Chapter 7: Uncertainty
Monday, September 29, 1986
When the alarm went off at six o'clock, Laura groaned her discontent. That Remington hadn't even stirred enough to complain about the voices of Bud Tyler and Norman Austin parading about in his dreams, spoke of how tired he was. Normally, after all, he would get in a solid gripe or two before burying his head under his pillow in protest. This morning, however, as she slapped at the snooze alarm, the only sign he'd even heard the alarm was when he instinctively pulled her tighter to him when she moved slightly away. Closing her eyes again – a rarity for her, as usually she bounded out of bed as soon as the alarm sounded – she let herself enjoy the warmth of his body wrapped around hers.
Whatever it was that had been bothering him when he came in the night before had apparently not followed him into his sleep. When Laura rhythmically stroked his forearm with her hand, even as he slept he nuzzled his chin against the top of her head. With a nip at her lip with her teeth and a coy little smile, she wiggled slightly away from him, putting space between their bodies. His body followed hers until she was again held tightly to him. This drew a small laugh from her as she recalled that on more than one occasion in the past months, she'd found herself almost clinging to the side of the bed, as he'd followed her throughout the night. Of course, she couldn't deny that she had the same habit of searching him out as well when she slept.
When the alarm went off for the second time, she regretfully turned it off, then shimmied herself out of his embrace to stand beside the bed. This time he did wake enough to voice his complaint with a loud groan, before pushing himself up on his arms, preparing to follow her from bed. Stepping to him, Laura caressed his cheek with her hand.
"Get some sleep, Rem," she told him soothingly. Voicing a soft moan of appreciation, he collapsed on his stomach, then issued a happy rumble from deep in his throat as her fingers brushed over his back before she leaned down to buss the back of his head. She turned in the bathroom doorway, looking wistfully back at the bed, before shaking it off and closing the door to get ready for work.
"Good morning, Mildred," Laura trilled with a smile to their trusted secretary and investigator-in-training as she walked through the Agency door.
"Well, aren't you awfully spry this morning?" Mildred smiled. "A good weekend I take it?"
Laura perched herself on the corner of the desk. "We found a house," she confided.
"Good for you! I've gotta say, I was beginning to wonder if you two kids would ever find something."
"So were we, Mildred, so were we. But it was worth the wait. The house is perfect! We made the official offer right after touring. Hopefully Meredith will let us know sometime today."
A thought suddenly occurred to Mildred and she gave Laura a perplexed look. "Where's the Boss anyway? This is the first time in I don't know how long that the two of you haven't come in together."
"Uh, sleeping in," Laura answered. "He's had a couple of very late nights working the Covington case."
"Has he made any headway?" Mildred asked, curiosity piqued.
"I really don't know. We haven't had much chance to talk about it. I've been asleep when he comes in…" Laura trailed off, the partial truth eating at her. She had been asleep both nights, but the day prior when she'd brought up the case, he'd veered her away from the topic as quickly as possible. What had he said to her the day before? 'Ah, and therein lies your answer,' or something similar. What he had he meant by that? She resisted the urge to give a huff of irritation, instead, turning her focus to a more pressing matter. "Mildred, I need you to put that computer of yours and telephone skills to good use for me this morning."
"Sure, hon. What do you have in mind?" she asked eagerly.
"First, I need you to find out if Wally is still in the psychiatric hospital. Then…"
"What's going on, Miss Holt?"
Laura pursed her lips, trying to decide how much to tell her. With a slight shrug, she admitted to herself that Mildred had never betrayed a confidence once she was sworn to secrecy. "I need your word, Mildred, that what I tell you stays between you and I. I don't want Mr. Steele… distracted… unnecessarily. I need him fully focused on the Covington case.
"I don't like the sound of this, Miss Holt," she answered, frowning disapprovingly. "But you have my word. Now give."
Laura stood and paced briefly, before crossing her arms around herself and rubbing her hands up and down them. "There have been a few odd… occurrences… the last two days," she said, selecting her words carefully.
Mildred leaned forward in her chair, her frown deepening. "What kind of 'odd occurrences' exactly?"
"A flower showing up on my car after I ran at the beach on Saturday. Another showing up in front of our apartment door Saturday night." She exhaled heavily with frustration. "Then last night, another flower… and a picture."
"What kind of picture?" Mildred asked suspiciously.
"Of Mr. Steele dancing with Astrid Covington," she admitted.
"Oh, Miss Holt, I don't like the sound of this. I think we should tell…" she stopped speaking when Laura held up a hand and shook her head adamantly.
"Fact checks first, Mildred. I don't want to alarm him if there's nothing to be concerned about."
"Are you forgetting what happened the last time you didn't fill him in on your suspicions?" Mildred reminded her. "I certainly haven't. The Boss was beside himself…"
"Which is exactly why I don't want him to worry unless there's something to worry about," Laura interrupted emphatically. "Facts first."
"Alright," Mildred relented grudgingly. "And after I confirm the whereabouts of Wally?"
"Florists. Contact every florist in LA and determine if they sell pink dahlias and, if so, if they've recently sold any. Names, descriptions."
"You don't want me to check on the usual suspects? DesCoines, Lydon…" Mildred queried.
"Already done. I came in last night and ruled them all out." Mildred set down her pen and shot a dubious stare at Laura.
"You came in… on a Sunday night… but are telling me you don't think there's anything to worry about yet? Not buying it, Miss Holt."
"Curious, Mildred," Laura answered breezily, as she walked to her office, "Just curious. Let me know what you find out."
Closing her office door behind her, Laura plopped her hat down on the corner of the desk before sinking down in her chair and considering the files scattered across her desk. A dozen and a half closed cases, contracts, skip and asset traces, by her count. Another dozen of the same, still open, demanding attention. A wicked little gleam suddenly lit her eyes, and stacking the closed files in her arms, she stood and walked into Remington's office, where she summarily dumped all the files on his desk before strutting out his office back to her own. With a satisfied little smirk, she took her seat again. Eighteen down, twelve to go, she laughed to herself. Opening the first of the skip traces, she settled herself in for the morning.
She only looked up from the second of the files an hour later when Mildred knocked briefly then entered her office bearing a cup of coffee. Laura flashed her a grateful smile, leaning back in her chair to take a sip as Mildred sat in a chair across from her.
"Jarvis just confirmed that Wally is still safely ensconced under lock and key at New Horizon's," she told Laura without preamble.
The younger woman nodded, not at all surprised. It had been a reach in the first place, as Wally was more inclined to send gifts with cards bearing flowery sentiments. "Well it seems, at least for now, the identity of the flower bearing mystery person remains just that: a mystery," she commented with a slight shrug. "And the florists?"
"I just started on those. I've come up with bupkis so far," Mildred told her as she rose from the chair. "But I'll let you know if I find anything."
"Thanks, Mildred," Laura replied with genuine gratitude, returning her focus to the file in front of her as her office door snicked close.
She remained immersed in the files until her door opened again shortly before noon. A smile of pure pleasure ghosted across her lips as she looked up to find Remington closing the door behind him, before striding over to her chair to lean down and brush a kiss across her cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw and trailed down his neck as he pressed his lips under her ear and then whispered against it.
"Good morning, Miss Holt."
Her teeth tipped at her lower lip, as she looked up at him through her lashes. "Good morning, Mr. Steele," she hummed, then tilting her chair forward as he stood, couldn't help teasing him, "…although barely."
Stretching out in the chair across from her, he carelessly propped his feet up on the corner of her desk, as his eyes twinkled at her. "Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement, "I'm afraid my wife insisted I sleep in this morning."
"Are you feeling better?" she asked, with a trace of laugher in her voice, as she leaned back in her chair again, toying with her pen.
"I am. So much so, that I was thinking I might steal you away for a bit of lunch?" he asked hopefully, drawing another laugh from her.
"Nothing doing, buster. I think half a day is more than enough. Besides," she said, giving him a sidelong glance, "I seem to recall the matter of a small wager."
"Lauuuraaa," he cajoled, saying her name with a touch of the music of Ireland dancing through it, which he knew she was seldom immune to, especially when accompanied by intense, blue eyes beseeching her at the same time. "We've barely had any time at all together the last two days. Surely, the files can wait for another hour or so."
"It's the or so that worries me," she told him, then tapped her finger against her lips while thinking. She was nearly helpless to resist her husband when he sincerely expressed a need to spend some time together, especially when she was in need of the same. Pushing herself up out of her chair, she rounded the desk then waited until he took his feet off her desk so that she could slide into his lap.
"I tell you what," she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and toying with the hair at his collar, "Make it a working lunch…" she touched her lips against his "… You, me, your office…" her lips trailed along his jaw, as his eyes closed and his hand tangled in her hair "…and you've got yourself a deal." Her lips returned to his. She allowed them to linger there to convey how much she needed time alone with him as well.
Remington took the kiss to a whole new level. Palms cupping her cheeks, he teasingly traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. When she opened to him, his tongue swirled against hers before he plundered, the kiss holding a tinge of desperate desire that left her both gasping when his lips left hers, and befuddled by the emotion the kiss had conveyed. Taking his face in her hands, she studied him closely, then drew him back so their lips could join again. This time, it was she that controlled the kiss and she instilled it with a tenderness, gentleness that had him humming against her lips.
"Tacos or Chinese?" he murmured against her lips before his ability to think completely departed.
"Your choice," she told him, getting to her feet. "Let me get together what I'll need while you order and I'll join you in a minute."
Remington hummed his agreement then journeyed to his office. A glance at his desk elicited a low groan of discontent from his throat.
"Apparently you need to be reminded, Miss Holt, that the outcome of our bet is still under protest," he called to her in mock outrage.
"And I believe I told you that you have no grounds for a formal protest," she called back to him from her office.
"You violated the rules of sportsmanship," he disagreed vociferously.
"We hadn't laid any ground rules," she reminded him as she entered the room. "And I hardly believe anyone would find me expressing my affection for my husband as unsportsmanlike."
Remington gave a huff of mock outrage. "They might, if they knew how you assaulted your husband's person in the middle of his swing!"
"I didn't assault you," she answered in an amused voice, "I merely couldn't resist caressing that very sexy bum of yours, displayed in all its glory in those pants during your swing." With a mischievous grin, she volleyed the ball back into his court. "I should also point out, that I neither chose your wardrobe nor can be held responsible your mounting… frustration… as you tried to slice your ball out of that sand trap."
Laura curled up in the corner of the couch with her files, while Remington stretched out in the opposite corner, propping his feet on the coffee table with a file on his lap. He looked at her, appalled.
"Wardrobe aside, Mrs. Steele, it would seem to me that your continual… attentions… were directly responsible for my 'mounting frustration' as you call it."
"Surely, Mr. Steele, you're not saying that you having so little control over your… reactions… is in any way my fault," she mused. Remington's blue eyes settled on her.
"When a mere look from you can set my entire being ablaze… as you are all too aware? You knew perfectly well what you were doing," he protested. "Had it not been for your antics, I would've easily won by at least a dozen strokes."
"It seems to me I… gave… you at least a dozen strokes," she teased, adding a sultry layer to her voice while purposefully running her eyes down his long frame. Remington glanced at her, then sat up slightly straighter with a grin as he realized the game afoot.
"Lauraaaa," he warned, "Remember… paybacks. And I already owe you for the games in which you engaged on the golf course."
"Seems I have quite a bit to look forward to this week, then," she said, flashing him an anticipatory smile. "First, the rarity of watching you slog through paperwork, and now, waiting to see exactly what plans you have in mind." His smiled widened as he shot her a salacious look on raised brow. "Speaking of which, how is our plan for Astrid Covington working out so far? Are you meeting up with her this evening again?"
Remington's smile faded at her mention of the woman. "She's… enamored… with Reggie's social standing as well as the service he provides to people. I imagine she'll be requesting my services any day now." In a moment of perverse peevishness, he asked her to pass him the phone. At the arch of her questioning brow, he provided, "Reggie's been in San Francisco today, working on finalizing a sale. I told her I'd call and make plans for this evening."
Laura nodded her understanding. "Then by all means, call her. Most women don't appreciate being called late in the afternoon for an evening date." A smile played on her lips as she remembered precisely such an example from their own past.
"You and me on, on, on a date?"
"Boggles the mind, doesn't it?"
"Sounds wonderful."
"It will be wonderful."
"And just when can I expect all this wonderfulness to happen?"
"Actually, I was thinking about tonight."
"Tonight."
"I don't think there is a moment to lose."
"It's five forty-five. You wait until five forty-five on a
Friday night to ask me out. Let me guess, Sheila has the mumps ..."
"Laura ..."
"...Susan got hit by a car. Mary, measles. Doris, diphtheria."
"Gayle, croup. What difference does it make so long as you're free."
"Oh, what in the world makes you think that I'm free? It's
Friday night… Friday night!"
She watched as Remington punched a series of numbers into the key pad of the phone and lifted it to his ear. Leaning back into the couch, he propped his feet on the coffee table once more.
"Astrid? It's Reggie… Yes, yes, it's a delight to hear your voice as well…" he told her, infusing his voice with seductive warmth, while stealing a furtive glance at Laura who had carefully blanked her face during his discussion "Mmmmm, without a hitch. Both parties thoroughly satisfied and myself, of course, enjoying a tidy commission. I should be wrapping everything up within the hour. What say I take an afternoon flight back and you and I have a little celebration at the Club this evening?..." His eyes darted towards his wife, whose pen was hovering over a file, giving the appearance that she was working, but the furrow of her brow said otherwise. "Tomorrow? Completely free at the moment… Tennis at 10? I suppose that could be arranged if I might entice you into a picnic after. I know a wonderful park that will afford us considerable privacy… It's a date then… Eight o'clock this evening then?... I'll be counting the minutes as well," he answered, fighting the urge to grimace. Smacking his lips together, he hung up the receiver then handed the phone back to Laura. "I'm sure you got the gist of the conversation."
"I did," she confirmed, setting the phone back down on the table next to her. "Your… abilities with the ladies… appears to be fully intact," she commented lightly, in complete antithesis to the feelings that had blindsided her listening to him flirt with the other woman.
"Merely perpetuating the ruse you conceived of," he answered casually.
"Quite effectively it appears. I imagine she'll be taking you into her confidence and asking your assistance in plenty of time for us to meet our deadline," she noted.
"One can only hope. It's difficult setting a timeline for… finessing… a mark, such as it were." Laura looked at him askance.
"Are you saying I made a mistake with the timeline I promised Mr. Covington?" she inquired, irritation seeping into her voice.
While neither would admit it to the other, both were thoroughly relieved when Mildred knocked on the door, then entered to bring them their lunches that had been delivered. Taking one look at Remington's aloof countenance and Laura's frown, she hustled her way out of the room as quickly at her legs would carry her.
Without a word, Remington handed Laura her tray of food, then opened his own, taking a generous bite of his taco before laying the file he'd been reading through in front of him to review further. Mimicking him, she did the same. Except for a few questions about a file he was reading through, lunch was eaten in silence. Two-thirds of the way through their meal, she tossed down her fork in frustration and sat back on the couch to consider him.
"This is ridiculous," she said, emphasizing the last word. "What exactly are we fighting about, Remington?"
He turned his head to look at her. "I hadn't realized we are," he prevaricated, flashing her a toothy smile. She scrutinized him carefully, taking in the shuttered look in his eyes, and realizing he'd shut her out as effectively as if he'd closed and locked the door between their two offices.
"Rem…" Her voice held a soft plea that he talk to her.
"Leave it alone, Laura," he said more sharply than he intended. Stroking his hand through his hair, he closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge, turning more towards weariness. "We're fine. Nothing to worry about," he tried to assure her, then inwardly cringed when he saw her chin tip up slightly in response to his words.
"Alright, I guess I'll have to take your word on that." Standing, she threw her still mostly filled carton of food into the trash then returned to gather up her files from the couch. "I've got some calls to make." On those words, she left his office, quietly closing their shared door behind her.
Remington watched her as she left, never once glancing back. Dropping the pen he'd had in hand, he leaned back against the couch and scrubbed at his face with both hands. There was no doubt she was both hurt and angered by his refusal to talk. But how do I talk to her when she simply won't listen? he wondered to himself.
Laura, doing what Laura does best when upset, buried herself in her work. By six o'clock, she'd completed three relatively uncomplicated skip traces through a simple check of credit header indices. Setting those files aside to add to Remington's pile, she returned to one of the first case files she'd perused: a birthmother attempting to locate the daughter she'd placed for adoption at birth, in order to impart some important medical information to the girl. The Agency didn't take on many cases involving adoptions as the nature of the closed files in most states made the process long and thus cost prohibitive to potential clients. They would, however, make an exception for adoptions that took place in Texas and California as both states had established birth registries, which allowed them to find the name of the child post-adoption, relatively painlessly. Given the child in question, now a young woman in her early-twenties, was born in Texas, they'd taken on this particular case. Lifting the receiver on her telephone, Laura dialed the number of their contact in Texas. Five minutes later, she hung up with the assurance that they'd have the name by week's end.
No sooner than she'd hung up did the buzzer on the intercom sound.
"Yes, Mildred."
"Your realtor is on line one, Miss Holt," Mildred informed her. A wide smile graced Laura's face at her words.
"Give me two minutes and put her through to Mr. Steele's office," she directed, already standing.
"No can do, Miss Holt. The Boss left thirty minutes ago." Laura glanced at her watch, and gave a small huff of frustration.
"Can you let Meredith know Mr. Steele has left on business and ask her to call back tomorrow morning when we should be together?"
"Will do. And Miss Holt, I've gotta get going myself. The Dragon Ladies have our last practice tonight for the big championship tournament on Wednesday night."
"Alright. Well, have a good night, Mildred. I think I'll stick around a little while longer and see if I can wrap anything else up." Disconnecting their call, Laura leaned back in her chair with a frown.
"He left," she murmured aloud to herself, feeling suddenly bereft. In all the years of their association, she could count on one hand how many times Remington had left the office without saying goodbye, and all of those were when he was most injured or angry. At least during those times, however, she'd known why. Yes, she knew he was angry about the Covington case. But she didn't know the why of that anger. She had only that vague comment of 'therein lies the answer,' and what exactly did that mean? It was just as clear that he had no intention of clarifying the remark for her as it was that he was retreating into himself in this regard.
Opening the next file on her desk, she found herself fervently wishing that it was last Thursday, when they were still blissfully happy.
