.

“Good morning, Laura,” Murphy Michaels (Niles) said, handing her a big folder stuffed with papers.  He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, his blue eyes surveying her appreciatively.

“Good morning.  What’s this?”  She frowned at the folder, placing it on her desk, her brown eyes leafing through the papers.  “Is this for the new case?  The one for Crawford Productions?”

“Yeah.  I thought I’d get a head start.  It sounds like it might be pretty interesting.”  Murphy sat on the edge of her desk as Laura went to sit down in her chair, leaning back and putting up her feet.  She pulled back a stray lock of brunette hair.

“Well, you’ve obviously been working on this for awhile.  Fill me in.”  Laura steepled her fingers as Murphy explained the case.  Apparently someone was leaking information about the current Broadway play they were trying to produce.  Every time they came up with a unique idea, Andrew Lloyd Webber would come up with the same idea for his current play.

There was a great turnover of extras, technicians, backstage workers, and even make-up artists, trying to weed out the spy.  But the ideas were still being leaked and they were no nearer to finding the infiltrator than they had been one month before.

When Murphy was done with his narrative, Laura stood up.  “The first thing we need to do is get to the theatre.”  Laura picked up her purse, and turned to the door.  She smiled slightly when she heard a familiar English voice.

“Hello, Miss Wolf.”  Laura walked into the outer office in time to see the dirty look Bernice gave Remington Steele (Maxwell).

Bernice picked up her nameplate, her blue eyes blazing.  “Bernice Foxe,” she quoted, pointing at the lettering.  “Can’t you read, you half-wit!”  Remington gave her a pensive look.

“Someone didn’t get her daily pint of blood today,” Murphy quipped.

Bernice gave him a steaming look.  “Drop dead!”

“Can’t.  Only one corpse per office allowed.”

“Miscreant!”

“Vampira!”

“Are you two finished?” Laura asked, hiding a smile.

“Well excuse me for living,” they both mumbled.

“You’re late,” Laura informed Remington, looking pointedly down at her watch.

“Sorry.  Fred did phone.”  Remington gave Laura a charming smile and she just shook her head.  “Going somewhere?” he asked, smoothing back the gray streak in his black hair, his hazel eyes dancing.

“Yes.  We have a new client, Richard Crawford.  Murphy and I are going to his theatre.”

“I’ll go with you,” Remington said, adjusting his tie.  Murphy cringed and Laura shrugged.

“Fine.”  Laura turned to Bernice.  “If anything urgent comes up, you know where to find us.”

“See you later,” Bernice said.  She went back to her work.  “It’d be nice to do something other than type,” she muttered sourly.

Outside, the three detectives climbed into the back of Remington’s limousine.  Remington informed his driver, Fred, where they were headed and Fred drove away from the curb into traffic.

Laura let Remington in on the details and after she was finished, he frowned.

“I hope we find this spy.  I never did trust Andrew Lloyd Webber.  Too many Tony’s!” Remington uttered.  Laura and Murphy looked at each other, small smiles on their faces.  They had heard this before.

When the town car pulled up in front of the theatre, all three got out.  Remington held the door open, letting Laura and Murphy pass by before entering the building.  He let the door swing shut.

After passing through the lobby and into the theatre, their eyes were drawn to the commotion on stage, seeming to be nothing but mass hysteria.  As they walked closer, it seemed to them that everyone was talking at once.  They picked up on one name that appeared to be shouted by everyone: Rita.

In the middle of the stage stood a tall, gray haired man.  He was gesturing wildly, his voice ringing above the din.  “Can’t you just start working on this scene until Rita gets here?  I’m not paying for you to just stand here!”    He looked around, but everyone seemed oblivious to him.  “Is anyone even listening!” he asked, his voice rising.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle was heard and everyone stopped, the room becoming quiet.

A tall, pretty brunette, in her late forties, walked up to the gray haired man.  “Having problems, Richard?” she asked, giving him a wink.

Richard Crawford smiled.  “Thank goodness you’re here, Rita,” he said and gave her a quick hug.  He turned to the others on the stage.  “Now that Miss Stallings is here, maybe you can get some work done.”  The others started milling around the stage going to their appropriate places, some walking backstage.

Richard sighed with relief and turned, an inquisitive look on his face when he noticed the three visitors.  He walked down the stage steps toward them, finally recognizing Murphy and then Remington Steele from the pictures he’d seen of him in the newspapers.

“Mr. Steele.”  Richard shook hands with the handsome dark haired man.  “Michaels.” He nodded his head slightly at Murphy before letting his gaze take in the pretty brunette standing between the two men.  “Well, well, and who is this?” Richard asked, a bright smile on his face.

“Miss Laura Holt, my associate.”  Remington made the introductions as Richard shook her hand, admiring her black mini-skirt and short-sleeved white pullover blouse.  He held her hand a little longer than necessary.

“Hello, Mr. Crawford,” she said.

He was taken back a moment by her unique voice then snapped his fingers.  “Queens,” he stated.

“Right.  Very good ear,” she conceded.

“That wasn’t hard to deduce,” Remington mumbled and Laura stubbed her pointed heel down on his toe.  “Ow!” he protested, taking a step away from her.

“I was hoping that the great Remington Steele would be on this case,” Richard said sincerely.

“Only the best,” Laura stated.  Murphy rolled his eyes.  Laura turned to Remington who was looking enthusiastically around the theatre.  “Mr. Steele, maybe we should begin by talking to everyone involved?”

“What?” Remington questioned vaguely, glancing at her.  Laura motioned her head slightly towards the stage.  “Uh, yes.  That sounds like a splendid idea.”  He looked at Richard Crawford.  “Is there somewhere we can interview people?”

“Yes, backstage.  You can use my office,” Richard offered.  He led them backstage.  As they walked by, the women were giving Remington an appreciative glance.  He smiled at them and Laura frowned, not liking the attention he was getting.

Richard opened the door marked with his name, and they walked through.  There was a large desk behind which was a leather chair.  In front of the desk were two cloth-covered chairs.

“Sorry there’s not more seating, but I rarely come in here,” Richard apologized.

“This will do nicely,” Remington assured him, going to sit behind the desk.  Richard picked up a clipboard and handed it to Remington.

“Here is a list of people currently working on stage and off.”  Laura and Murphy stood on each side of Remington, looking down at the top paper.  “Is there anything else that you need?” Richard asked.

“No, no.”  Remington sifted quickly through the papers.  “A very thorough job,” he commented.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back.  I’ll send in my manager first.”  Richard turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

“Amazing,” Remington breathed, studying the names on the papers.  “Josh Sallinger.”

“Who?” Murphy asked.

“Broadway bit player.  Used to be a B-Movie actor in the Sixties,” Laura explained, picking up the list and studying it closer.

Remington gave her an admiring glance.  “Very good, Laura.”

“Learning from the master,” she stated, giving him a smile.

The three looked up as a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Remington called out.  A short balding man walked in.  He looked to be in his early fifties, his green eyes darting nervously.  “Mr. Saunders?”  Remington shook his hand and thus the interviews began.

Later that night, after most of the conferences were over, Remington and Laura listened to the short hand notes Murphy had taken.  There had been a hoard of people interviewed.  They had only taken a break once to eat a quick lunch that they had had delivered from a nearby deli.  One disappointment for Remington was not getting to meet Josh Sallinger.  He would not be at the theatre until tomorrow.

When Murphy was finished recounting, Remington stood up quickly, pacing the floor excitedly.  He turned suddenly, pointing his finger at a name on the list.

“I think the spy is Russ Saunders,” Remington stated.

“Crawford’s manager?” Murphy questioned doubtfully.

“He had access to everything,” Remington began.  “All the scripts and rewrites,” he started counting on his fingers, “the actors, the lighting people, stage hands, the make-up artists . . .” As he went down the list, a scream was heard outside the closed door.

The three detectives looked at each other, and then Laura quickly opened the door and ran towards the noise.

A cluster of people was standing and looking down at something on the floor.  Richard was holding a crying woman in his arms, stroking her red hair.  Rita Stallings stood to the side, eyeing the woman with concern.  When the three detectives drew closer, they viewed the body of Crawford’s manager, which was lying face up, a bullet wound in his chest.

Murphy knelt down and picked up Saunder’s limp wrist, but he could feel no pulse.  “The spy isn’t Saunders,” he confirmed unnecessarily.  Remington cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“The police are on their way,” Richard Crawford said.  He whispered something to the woman he held who nodded and walked toward one of the dressing rooms, sniffling into a handkerchief he had handed her.  Rita watched her leave, then slipped away headed for the stage.

“Did anyone see anything?” Laura asked, surveying the crowd.  Everyone talked at once, denying any knowledge.  She held up her hands to forestall anymore responses.  “Fine, fine.  The police will still want to question each of you so you might as well get comfortable.”

They grumbled as they walked away.

“Who found him?” Laura asked Richard.

Richard nodded toward the room the red haired woman had entered.  “Cecile.  Cecile Brown.  I don’t think she saw anything, but your welcome to speak to her.”

Laura nodded and walked toward the dressing room.  Richard eyed Remington curiously, wondering why he wasn’t doing the interrogation.

“A woman’s touch is needed here, I believe,” Remington explained.

“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” Richard agreed.  He walked away, going toward the stage.

Laura knocked on the open door.  Without waiting, she sauntered into the small room.  Cecile Brown, who was looking in the mirror attempting to repair her smeared make-up, eyed Laura’s reflection.

“Miss Holt.” Cecile continued applying foundation.  Her voice was flat and with no hint of a tremor.  Laura was taken aback.  This supposedly hysterical woman was suddenly very calm.

As Laura watched thoughtfully, Cecile finished her repairs and turned abruptly, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Did you want something?” she asked crossly.

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay.  I see you are.”  Laura started to leave.

“Wait.”  Laura turned back and Cecile unfolded her arms.  “I’m sorry.  Please, sit down.”  She indicated two chairs sitting side by side.  After a slight hesitation, Laura sat down and Cecile took the empty chair beside her.

“Before you ask, I didn’t see anything,” Cecile stated baldly.   “I had just come out of my dressing room and I found Russ . . .” she swallowed, “you know.”  Laura nodded.  “We’ve worked on several shows together.  He was a sweet man,” she stated simply, looking down at her clenched hands.

“When we questioned you earlier, you said this was your first time acting in a Crawford Production,” Laura pointed out.  “Russ Saunders has been with Crawford for over twenty years.”

“Oh, well, I meant that this was the first show I had a speaking part,” Cecile hedged.   Laura studied her skeptically.  She was lying, but why?

She knew she wasn’t going to get any truthful answers from Cecile, so she stood.  “Well, I’ll leave you for now, but as soon as the police arrive, you’ll be one of the first they’ll want to question.”  Laura stood and Cecile followed her lead. Laura walked back out to her partners.

“Lieutenant Storm is here,” Murphy informed her.  The Steele agency had worked on many cases with Bill Storm.  He was a fair man and easy to work with. The handsome, tall, blonde haired man walked up to the three, a big smile directed toward Laura.  His brown eyes bore into hers and she smiled.

“Lieutenant,” she greeted him.

“Miss Holt.”  Lieutenant Storm glanced at the two men, nodding in acknowledgement as he spoke their names.  Neither of the men liked the attention Storm gave their female partner.

Bill Storm turned back to Laura.  “Working on a case?”

“Yes.  Richard Crawford hired us.  We were doing some investigating when the murder happened,” Laura said simply, not wanting to go into any great detail.

Lieutenant Storm nodded; knowing further inquiries would get him nowhere. “Well, we have a lot of work to do,” he hinted.

“We were just leaving,” Remington said, taking Laura’s hand and pulling her after him as he walked toward the exit.  Murphy followed.

Laura looked back over her shoulder, giving Bill Storm a quick wave.  “Bye,” she called and let Remington lead her out of the building, accompanied closely by Murphy.

The ride back to the detective agency was quiet, each member pondering the case.  Remington looked thoughtful.  “I wonder if it was Mr. Green with a gun backstage,” he voiced, picking a name at random off the list.

“This isn’t ‘Clue’,” Laura responded.  “Even though you are clueless at times,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.  Remington scowled and Murphy coughed, hiding a laugh.
 
 

Laura Holt sat behind the desk in Remington’s office surveying the notes Bernice had typed off of Murphy’s dictation.  She reread the answers Cecile Brown had given them.  Something didn’t add up and she just couldn’t put her finger on it.

Laura sighed.  This case was more complicated now that there was a murder to solve.

Laura looked up as Remington sauntered in, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off his black suit coat.

“You’re here nice and early,” she commented.  “What’s the occasion?”

“I received a call last night at my apartment,” Remington informed her.  “A Mr. Josh Sallinger.  He’s supposed to meet me here at nine o’clock.”

Laura looked at her watch.  “Fifteen minutes.”  She stood and picked up the document she had been examining, passing close by him as she walked toward her office.  “I’ll just put this away and come back,” she threw over her shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”  Remington’s words stopped her in mid-stride and she turned.  He didn’t meet her eyes as he continued.  “I got the impression from Mr. Sallinger he wanted to talk privately.”

Laura sighed.  “We’ve been over this before, Mr. Steele.”  She poked his chest with her finger, pushing him backward.  “You are not a real detective.  You are a character I made up.”  Her voice was rising with each statement.  “You shouldn’t even be speaking to any of our clients, especially not alone!” She gave him one final jab, the back of his legs knocking against the desk.

Remington had had enough.  He advanced threateningly, making her back away.   “Now it’s your turn to listen,” he said.  “My name is on the door, made up or not.  I’m the one people want to handle their case, whether you like it or not.”  His voice was climbing.  “And might I remind you, you yourself told me I had great instincts!”

Laura had been backed into the wall.  Her chest was heaving angrily, her face flushed.  He was right.  Dammit!  The reason she had invented the fictitious Remington Steele in the first place was because no one wanted to hire a woman detective, even with Murphy as her assistant.

This man, this incredibly gorgeous man, had stormed his way into her agency and, well, she might as well admit it, her heart.  Try as she might, she couldn’t help but be attracted to him.  What woman could!  Those hazel eyes, the strong chin, all that hair!

Remington studied her, puzzled by the range of emotions crossing her face.  ‘She is so beautiful’, he thought.  He reached out his hand to touch her face when the intercom buzzed.  He hesitated and the sound repeated.

Remington sighed and walked back to his desk, pressing the intercom button.  He looked up in time to see Laura walk into her office, closing the door behind her.

“Yes?” Remington frowned at the closed door.

“Mr. Sallinger is here to see you,” Bernice informed him.

“I’ll be right out.”  Remington cast one more look at Laura’s office, then walked out to the reception area.  He immediately recognized the silver haired, green-eyed man who stood to greet him.  The men shook hands and they walked into Remington’s office.

“Mr. Sallinger.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I’ve seen all of your films,” Remington enthused, indicating a seat in front of his desk.  He seated himself behind his desk.

Josh Sallinger sat down, grinning.  “Nice to meet you, too.”

Remington smiled.  “Well, what can I help you with?”

Mr. Sallinger shifted uneasily in his chair.  “This is a rather delicate situation.  It concerns Cecile Brown.”  Laura, who had quietly cracked open her door so she could hear their conversation, became alert.

“Yes?” Remington prodded gently after a few moments of silence.

“You see,” Mr. Sallinger continued, “Cecile is my daughter.”  At this divulgence, Remington heard a slight gasp and hoped Mr. Sallinger had not noticed.  Since the man did not turn to find the source of the noise, Remington sighed silently.  “Well, actually, she claims to be related to me.  A week after I started working on the current play, she introduced herself to me, saying I was her father; even had a copy of her birth certificate.  I’ll tell you, it was a shock to see my name on that sheet of paper.”

“Oy,” Remington muttered.  “Who is her mother?”

“Kathy Stephens.  I vaguely remember a young stand-in by that name, but it’s been so long.  Miss Brown was born thirty years ago in 1969.  Hell, I was only twenty years old!  I probably wouldn’t recognize her mother if she was standing right in front of me.”  Mr. Sallinger sighed.  “At the risk of sounding immodest, I have had a fair amount of women throwing themselves at me over the years.”

“Oh, please,” Laura groaned.

“What?” Mr. Sallinger twisted to see behind him.  “Who was that?”  He asked, annoyed.

Remington cleared his throat.  “Just a pest, sir.  Excuse me while I go take care of it.”  He gave Mr. Sallinger a fleeting grin then walked towards Laura’s office.

Before she had time to shut the door, Remington slipped in and closed it behind him.

“I guess he heard me,” Laura said guiltily.

“You think?” Remington breathed heavily.  “Your voice does tend to carry, Miss Holt.”

“Miss Holt.  Miss Holt!” Laura practically shouted.  “Are we back to that again?” she whined.

Remington rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.  “Oh, God, not now.  This is not the time for this discussion.  We have a prospective client who needs our help.  If you behave, I’ll let you sit in on the meeting.”

“If I behave!   You’ll let me!” Laura sputtered loudly.  Remington put his finger to his lips in a shushing manner, looking nervously toward his office.  Laura ignored him.  “You English lout!  You have a lot of nerve, you . . .” before she could finish, Remington took her in his arms and kissed her.  After the initial shock, she returned his kiss.

It was a few moments before they finally came up for air.  “The only way to shut you up,” he mumbled.  “If we didn’t have a client waiting, I’d do a more thorough job.”  He gave her a quick kiss and released her.

Laura was stunned.  This was the first real kiss he had given her and she was speechless.

Remington opened the door, holding out his hand to her.  “Coming?” he asked softly.  She nodded, taking his hand in hers.

Mr. Sallinger stood up facing them, a small smirk on his face.  The sight of the beautiful brunette intrigued him.  Crawford had already mentioned her voice and he was right; it was unforgettable.

“Laura Holt,” Mr. Sallinger stated, holding out his hand.  Laura, releasing Remington’s hand, shook it, looking puzzled.  “Richard told me about you,” he explained.  “Please, join us.”

“Thank you.”  Laura sat down next to him and Remington resumed his seat.

“I assume you’ve heard our discussion.”  Laura opened her mouth to deny this, but at Mr. Sallinger’s look, she nodded.  “The reason I came to you is to verify Cecile’s claim.  I don’t really think I’m her father.”

Laura and Remington glanced at each other.  “I guess we could test your DNA,” Laura began.

“I’ve already started the procedure,” Mr. Sallinger admitted.  “The results aren’t in yet, but I wanted some further investigating done.”

Laura nodded.   “Can you remember anyone else who was, uh, close to Miss Stephens at the time?”

Sallinger hesitated.  “Russ Saunders.”  The two detectives exchanged a look.  “I saw them together a few times.  They looked pretty chummy.”  He sighed.  “If Kathy had wanted anything from me, she would have come to me years ago.  But Cecile is different.  I could see the money signs in her eyes.  What she hopes to gain I don’t know.  I’ve done pretty well over the years, but I’m not exactly rich.”

Mr. Sallinger stood up, as did the two detectives.  “I’ve taken up enough of your time.  I realize you’re already working with Richard, but if you could find time to help?”

Remington came around the desk and shook Sallinger’s hand.  “We’ll do our best.  Leave your number with our secretary so we can get back to you.”

“Thanks.”  After shaking Laura’s hand, Mr. Sallinger left the office.  Murphy walked in.

“This case just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” Laura observed.  She looked at Murphy.  “Have you found out anything from Lieutenant Storm?”

“No murder weapon was found.  The bullet they dug out of Saunders is probably from a handgun.”

“Okay.  Well, I think we’d better get back to the theatre.  There are a few more people we need to speak to,”  Laura said.

“Yes,” Remington agreed.  “Rita Stallings for one.” He frowned.  “I find it strange her starring in this play.”

“Why’s that?” Laura asked.

“Granted Crawford has had a few big successes, but Miss Stallings has worked mostly with Andrew Lloyd Webber,” Remington clarified.

“I guess Crawford offered her a lot of money,” Murphy surmised.

Laura frowned.  “Maybe you could run a background check on Rita Stallings.  Why don’t you have Bernice go with you?” she told Murphy.

Murphy smiled.  “Good idea.  I’ll see you later.”  Murphy walked to Bernice’s desk.  “Come on, She-Devil, we have an assignment and I don’t want to be out real late.”

Bernice grabbed her purse.  “Why, are you afraid of the dark?” she teased.

“No.  There’s a full moon tonight and I don’t want to get bitten by you.”  Murphy sneered.

“Troll!”

“Hag!”

Remington and Laura smiled as they followed the couple out of the office.

As they rode in the town car, Laura cuddled up to her “boss”.  He absently ran his hand through her hair.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

“Let’s see.  I’ll probably dine on a Lean Cuisine while I watch TV.  Exciting stuff like that.”  Laura looked up at him.  “Why?”

“Well, I was going to ask you to dinner, maybe go dancing afterwards.  But if you already have plans . . .”

Laura elbowed him playfully.  “I want you to ask me properly,” she commanded.

Remington held her face in his hands.  “Will you go out with me tonight?”  He bestowed a lingering kiss on her lips.

“Mmmm, that’s much better, Mister,” she breathed.  “I accept.”

Once at the theatre, Remington and Laura sought out Rita Stallings.  She was holding court on stage, giving some directions of her own on how the show should be played out.  The actors went over some lines, taking their clues from her.  Richard Crawford watched from the wings, a grave look on his face.  The detectives walked up to him.

“She seems to have everything under control,” Laura observed.

“Yes,” Richard agreed sourly.  “Excuse me.”  He walked into the orchestra pit.

“Well, well.  Me thinks that trouble is afoot,” Remington said.

“What’s wrong with your foot?” Laura asked, puzzled.

Remington sighed.  “I mean that Richard is not happy with Rita taking over.”

Laura huffed.  “I knew that.  Speak English!”  Remington groaned.

“That looks better,” Rita proclaimed, and looked down at her watch.  “We’ll break for lunch.”  All the actors scattered away.

Laura advanced.  “Miss Stallings?  Could we speak to you?”  She put out her hand.  “Laura Holt.”  Rita ignored her hand and Laura lowered it awkwardly.  She pointed at Remington.   “This is my boss, Remington Steele.”

Rita smiled brightly at him, taking his hand.  “Remington Steele.  You’re the detective Richard hired.  I’ve heard a lot about you,” she purred.  Remington slowly disengaged his hand, giving her a small smile.

Laura scowled.  She didn’t like being put off.  She started toward Rita, but Remington intercepted, grabbing hold of her arm.  “My associate and I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Well, it is lunch time,” Rita began.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Remington assured her.  Rita sighed.

“Alright.  We can go to Richard’s office.”  Rita walked off.

“I could have taken her,” Laura muttered and Remington chuckled as they followed the woman into the office.  After they had all sat down, Laura started the interrogation.

“Do you know of anyone who would want to give secrets away to Webber?”

Rita shook her head.  “No.  It’s just terrible!”  Rita lowered her voice.  “Confidentially, though, ever since Russ was murdered, nothing has been leaked.  Not even a single line.”

“Oh, really.  How do you know?” Remington questioned.

“Richard told me.  He confides everything to me.”  Rita leaned in closer, talking in almost a whisper.  “Richard asked me to be in this play.  He was having trouble getting it financed and with my name on the marquee, well . . .” she let this sentence trail off, a smirk on her face.

The phone rang on the desk and after a slight hesitation, Laura answered it.

“Laura Holt,” she greeted automatically.

“Laura, this is Murphy.  Bernice and I have just uncovered something that might bring the whole case to a close.”  He was talking excitedly and she could hear Bernice in the background talking to some man.

“Oh, really.”  Laura tried to sound casual.  “What do you have?”

“We’re at the hall of records.  I found the birth certificate for Rita Stallings.  While I was at it, Bernice told me to get information on Kathy Stephens.  She remembered you needed it for Josh Sallinger.  Anyway, I found out something extraordinary.  Rita Stallings and Kathy Stephens were both born the same year, the same month, and the same day.”

“Oh, my god,” Laura whispered, sneaking a quick glance at Rita.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes!  It’s here in black and white.  Another thing, I checked on the birth certificate for Cecile Brown.  The father’s name on the certificate is Russ Saunders.”

Laura looked at Remington, who had been watching her very closely.  He came to stand beside her.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Keep an eye on Rita.” Laura whispered to Remington.  He walked casually back to Miss Stallings.

“Do me a favor, Murphy?” Laura questioned in a normal tone.  “Could you call Bill for me?  I’d like to see him soon.”

“She’s there?” Murphy asked, alarmed.

“That’s right,” Laura confirmed.

“I’ll call right now.”  Laura hung up.  She decided to confront Rita.  “I know who you are, Miss Stephens.”

 Rita stiffened.  Remington looked confused then comprehended what Laura was saying.  He snapped his fingers.

“Cecile’s mother,” Remington said with a grin.  “Of course!”

Rita started to contradict this, and then her shoulders slumped in defeat.  “Okay.  My real name is Kathy Stephens.  Cecile is my daughter,” she admitted in a weary voice.  “I hated keeping that secret, but when Cecile asked me to get her a part, she didn’t want anyone to know I was her mother.”

“Does Cecile know Russ Saunders was her father?”  Laura asked.  Remington was becoming excited, his mind working double time.

“Of course,” Rita answered.  “I showed her the birth certificate.”

“You killed Russ Saunders,” Remington deduced, pointing a finger at Rita.  “You told him about Cecile, but he didn’t want to see her or pay any child support.  That made you angry.  Angry enough to kill!”

“No!” Rita denied.

 “You’re the spy!” Remington continued, venting his theories.  “You just said Crawford told you everything.  If you were that close, you would have known everything pertaining to the play.”

“No, you’re wrong!  I never gave away any secrets and I couldn’t have killed Russ.”  Rita started to cry.  “I loved him.  God help me, I loved him.”  She covered her face with her hands.

While Remington had been confronting Rita, Laura was coming up with her own suspect.

“It’s not Rita,” Laura stated, looking over Murphy’s notes.

Remington was perplexed.  “But if she didn’t do it, who did?”

“Cecile,” Laura answered.  Rita looked at Laura, shaking her head.

“No, not Cecile,” Rita denied.  The office door was opened suddenly.   Cecile Brown entered holding a small handgun.

“Miss Holt is right, mother,” Cecile confirmed.  She pointed her gun at Laura.  Remington stepped towards her.  “Not another move or I’ll kill her right now, Mr. Steele.”  Remington stopped.

“Cecile, what are you doing?” Rita asked her daughter.

“I’m going to kill them.”  Cecile stated flatly, a look of insanity in her eyes.

“Why did you leak the ideas?  What did you have to gain?”  Laura was stalling for time, eyeing the gun nervously.

“I wanted to discredit my . . . father,” Cecile scoffed.  “After I shot him, I put some incriminating evidence in his office, but the papers were never found.  At least, the police never mentioned anything to Richard.”

“Richard?  Why would Richard . . .” Rita’s voice faded.  “You two are lovers.”

Cecile laughed harshly.  “Very perceptive of you, mother.  That’s why it was so easy to learn things.  He talked to me about the play.  He never realized I was the spy.  Men can be so dense.”

“Tell me about it,” Laura muttered.  Remington frowned at her.  “Sorry,” she mouthed.

“I took the papers,” Rita confessed.  Cecile stared at her.  “I saw you put them in his room.  But I had no idea you had killed him.”

“Who’s your contact at Webber’s?” Remington asked.  He wanted to distract her somehow.  As she was talking, her pistol was still aimed straight at Laura.

Cecile looked at him.  “Some nobody.  Bill Jenkins.  He would slip ideas ‘out of thin air’ to Webber’s director,” she jeered.  “What a weasel.”

“Why did you kill your father?” Rita whispered.

 “My father,” Cecile mocked.  “My father didn’t even want me.  Not then, not now.  I despised him,” she rasped.  “I forged Josh Sallinger’s name on my birth certificate.  I thought maybe I could get a little affection.”

“And money?” Laura interjected.

“That, too,” Cecile smirked.  Suddenly, her face seemed to crumble, a tear escaping her eye.  “He didn’t love me,” she whispered.  “No one loves me.”

“I love you,” Rita said softly.

Cecile looked at her.  “Mom . . .” The door was banged open abruptly.  Startled, Cecile pulled the trigger.  Laura cried out in pain as she felt the bullet pierce her shoulder.  The force of the shot knocked her down onto the floor.

One of the policemen took the gun from Cecile, placing her hands behind her back.

Remington reached Laura quickly, holding her gently in his arms.  “Laura!”

She looked up at him.  “I think I’m going to faint,” she said and did.

Lieutenant Storm hurried into the room.  He knelt down on the other side of Laura and checked her pulse.  “Her pulse is strong.”  He told the detective.  Rita handed him a scarf and he wrapped it around her wound.

“We’ve called for an ambulance,” a policeman said.

“You’re going to be okay, Laura.  You have to be.” Remington’s eyes clouded with tears.  “I love you, Laura.”

Laura squinted up at him.  “Forever?” she whispered.

Remington laughed in relief.  “Forever,” he whispered back, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Oh, Mr. Steele, I love you.”  Laura shut her eyes, a grin on her face.
 

Fran sighed and snuggled up to her pillow, still half asleep.  It seemed to be moving underneath her and she opened one eye to look.  She opened her eyes wide when she realized she was not alone.  She drew in the scent of Max’s cologne.   She had been sleeping on his chest, his arm still around her shoulders.

Fran stole a look at his face.  His features were relaxed in sleep.  His shirt was unbuttoned revealing the mix of black and gray hair on his chest.  She sighed as she caught a glimpse of the VCR clock.  It had just turned six, but everyone in this household seemed to wake early.  She started to pull away, but his arm tightened around her, pulling her close.

Fran slowly eased away from him.  “Mr. Sheffield,” she said softly, playing with the hair on his chest.  “Max,” she whispered lovingly.

“Fran,” he mumbled.  Max opened his eyes slowly.  He reached out and ran his hand through her tousled hair.  “My beautiful Fran,” he said drowsily.  “Come back to bed, darling,” he entreated.

“We’re not in bed, honey,” she reminded him.

Max looked at his surroundings.  “Oh, right.”

Fran smiled and sat up.  “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“When I came back last night, I found this vision,” he stroked her cheek, “asleep on the couch.”  Max shrugged and eased into a sitting position, taking her hand.  “You looked so comfortable, I couldn’t resist joining you.”  He placed a warm kiss on her palm, watching her reaction with hooded eyes.

Fran closed her eyes as she felt a quiver of desire shoot through her.  She opened them and gazed at him.  Was this the same Maxwell Sheffield who just months before kept his distance from her?  She leaned close and gave him a gentle kiss and stood, pulling him off the couch with her.

“Who’s Mr. Steele?”  The question took her by surprise, especially the hint of jealousy she heard.  Fran’s mind was fuzzy.  She wrinkled her brow, perplexed.  “You were talking in your sleep,” he prompted.

Her mind cleared suddenly, remembering the dream.  ‘Good old Mr. Steele’.  Fran beamed.  Max looked at her warily.   She shrugged.  “No one special.”  Fran grinned, a wicked twinkle in her eyes.  “Why don’t we go upstairs?” she suggested, letting her fingers play in his hair.

Max mirrored her action.  “Whatever you say . . . Miss Holt.”

Fran just stared at him a beat, then giggled.  He joined in and she hit him playfully on the arm.  “You dog.”

Max took her left hand, fingering her wedding ring.  “They finally got married, too,” Max stated.  Fran nodded.   “I love you, Fran Sheffield,” he said softly.

“Forever?” she asked, echoing her dream, her eyes were bright with love.

“Forever,” he assured her gently.  Fran reached up to give him another kiss, her hands stroking his back.

“Let’s continue this somewhere more private,” he breathed against her skin as he placed light kisses on her face.

“Yes,” she agreed, brushing her tongue lightly against his ear lobe.  Max groaned, kissing her lips fully.  Their mouths opened for a deeper kiss and they held each other tight.

“Oh, Fran, you’re intoxicating,” Max gasped, after they had stopped for breath.

“Is that good or bad?” Fran questioned apprehensively.

Max chuckled. “It’s good.  Very good.”  He looked deep into her eyes.  “I need you, Fran,” he confessed.

“I need you, too.”  He kissed her again, his hands roaming over her body.  She could feel his fingers tremble as he unbuttoned her blouse.  “Max,” she croaked.  He continued kissing her, his hand slipping behind her back, fumbling with the catch on her bra.  “No, Max, not here,” she wheezed, her passion muddled brain clearing.  “The children,” she reminded him.  Her words finally reached him and he stopped, resting his face against hers.

“See what you do to me?” he asked fiercely, closing his eyes tight.

“I can feel what I do to you,” she teased huskily.  His eyes smiled into hers.  “If we want to finish what we started, we’d better go up now,” Fran urged.

Max sighed. “I feel like a bloody teenager sometimes,” he said.  “Sneaking around just to make love to my own wife.”

“You wanted the children,” Fran deadpanned and giggled when he tickled her.

“First one to the bedroom gets to be on top,” he whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“In that case, I’ll let you win.”  Fran winked and he laughed softly as they both raced up the stairs towards their room.

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