ACT TWO
FADE IN
Laura Holt rested for a moment in the late morning sunlight. A fresh influx of tourists began to fill Jackson Square while a handful of bleary-eyed revelers straggled home, still feeling the impact of the previous evening.
"Over here, Mildred," Laura called out.
Mildred Krebs made her way along the north side of the square, past the stone steps of St. Louis Cathedral, and joined Laura in front of the old Spanish colonial building known as the Cabildo.
"Did you get settled in the apartment?" Laura asked.
"Yes, but I'm not sure where we're all going to sleep," Mildred laughed.
"No available hotels for fifty miles, it seems."
Mildred looked around the full length of the square. A large iron fence surrounded the lush gardens of the central square and the towering statue of the heroic (if late) General Andrew Jackson saving the day at the Battle of New Orleans. The iron fence served as backdrop for the dozens of artists and street performers who would ply their trades during the day. As Mildred watched, a caricature artist set up his easel against the perimeter, arraying his charcoals and scanning the crowd for a first customer. Nearby, a mime in white face paint and traditional garb marked out his territory, placing an overturned black hat on the sidewalk at the ready to receive a tossed coin.
"The show must go on," Laura said, thinking of the contrast between the liveliness of the morning and the events of the previous evening.
Mildred missed Laura's nuance, caught up in her own reverie. "I was so excited to get your phone call Miss Holt. You have no idea how long I've wanted to come here. I read the most fabulous romance novel set in New Orleans, 'Magnolias in the Moonlight'."
Laura half-listened, crossing slowly to the far end of the square while Mildred followed.
"It was about this gruff but kind-hearted colonel who lived in a crumbling mansion on the river," Mildred continued. "His wife had died tragically, but he held secret longing to find love again. A beautiful young woman entered his life at the beginning of the carnival season, but it was impossible for them to be together."
"Let me guess," Laura replied with a certain weariness. "They meet behind masks at a grand ball on the last night of Mardi Gras, and declare that their love can overcome any obstacle."
"Yes," Mildred gushed, "It was wonderful." Mildred stopped and studied Laura's expression. "Wait a second. How'd you know?"
"Never mind, Mildred," Laura answered. "Here's Mr. Steele."
"Ah, Miss Krebs," Steele said with a practiced joie di vivre. "How lovely to see you this morning." He handed a small ticket stub to each of them. "It was under our noses the whole time," Steele said to Laura, indicating a building on the opposite side of the Cathedral that matched the Cabildo in architectural style. "Let's go inside, shall we."
CUT TO:
Moments later, Remington Steele stood in a silent hallway inside the Louisiana State Museum, studying a fantastic costume encased in glass. A white tunic studded with rhinestones and trimmed with gold brocade adorned an ordinary storefront mannequin. An enormous gold cape with a white fur collar was draped around the mannequin's shoulders and extended outwards into a twenty-foot train, which, in turn, was intricately decorated with thousands of white and silver sequins in a repeating pattern of fleur de lis. A crown of crushed white velvet and a golden scepter completed the tableaux.
"Fit for a king, eh?" Steele said, as Laura joined him in front of the display case.
"Is this typical?" Laura asked. "The costume alone must cost more than the monthly rent on our office."
"Apparently so," Steele responded. "Although this one may be a little more elaborate than most. Presumably that's why it's preserved in the state museum. Says here that some of the jewels in the scepter are real."
Laura responded with a slight frown.
"No need to worry, Laura. Simply noting, simply noting," Steele continued.
"And the Mardi Gras Krewe Martin mentioned, Endymion?" Laura asked.
"Nothing specific, no," Steele said. "It seems there are dozens of krewes in the city, arranged in a hierarchy according to tradition and social status. Each krewe has a new king and court every year. They sponsor the parades for the general public and the private balls where they present their royalty, decked out in this sort of finery."
"Martin seemed certain that something regarding Jim and Leslie's murder was going to be revealed at the Endymion ball tonight," Laura said, recapping the facts of the case as she processed the new information. "It's not much to go on yet, but it's all we have. Let's see if Mildred found anything useful in the archive."
Steele and Laura rounded the corner to the research room of the museum where Mildred sat at large oak table.
"Anything?" Steele asked.
"Look at this chief," Mildred replied, pointing to a yellowed page in a stack of newspaper clippings. "These krewes hold elections at the end of each ball to determine who will be named king and queen and all the other royalty for the next year, but then, the results are held secret."
"Let me see that, Mildred," Laura said.
"So the members decide," Steele repeated. "Prestigious prize on the line, mired in secrecy. Would a rigged election be enough to kill for?"
"Kill three people for a fake kingship," Laura replied. "There's got to be more to it than that." Laura set the newspaper back in its stack. "Mildred, I think you and I should go to Martin's law office next and see what else we can dig up."
"Yes, yes," Steele said, "but I think there's something to this royal competition. They may be fake kings but they seem to wield real power in their own social circles."
"But the inner workings are all private, boss," Mildred said. "How are you going to poke around?"
Steele paced the room for a moment, head down in thought. "The Duke of Bridgewater," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together.
"Come again," Mildred replied.
"It's right there, just outside the window," Steele said with a flourish. "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Mickey Rooney, William Frawley, MGM, 1939. A young boy takes his raft down the Mississippi River in search of adventure and meets up with the Duke of Bridgewater, not to mention the lost King of France."
"A boy escaping his past joins forces with a con man playing the Duke of Bridgewater," Laura replied with a spark. "I may not have seen the movie, but every American school child has read the book."
Steele bypassed Laura's taunt. "Well, in my version, the Duke of Bridgewater, a genuine English nobleman, journeys to New Orleans to ascertain how one joins the Krewe of Endymion. It's his one shot at someday becoming king, you see."
"I see," Laura said, smiling despite herself at his inventiveness. "Sounds dubious."
"The whole thing is dubious, Laura, but we've got to do something." Steele caught Laura's eye and held her gaze for a long moment. "For your friend." Laura nodded in agreement as he continued. "You and Mildred run off to do your leg work. The Duke will have you over for tea this afternoon."
CUT TO:
"Castille, Bradford, & Calhoun," Laura said, guiding the rental car to a stop along a tree-lined residential street. "This must be it."
"It looks more like a house than a major law firm," Mildred replied.
Laura surveyed the block. "That may be to our advantage. No office tower security to contend with and it seems that most of the neighbors are conspicuously absent."
"Afternoon parade," Mildred said, pointing to a crowd gathered at the opposite end of the street.
"Perfect. Let's look for a soft spot around back."
Half an hour later, Laura and Mildred were ensconced in Martin Bailey's wood paneled office inside the old house. Laura searched through Martin's personal files while Mildred attacked the defenses of his desktop computer.
"Got it!" Mildred announced. "People should take the time to change their default password. There were two logins on this computer. The second one got me in."
"What's that Mildred?"
"Two user names for the computer. 'M Bailey' I couldn't crack – must have a very tricky password. But with the other user name, 'L Calhoun', I got in right away."
"L Calhoun?" Laura asked.
"One of the law partners, right?" Mildred replied.
"No, James K. Calhoun was the partner here," Laura said, holding up a piece of law firm letterhead. "He was Martin's friend who was killed a few days ago. I don't know where his wife Leslie practiced."
"It looks like she worked here, Miss Holt. There are dozens of files under her user name – drafts of pleadings, motions, and tons of correspondence."
"Can you open the most recent file?"
"This document is dated February 26th," Mildred said.
"Just before her death," Laura responded. "Page down a bit, Mildred."
Mildred tapped the down arrow key, sending green text scrolling down the black screen.
"It seems routine," Mildred said. "Ah, look there."
Before them on the computer screen a paragraph of legal boilerplate gave way to a hastily worded warning typed in all capital letters. "MARTIN," it read. "PLAN CHANGE. SONNY ON TO US. EVIDENCE IN PACKAGE. SAT. NIGHT. # 36."
"Sonny?" Mildred asked.
"Must be Sonny Bradford, the managing partner," Laura replied. "But if Martin actually got this warning from Leslie why didn't he tell us about it last night?"
"It says 'on to us', Miss Holt. Martin may have had secrets of his own."
At that moment, an alarm sounded at the front door. Laura carefully opened the office door and glanced down the hallway in time to catch a glimpse of gloved hand slamming the door shut from the outside.
"Unplug the computer, Mildred," Laura said. "Whoever set off that alarm is gone for now, but I'm in no mood to wait around and see who turns up next."
CUT TO:
Across town, Steele, wearing a new Italian suit and a freshly conceived false identity, sauntered to the front gate of the Louisiana Superdome. Entering the cavernous arena, he spied a young man in jeans and a canvas work shit who appeared to be in charge of the preparations for the evening. With a booming voice Steele approached the young foreman, "Good afternoon, sir. May I present myself. William Frawley, the 18th Duke of Bridgewater. Would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of your membership director?"
"My membership director?" the young man repeated, peering over his clipboard.
"Yes, yes. This is the proper location for festivities this evening isn't it? I'm so looking forward to seeing the transformation of this, well, behemoth structure into an elegant setting for a costume ball."
Steele gestured grandly while taking in the expanse of the facility. At one end of the main floor, a trio of bulky men worked to erect a concert stage while carpenters placed the finishing touches on a series of reviewing stands in the center of the stadium. A third work crew paced the catwalks overhead, stretching a fine mesh net to hold the balloons and confetti that would rain down on the assembly at the end of the gala.
"You want to join Endymion by tonight?" the young man asked.
"Money's no object, my good man," Steele replied, rushing his pace in attempt to overcome the young man's inertia. "I have tickets for the ball, you see, but there's much more to be had, isn't there? My local solicitor – the chap who manages all of my oil and gas interests here in the states – speaks so highly of this fraternal brotherhood that I simply have to find a way to get on the inside."
The young man still made no move. Steele examined him carefully, looking for an opening, then noticed he was wearing a Rolling Stones concert t-shirt under his work shirt. "May I take you into my confidence, Mr. ….."
"Spencer," the younger man replied, taking off his ball cap. "Spencer LaBue."
"Have you ever had a great desire, Spencer? Perhaps a vast longing that the rest of those around you didn't quite understand?" Steele fixed his blue eyes on the young man and continued to spin his tale. "I have everything a man could want. More money than I could ever spend, copious land holdings including my own tropical island – Mick Jagger was there last week – and a beautiful, intelligent wife – the Lady Bridgewater." Steele paused for effect. "But I am 316th in line to British throne. Do you know what that means?"
"Someday you'll be king?" Spencer ventured in a wavering tone, as if a teacher had caught him unprepared for class.
"You cut me to the quick," Steele replied. "No, Spencer, there are three hundred and fifteen dear members of the extended royal family in line ahead of me, and they're having more children all the time. I'll never be king of England - at least not without a great deal of carnage, and I can't risk that kind of karmic debt."
Steele modulated his voice to a softer tone, drawing Spencer in closely. "That's why I need your help right now. If I can join Endymion, perhaps one day I can command this impressive kingdom, eh?"
"OK, man, I mean, duke. Let me see what I can find out." Spencer mumbled something into his walkie-talkie and headed for a suite of makeshift offices on the mezzanine level.
Steele smiled and stretched out in the first available chair, wishing Laura could have been present to see his performance. He shut his eyes for just a moment, re-imagining the scene, and then opened them quickly as he heard a female voice call out to him from behind.
"If you're the Duke of Bridgewater, I'm the lost Dauphin," the woman said. Steele turned slowly in his seat to find a slight young woman in jeans and a colorful t-shirt leaning over his chair.
"You're Remington Steele," she continued. "And William Frawley played the upstairs neighbor on I Love Lucy."
"After a distinguished career in the cinema," Steele replied. "And you are?"
"Cindy Bourque," the woman said, extending her hand in greeting. "You can relax Mr. Steele. I'm not going to blow your cover. I was hoping I might find you here."
Steele stood up and shook Cindy's hand.
"I know you're working for Martin Bailey," she continued. "I'm a second year law student at Loyola, and Martin let me, um, borrow his law books, from time to time."
"I see," Steele answered, trying to determine how much to reveal. "So you were aware of Martin's sense of foreboding about the ball this evening."
"Yes," Cindy said. "And after what happened to him, I'm beginning to share it."
From the corner of his eye Steele noted Spencer's return and motioned for Cindy to fall silent. As Spencer approached Steele resumed his pose. "That's a fascinating story, Miss Bourque. I must have you share it with my wife, the Lady Bridgewater. She's immersed in carnival history."
"Hey, Duke," Spencer interrupted. "A man named Sonny Bradford is in charge of new members. He won't be here this afternoon, but you can catch him tonight. He'll ride in on float 36."
"Thank you. You've been most kind," Steele replied, sending Spencer on his way. "Miss Bourque," he continued, "I wonder if I might take up a little more of your time."
CUT TO:
An hour later, Steele, Laura and Cindy Bourque hunched over a small table in an outdoor café.
"Where's Mildred?" Steele asked, as the waiter distributed menus.
"I sent her to get something to wear to the ball this evening," Laura replied, running her finger across the lapel of Steele's new suit coat. "This case is going to cost us a fortune in wardrobe upgrades."
"Cindy," Steele interrupted, noting her reaction to Laura's comment. "Miss Holt didn't mean that quite as callously as it sounded. Of course money is not our primary concern when there's a murderer to be brought to justice."
"I'm sorry, Cindy," Laura said. "Mr. Steele tells me that you and Martin were quite close."
"Martin was different than most of the men you meet here in New Orleans," Cindy replied. "I haven't even finished law school, but he took me seriously – took my ideas seriously. It's rare to find a man who will really listen."
Laura smiled warmly. "That's a rare person to find anywhere, in my experience," she said. Steele hid a small smile behind his menu.
"Now, let's see what we can piece together before this evening's presumed fireworks," Laura continued. "Did Martin ever say anything to you about Leslie Calhoun working at the law office? Her name's not on the letterhead, but she had a login on Martin's office computer."
"I suppose there's no harm in revealing that secret now," Cindy responded.
"Please, Cindy," Steele encouraged. "Anything you know may be helpful."
"Leslie was working at the law office," she continued. "At night, after the senior partners went home. Jim Calhoun never passed the bar. Leslie was the real brains of the operation."
"But Jim's name is on the door," Laura said.
"Passed down from his father, and his father before that. Family status means a great deal in this town."
"So we're learning," Steele said.
"Jim and Leslie took the bar exam at the same time, right after they were married," Cindy explained. "When Leslie passed and Jim didn't, Jim bribed a judge to change the names on the official record. Martin said Jim wouldn't have been able to face his father."
"And Leslie went along with it," Laura asked.
"She thought she'd pass the bar again later, under her own name. But things got more complicated when Jim wasn't actually able to do the legal work. At first Martin helped him…"
"Then Leslie started writing Jim's legal briefs at night," Laura replied, putting the pieces together. "Martin kept the secret."
"Remarkable," Steele replied. "Certainly not the intrigue I suspected."
"We found a rather panicked note from Leslie in Martin's office, indicating that Sonny Bradford was on to them," Laura continued.
"I don't know anything about that, Miss Holt," Cindy replied.
"But subterfuge about passing the bar doesn't seem like a motive for murder," Steele mused.
"Yes," Laura said, revising her assumptions. "And as managing partner, Bradford would want Jim to produce billable hours for the firm, whatever the method."
"Wait, Sonny Bradford," Steele said. "This does connect to the Mardi Gras krewe somehow. Sonny Bradford controls the membership of the Krewe of Endymion. The Duke of Bridgewater is due to speak with him this evening."
"Leslie's warning made reference to evidence in a package Saturday night," Laura stated. "Why would she ferret out evidence of her own deception?"
"I don't get it," Cindy said.
"We don't either," Laura replied. "Yet. We have to find some sort of package tonight at the ball."
"Before our murderer does," Steele added.
Laura released the tension with a small laugh. "Moonlight and Magnolias."
"Hmm?" Steele queried.
"Something Mildred said this morning about the romance of a masked ball. We may all be getting more than we bargained for."
FADE OUT
END ACT TWO