Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele
Part 3: House of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Chapter Twenty-One: Relatively Speaking
Sunday, 4 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 3 days
On the way to the hotel, Siobhán turned to Remington. “Da, I don’t want to go to Cork. Can Mr.
Andrews send me whatever he thinks I should have? I wouldn’t recognize anything anyway.”
Remington drew fingers through his hair in sudden relief. He’d been doing his bloody best to not think of
the trip they were to take tomorrow. “I don’t see why not. I’ll call him this evening.”
“Can we go home?” she pleaded. “I’m glad I saw Hous--DeeDee, and that we got our things, but I want
to go home to Mom.”
“You’re sure? You don’t want to see where your mother lived?”
“Do you think she was happy there?”
Siobhán had him there. “Not really,” he admitted.
“Then I don’t want to see it.”
Remington nodded slowly. “I’ll tell you what: we’ll have a nice dinner tonight at a good place in Dublin,
get a decent night’s sleep, then we’ll catch a plane in the morning. We’ll surprise Laura by coming home
on Monday instead of Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
Something in his shoulders unknotted. He was immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to return to Denis
O’Callaghan’s castle. Facing his childhood was one thing; revisiting the scene of Laura’s torment was
entirely another.
Remington surprised Siobhán too by taking her to the Hard Rock Café in Dublin and purchasing the
obligatory t-shirt that would be the envy of her friends at school. Thinking ahead, they picked out t-shirts
for the twins, Laurie Beth, Mindy and Danny.
“This is totally cool, Da,” she said as she looked through the menu. “Do you know how much I want a
real burger and french fries?”
“I think craving that particular combination makes you officially an American, Siobhán.”
Glancing at his plate consisting of a pile of fries and a cheeseburger, she quipped, “So what does that
make you?”
He lifted his glass of wine and flicked his brow at her with a smile.
Two minutes later as Remington tried not to wince at the scorching guitar riff blaring from the speakers,
Siobhán asked out of the blue, “Did you mean what you told DeeDee?”
“Which part?”
“That you love me? You’ve never said that to me.”
Putting down his glass, he put a finger under her chin and looked her straight in the eye. “Aye, I do at
that. The words don’t come easy for me, but I do.”
“Good. Because it would be weird for me to love you and you didn’t love me back, Da.”
He grinned. “I think we’ve both had enough of that in our lifetime. I’m not interested in playing that
little game anymore.”
Siobhán’s light smile stayed with her for the rest of the day.
Later that night as he readied for bed, the tumult of the day crashed over him. He sat for a moment with
his head in hands. He’d done his best to keep his reactions hidden so as not to color Siobhán’s
perceptions with those of his own, for she had her own issues to address; but his emotions had veered
from anger at Johnny for turning him out of the only home he’d had to the bittersweet joy of discovering
the people who had cared in their own way. If he were home, he’d be on the way to the boxing gym.
Instead, reaching for the telephone, he dialed.
“Hello, love. … Aye, it’s been an interesting day.”
Laura hung up the telephone nearly an hour later, wishing she could be in Ireland with Remington. Then
again, he’d told her things over the phone that he might not have been able to say face-to-face.
He’d described driving to DeeDee’s house, the flood of repressed memories of her kitchen and the
kindness she’d shown him. “I called her ‘DeeDee’ because I couldn’t say ‘Dierdre.’ She remembered
that, love. I think I had to forget about her to survive, Laura. Once or twice when I was on the streets, I’
d think of her and Johnny’s house and wonder what I'd done to make him hate me so. Then I learned
not to ever look back, or I’d spend all my time feeling sorry for myself.”
He told her about the letter he found from his mother to his great-aunt. Colleen had kept it for him
along with his baby blanket. “My mother, Laura. She knew she wouldn’t live; she’d had pneumonia for
too long. She wanted me, Laura.”
The heartbreak in his voice had her swallowing back sympathetic tears as she listened. Feeling the kicks
in her own belly, Laura patted the baby until it settled again, and her heart ached for Remington’s mother.
He’d said they might come home early. She hoped so. She loved Frances, but she’d had enough and
wanted to go home. Another day of being faced with all her shortcomings as a wife and mother had
Laura hiding out in the guest room rather than being sociable and lying on the couch. For all the progress
she and Frances had made in their relationship, her sister had nearly two decades of marriage under her
belt to Laura’s two years. Frances had an irritating tendency to frequently wave around that fact as a
trophy Laura couldn’t possibly attain.
She’d retreated nearly two hours earlier to brood in peace and wondered how long Frances would hold
out before invading her space. The footsteps down the hallway and the light rap on the door answered
that question.
“Laura?” Frances called.
“Come in.” Laura scooted up on the bed, squashing a pillow behind her for support.
“How’s Remington?”
Taking a deep breath, or as deep of one as she could with someone very small pressing up firmly on her
ribcage, Laura tried to be friendly. “I think he and Siobhán are more than ready to come home. Sorting
through the house was emotionally difficult for her.”
But Frances didn’t help matters when she asked, “Did it bother Remington? Going through his …
former--”
“Paramour’s house?” Laura winced as she said it. That particular interpretation of events hadn’t
crossed her mind.
Frances snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
Laura tried to find the right words. She didn’t like lying to her sister about Siobhán’s background.
“Going to Ireland is rarely easy for Remington. With all that happened earlier this year, it’s even more
difficult, regardless of why he went.”
Contrite, her sister laid a hand on Laura’s. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
Laura rolled her eyes and moved Frances’ hand to her belly. “I don’t have much choice.”
Frances bit her lip much as Laura tended to do but smiled as she felt the baby moving. “Do you think
he’ll be all right?”
Mollified, Laura replied, “Of course.”
Frances nodded. “You’ve done an admirable job in treating Siobhán as your own. I’m not so sure I
could be so forgiving of Donald if he’d brought home a son or daughter.”
Laura rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I’ve adopted her, Frances. She is my daughter now, in every
way.” Irritation increased like an itch under her skin; she held on to her temper with an iron grip.
“Yes, but my goodness, she looks exactly like Remington--just the way Lisa Marie looks so much like
Elvis. I just hope she doesn’t end up resenting you over the baby.”
Very sweetly, Laura replied, “Frances, I’m certain she won’t. We’ve included her in nearly everything.”
“But she’s a teenager. Maybe she wants her dad all to herself. Still, I’m surprised he didn’t visit her all
this time you were together. That’s not a good showing on his part.”
Frustrated by her sister’s needling, Laura let the secret slip. “Damn, Frances! Remington is absolutely
incapable of not being a parent to his own child! Have you not paid attention to how he is with your
three and the twins? He and Siobhán are cousins. Her parents are gone, and we were given custody.”
Feeling her head begin to throb, she placed her hand on her temple.
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Calm as ever, Frances moved over and made Laura lie
down. “Don’t get upset with me for not knowing. You were the one who fibbed.”
Angry with herself, Laura grimaced and clasped her sister’s hand, gripping it hard. “No one can know,
Frances. Not Mom, not the kids. Siobhán’s safety depends on it.”
“And you thought you couldn’t trust me?” Frances sounded hurt.
“No, Frances … it’s not that.” Laura settled into the pillow, rolling to her side so she could breathe.
“We want to protect you too.” To try and lighten the mood, she added, “Now, Mom I wouldn’t trust.”
Without preamble, Frances moved over and began rubbing Laura’s back. She hadn’t realized how much
it hurt until the ache flowed away with her sister’s gentle touch.
“With good reason,” Frances told her. “Half of Southern California would know by midnight. There are
things she simply doesn’t need to know.”
Laura looked over quizzically, “You keep things from Mother?”
“All the time.” Frances sighed. “Laura, I wish you wouldn’t underestimate me. Donald and I
understand that what you and Remington do isn’t very conventional, but we haven’t done anything that
should cause you not to trust us. As a matter of fact, we’ve come to you several times over the years
with rather delicate matters, and they've all turned out well. If you asked us to stand naked on the Santa
Monica Freeway waving a red banner, we probably would. We might ask why, but we’d do it even if
we didn’t have an answer.” She tapped her finger to her face. “I wouldn’t tell Mother though, and if it
showed up on the evening news, I’d lie until I was blue in the face.”
Laura burst out laughing at her sister’s description. When she recovered, she said, “I’m so sorry,
Frances. You’re right. I should have trusted you. I ... ” She hesitated. “I won’t tell you everything …
for your own safety. I will tell you that Remington and Siobhán share great-grandparents and only
through a very odd quirk of fate did they learn of each other. Siobhán’s mother passed away a decade
ago, but her father is very much alive, is not a nice person, and has made quite a few enemies over the
years. So far no one realizes he has a daughter.”
“So by saying she’s Remington’s child, no one will look anywhere else.” Frances tapped her cheek again.
“Exactly.”
“Can I tell Donald?”
“I thought spouses had special dispensation when it comes to keeping secrets,” Laura replied lightly.
Frances grinned. “You do get it.”
“Better than you know, Frances,” Laura replied.
That evening, Laura convinced Frances to take her home in the morning. “It’s only one day, Frances.
I’m happy to have been here, but I’m ready to go home.”
“Laura, did you forget that you are on bed rest? That means no cleaning, no cooking, no working.”
“Frances, I’m going stir crazy here.”
Her sister aimed a hard look at her and crossed her arms. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
Brightening, because getting Frances to negotiate was the first step in getting her to give in, Laura asked,
“What?”
“After I drop the kids at school in the morning, I’ll take you home; I’ll do whatever needs to be done.
Since your house was clean on Thursday for the photos, I can’t imagine it’s that dirty. What you really
need to do is laundry and a little grocery shopping to tide everyone over until Remington gets a chance to
go. Am I right?”
“Mostly,” Laura hedged. She really wanted to look through the pictures too.
Frances put her hands on her hips. “Did you think I was going to drop you off so you could go to the
grocery store and probably even the office?”
Laura hid her guilty expression. “Of course not, Frances.”
“Yeah, try that on someone who doesn’t know you.”
Remington checked on her again that night. She assured him she was resting comfortably. After she
hung up the telephone, she curled on her side and tried not to miss him so damned much.
Laura packed up her overnight bag, and Frances drove her home the next morning. While her sister
made a grocery list, Laura called Mildred at the office.
“Hiya, Bosslady. What’s up?”
Taking a deep breath, Laura asked, “Can you run the office this week?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Steele. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, nothing that apparently a little bed rest can’t cure,” she said lightly.
“Bed rest? Since when? Your doctor’s appointment on Friday? What happened?” The older lady fired
questions at her like a drill sergeant.
“Slow down, Mildred. Dr. Berger wants me to take it easy for a few days to see if my blood pressure
will return to normal.”
“Does Mr. Steele know about this?”
“Yes, and I’ve been at Frances’ house all weekend. I’m home now. Mr. Steele said they are coming
home early.”
“All right. What else?”
“There are some photos that Kaleb took last week. Can you bring them by or send someone over with
them?”
“You really aren’t allowed out of bed.”
“No, and Frances will sit on me if I try.”
“Big sisters are a pain in the rear, but they’re great to have.”
Laura chuckled. “I suppose so.”
“All right, Mrs. Steele, I’ll bring them this afternoon. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“Thank you, Mildred.”
As if the two women had telepathy, Mildred showed up as Frances gathered her purse to go.
“Hello, Mrs. Piper.”
“Mildred, it’s ‘Frances’ to you. Perfect timing. I’ve got to go pick up the children from school. Make
sure Laura doesn’t move from that couch unless it’s to get in bed.”
Mildred snorted in amusement. “Yeah, sure thing. Say ‘hi’ to the kiddos for me.”
“Will do.” Frances gave Laura a hug. “I’ll see you on Thursday, but call me if you need anything.”
“Yes, Frances,” Laura said in a comical sing-song voice.
“Laura, one of these days. …” The two girls grinned at each other before Laura waved goodbye as
Frances stepped into the elevator.
“She sure is a good one, Mrs. Steele.”
“It’s just the two of us, and we’re not in the office; Mildred, will you please call me ‘Laura’?”
“Sure, Laura. I didn’t know that it bothered you.”
“I’m sitting on my couch, and I’m relying on you to keep both my agency running and Mr. Steele in line
for probably the next three months. The least I can do is show you the respect of an equal.”
Mildred rolled her eyes and sat down near her. “As long as you understand that I’ll only call you ‘Laura’
when it’s just us girls.”
“Perfectly acceptable, Ms. Krebs,” Laura said with a straight face. “Now, did you bring the photos?”
“You and your one track mind.” But Mildred held them out of reach. “Promise me you won’t spend all
evening looking at them.”
“I’m bored, Mildred. Comparing those photos to the ones Mr. Steele took will give me something to do
this evening.” She didn’t mention the extra set of photos she had in her possession.
“Don’t you have class tonight?”
Laura nodded. “I hate to miss it, but Dr. Berger told me it’s more important to stay home. The
instructor is mailing me a bunch of notes to review.”
“Then go to bed early tonight.”
“That I will promise, Mildred.”
Mildred didn’t stay long. Her bowling league had made the finals again, and they needed their practice
before the last tournament of the year scheduled for the weekend after next. The Dragon Ladies had
every intention of taking home the trophy for the second year in a row.
The moment Mildred left, Laura moved to the bedroom and scattered all three sets of pictures on the
bedcovers. With a permanent marker, she numbered each set in sequence.
At first, the sheer number of pictures to look through seemed overwhelming. The first set from their
stalker had nearly twenty photos. Remington snapped six rolls, two each day for a total of one hundred
twenty-four. Kaleb had taken another eight, adding almost two hundred more. Starting with the last set,
she hoped to find a single person reappearing in Kaleb’s pictures--this would likely be their prime suspect.
But she didn’t find anyone obvious. Damn. It couldn’t be that easy, of course. She sorted the three
sets of pictures by location so she could see each scene from various angles. After nearly an hour of
looking through them, she had a flash of inspiration.
Scrambling out of bed, she dug through her office for a map book of Los Angeles and a magnifying
glass. What a lark … honestly needing a magnifying glass to solve a case. How often does THAT
happen? Feeling guilty about being out of bed, Laura rummaged around the refrigerator and made
herself a sandwich which she carried back to the bedroom too.
She tore each location out of the map book and pinned the appropriate photos to it. One at a time, she
identified the angle at which the mysterious photographer must have been standing. She notated the
maps with circles for where the person must have stood, an “X” for Remington, and arrows to indicate
the direction of the camera.
At last, she picked out Kaleb’s and Remington’s pictures which showed that particular location. The
bulge of her belly made leaning over to look at them closely difficult, and her back ached from sitting for
so long on the bed. The next stage would involve going over the selected shots and looking for a person
in various disguises. She would need a good light like the one at her desk to do that.
Conscious of her doctor’s orders and knowing she’d been violating them for nearly three hours now, she
reluctantly placed the evidence into folders and set them on her nightstand.
A warm bath and bubbles in the hot tub eased the soreness in her lower back--but not as well as Rei’s
hands. She wished heartily for a glass of wine and his company. Since neither was forthcoming, she
finished the bath and settled onto the sofa in the living room.
Neither the news nor any of the current movies distracted her for long. Promising herself to work the
case for a single hour, she gathered up the folders and took them to her office. At the end of that hour,
Laura had three distinct possibilities that she would review in the morning.
Despite the early hour of nine in the evening, weariness took its toll. She crawled back into bed, curling
up on her side with her face on Remington’s pillow. She fell into a deep sleep.
Nearly an hour later, the airplane from Dublin via Paris landed at LAX. Remington shook Siobhán
awake. They’d planned to arrive around four that afternoon, but mechanical problems forced a
grounding in New York. They’d had to change planes and wait for the baggage to be switched over.
Weary from the trip, Remington retrieved their luggage and found a taxi to take them home. When they
arrived at the darkened flat, he was filled with disappointment at not finding Laura there. He had hoped
to surprise her by arriving early in the evening. Frances had been in on it, but now he wondered if she
had decided to keep Laura with her since the flight had been delayed so long.
Siobhán staggered down her hallway with a half-hearted “Good-night, Da.” Remington dropped his bag
on the floor. From the kitchen, he poured a glass of water and listened to Siobhán as she moved about
her end of the penthouse. He waited until he saw her switch off her light before heading for his own
bedroom.
He wondered how bad a parent it would make him to leave Siobhán sleeping and go find his wife.
Probably not the end of the world, but not going to happen all the same.
But when he pushed open the bedroom door and found Laura exactly where he’d wished, he actually
took a step backwards, thinking he’d imagined her. Delighted, he didn’t think twice about shedding his
clothes and crawling in beside her. She muttered in her sleep, scooted closer to him and laced her fingers
with his. Bloody hell, I don’t care what anyone says. This is home.
8 November 2009
Chapter Twenty-Two: Revelations
Sunday, 4 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 3 days
On the way to the hotel, Siobhán turned to Remington. “Da, I don’t want to go to Cork. Can Mr.
Andrews send me whatever he thinks I should have? I wouldn’t recognize anything anyway.”
Remington drew fingers through his hair in sudden relief. He’d been doing his bloody best to not think of
the trip they were to take tomorrow. “I don’t see why not. I’ll call him this evening.”
“Can we go home?” she pleaded. “I’m glad I saw Hous--DeeDee, and that we got our things, but I want
to go home to Mom.”
“You’re sure? You don’t want to see where your mother lived?”
“Do you think she was happy there?”
Siobhán had him there. “Not really,” he admitted.
“Then I don’t want to see it.”
Remington nodded slowly. “I’ll tell you what: we’ll have a nice dinner tonight at a good place in Dublin,
get a decent night’s sleep, then we’ll catch a plane in the morning. We’ll surprise Laura by coming home
on Monday instead of Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
Something in his shoulders unknotted. He was immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to return to Denis
O’Callaghan’s castle. Facing his childhood was one thing; revisiting the scene of Laura’s torment was
entirely another.
Remington surprised Siobhán too by taking her to the Hard Rock Café in Dublin and purchasing the
obligatory t-shirt that would be the envy of her friends at school. Thinking ahead, they picked out t-shirts
for the twins, Laurie Beth, Mindy and Danny.
“This is totally cool, Da,” she said as she looked through the menu. “Do you know how much I want a
real burger and french fries?”
“I think craving that particular combination makes you officially an American, Siobhán.”
Glancing at his plate consisting of a pile of fries and a cheeseburger, she quipped, “So what does that
make you?”
He lifted his glass of wine and flicked his brow at her with a smile.
Two minutes later as Remington tried not to wince at the scorching guitar riff blaring from the speakers,
Siobhán asked out of the blue, “Did you mean what you told DeeDee?”
“Which part?”
“That you love me? You’ve never said that to me.”
Putting down his glass, he put a finger under her chin and looked her straight in the eye. “Aye, I do at
that. The words don’t come easy for me, but I do.”
“Good. Because it would be weird for me to love you and you didn’t love me back, Da.”
He grinned. “I think we’ve both had enough of that in our lifetime. I’m not interested in playing that
little game anymore.”
Siobhán’s light smile stayed with her for the rest of the day.
Later that night as he readied for bed, the tumult of the day crashed over him. He sat for a moment with
his head in hands. He’d done his best to keep his reactions hidden so as not to color Siobhán’s
perceptions with those of his own, for she had her own issues to address; but his emotions had veered
from anger at Johnny for turning him out of the only home he’d had to the bittersweet joy of discovering
the people who had cared in their own way. If he were home, he’d be on the way to the boxing gym.
Instead, reaching for the telephone, he dialed.
“Hello, love. … Aye, it’s been an interesting day.”
Laura hung up the telephone nearly an hour later, wishing she could be in Ireland with Remington. Then
again, he’d told her things over the phone that he might not have been able to say face-to-face.
He’d described driving to DeeDee’s house, the flood of repressed memories of her kitchen and the
kindness she’d shown him. “I called her ‘DeeDee’ because I couldn’t say ‘Dierdre.’ She remembered
that, love. I think I had to forget about her to survive, Laura. Once or twice when I was on the streets, I’
d think of her and Johnny’s house and wonder what I'd done to make him hate me so. Then I learned
not to ever look back, or I’d spend all my time feeling sorry for myself.”
He told her about the letter he found from his mother to his great-aunt. Colleen had kept it for him
along with his baby blanket. “My mother, Laura. She knew she wouldn’t live; she’d had pneumonia for
too long. She wanted me, Laura.”
The heartbreak in his voice had her swallowing back sympathetic tears as she listened. Feeling the kicks
in her own belly, Laura patted the baby until it settled again, and her heart ached for Remington’s mother.
He’d said they might come home early. She hoped so. She loved Frances, but she’d had enough and
wanted to go home. Another day of being faced with all her shortcomings as a wife and mother had
Laura hiding out in the guest room rather than being sociable and lying on the couch. For all the progress
she and Frances had made in their relationship, her sister had nearly two decades of marriage under her
belt to Laura’s two years. Frances had an irritating tendency to frequently wave around that fact as a
trophy Laura couldn’t possibly attain.
She’d retreated nearly two hours earlier to brood in peace and wondered how long Frances would hold
out before invading her space. The footsteps down the hallway and the light rap on the door answered
that question.
“Laura?” Frances called.
“Come in.” Laura scooted up on the bed, squashing a pillow behind her for support.
“How’s Remington?”
Taking a deep breath, or as deep of one as she could with someone very small pressing up firmly on her
ribcage, Laura tried to be friendly. “I think he and Siobhán are more than ready to come home. Sorting
through the house was emotionally difficult for her.”
But Frances didn’t help matters when she asked, “Did it bother Remington? Going through his …
former--”
“Paramour’s house?” Laura winced as she said it. That particular interpretation of events hadn’t
crossed her mind.
Frances snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
Laura tried to find the right words. She didn’t like lying to her sister about Siobhán’s background.
“Going to Ireland is rarely easy for Remington. With all that happened earlier this year, it’s even more
difficult, regardless of why he went.”
Contrite, her sister laid a hand on Laura’s. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
Laura rolled her eyes and moved Frances’ hand to her belly. “I don’t have much choice.”
Frances bit her lip much as Laura tended to do but smiled as she felt the baby moving. “Do you think
he’ll be all right?”
Mollified, Laura replied, “Of course.”
Frances nodded. “You’ve done an admirable job in treating Siobhán as your own. I’m not so sure I
could be so forgiving of Donald if he’d brought home a son or daughter.”
Laura rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I’ve adopted her, Frances. She is my daughter now, in every
way.” Irritation increased like an itch under her skin; she held on to her temper with an iron grip.
“Yes, but my goodness, she looks exactly like Remington--just the way Lisa Marie looks so much like
Elvis. I just hope she doesn’t end up resenting you over the baby.”
Very sweetly, Laura replied, “Frances, I’m certain she won’t. We’ve included her in nearly everything.”
“But she’s a teenager. Maybe she wants her dad all to herself. Still, I’m surprised he didn’t visit her all
this time you were together. That’s not a good showing on his part.”
Frustrated by her sister’s needling, Laura let the secret slip. “Damn, Frances! Remington is absolutely
incapable of not being a parent to his own child! Have you not paid attention to how he is with your
three and the twins? He and Siobhán are cousins. Her parents are gone, and we were given custody.”
Feeling her head begin to throb, she placed her hand on her temple.
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Calm as ever, Frances moved over and made Laura lie
down. “Don’t get upset with me for not knowing. You were the one who fibbed.”
Angry with herself, Laura grimaced and clasped her sister’s hand, gripping it hard. “No one can know,
Frances. Not Mom, not the kids. Siobhán’s safety depends on it.”
“And you thought you couldn’t trust me?” Frances sounded hurt.
“No, Frances … it’s not that.” Laura settled into the pillow, rolling to her side so she could breathe.
“We want to protect you too.” To try and lighten the mood, she added, “Now, Mom I wouldn’t trust.”
Without preamble, Frances moved over and began rubbing Laura’s back. She hadn’t realized how much
it hurt until the ache flowed away with her sister’s gentle touch.
“With good reason,” Frances told her. “Half of Southern California would know by midnight. There are
things she simply doesn’t need to know.”
Laura looked over quizzically, “You keep things from Mother?”
“All the time.” Frances sighed. “Laura, I wish you wouldn’t underestimate me. Donald and I
understand that what you and Remington do isn’t very conventional, but we haven’t done anything that
should cause you not to trust us. As a matter of fact, we’ve come to you several times over the years
with rather delicate matters, and they've all turned out well. If you asked us to stand naked on the Santa
Monica Freeway waving a red banner, we probably would. We might ask why, but we’d do it even if
we didn’t have an answer.” She tapped her finger to her face. “I wouldn’t tell Mother though, and if it
showed up on the evening news, I’d lie until I was blue in the face.”
Laura burst out laughing at her sister’s description. When she recovered, she said, “I’m so sorry,
Frances. You’re right. I should have trusted you. I ... ” She hesitated. “I won’t tell you everything …
for your own safety. I will tell you that Remington and Siobhán share great-grandparents and only
through a very odd quirk of fate did they learn of each other. Siobhán’s mother passed away a decade
ago, but her father is very much alive, is not a nice person, and has made quite a few enemies over the
years. So far no one realizes he has a daughter.”
“So by saying she’s Remington’s child, no one will look anywhere else.” Frances tapped her cheek again.
“Exactly.”
“Can I tell Donald?”
“I thought spouses had special dispensation when it comes to keeping secrets,” Laura replied lightly.
Frances grinned. “You do get it.”
“Better than you know, Frances,” Laura replied.
That evening, Laura convinced Frances to take her home in the morning. “It’s only one day, Frances.
I’m happy to have been here, but I’m ready to go home.”
“Laura, did you forget that you are on bed rest? That means no cleaning, no cooking, no working.”
“Frances, I’m going stir crazy here.”
Her sister aimed a hard look at her and crossed her arms. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
Brightening, because getting Frances to negotiate was the first step in getting her to give in, Laura asked,
“What?”
“After I drop the kids at school in the morning, I’ll take you home; I’ll do whatever needs to be done.
Since your house was clean on Thursday for the photos, I can’t imagine it’s that dirty. What you really
need to do is laundry and a little grocery shopping to tide everyone over until Remington gets a chance to
go. Am I right?”
“Mostly,” Laura hedged. She really wanted to look through the pictures too.
Frances put her hands on her hips. “Did you think I was going to drop you off so you could go to the
grocery store and probably even the office?”
Laura hid her guilty expression. “Of course not, Frances.”
“Yeah, try that on someone who doesn’t know you.”
Remington checked on her again that night. She assured him she was resting comfortably. After she
hung up the telephone, she curled on her side and tried not to miss him so damned much.
Laura packed up her overnight bag, and Frances drove her home the next morning. While her sister
made a grocery list, Laura called Mildred at the office.
“Hiya, Bosslady. What’s up?”
Taking a deep breath, Laura asked, “Can you run the office this week?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Steele. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, nothing that apparently a little bed rest can’t cure,” she said lightly.
“Bed rest? Since when? Your doctor’s appointment on Friday? What happened?” The older lady fired
questions at her like a drill sergeant.
“Slow down, Mildred. Dr. Berger wants me to take it easy for a few days to see if my blood pressure
will return to normal.”
“Does Mr. Steele know about this?”
“Yes, and I’ve been at Frances’ house all weekend. I’m home now. Mr. Steele said they are coming
home early.”
“All right. What else?”
“There are some photos that Kaleb took last week. Can you bring them by or send someone over with
them?”
“You really aren’t allowed out of bed.”
“No, and Frances will sit on me if I try.”
“Big sisters are a pain in the rear, but they’re great to have.”
Laura chuckled. “I suppose so.”
“All right, Mrs. Steele, I’ll bring them this afternoon. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“Thank you, Mildred.”
As if the two women had telepathy, Mildred showed up as Frances gathered her purse to go.
“Hello, Mrs. Piper.”
“Mildred, it’s ‘Frances’ to you. Perfect timing. I’ve got to go pick up the children from school. Make
sure Laura doesn’t move from that couch unless it’s to get in bed.”
Mildred snorted in amusement. “Yeah, sure thing. Say ‘hi’ to the kiddos for me.”
“Will do.” Frances gave Laura a hug. “I’ll see you on Thursday, but call me if you need anything.”
“Yes, Frances,” Laura said in a comical sing-song voice.
“Laura, one of these days. …” The two girls grinned at each other before Laura waved goodbye as
Frances stepped into the elevator.
“She sure is a good one, Mrs. Steele.”
“It’s just the two of us, and we’re not in the office; Mildred, will you please call me ‘Laura’?”
“Sure, Laura. I didn’t know that it bothered you.”
“I’m sitting on my couch, and I’m relying on you to keep both my agency running and Mr. Steele in line
for probably the next three months. The least I can do is show you the respect of an equal.”
Mildred rolled her eyes and sat down near her. “As long as you understand that I’ll only call you ‘Laura’
when it’s just us girls.”
“Perfectly acceptable, Ms. Krebs,” Laura said with a straight face. “Now, did you bring the photos?”
“You and your one track mind.” But Mildred held them out of reach. “Promise me you won’t spend all
evening looking at them.”
“I’m bored, Mildred. Comparing those photos to the ones Mr. Steele took will give me something to do
this evening.” She didn’t mention the extra set of photos she had in her possession.
“Don’t you have class tonight?”
Laura nodded. “I hate to miss it, but Dr. Berger told me it’s more important to stay home. The
instructor is mailing me a bunch of notes to review.”
“Then go to bed early tonight.”
“That I will promise, Mildred.”
Mildred didn’t stay long. Her bowling league had made the finals again, and they needed their practice
before the last tournament of the year scheduled for the weekend after next. The Dragon Ladies had
every intention of taking home the trophy for the second year in a row.
The moment Mildred left, Laura moved to the bedroom and scattered all three sets of pictures on the
bedcovers. With a permanent marker, she numbered each set in sequence.
At first, the sheer number of pictures to look through seemed overwhelming. The first set from their
stalker had nearly twenty photos. Remington snapped six rolls, two each day for a total of one hundred
twenty-four. Kaleb had taken another eight, adding almost two hundred more. Starting with the last set,
she hoped to find a single person reappearing in Kaleb’s pictures--this would likely be their prime suspect.
But she didn’t find anyone obvious. Damn. It couldn’t be that easy, of course. She sorted the three
sets of pictures by location so she could see each scene from various angles. After nearly an hour of
looking through them, she had a flash of inspiration.
Scrambling out of bed, she dug through her office for a map book of Los Angeles and a magnifying
glass. What a lark … honestly needing a magnifying glass to solve a case. How often does THAT
happen? Feeling guilty about being out of bed, Laura rummaged around the refrigerator and made
herself a sandwich which she carried back to the bedroom too.
She tore each location out of the map book and pinned the appropriate photos to it. One at a time, she
identified the angle at which the mysterious photographer must have been standing. She notated the
maps with circles for where the person must have stood, an “X” for Remington, and arrows to indicate
the direction of the camera.
At last, she picked out Kaleb’s and Remington’s pictures which showed that particular location. The
bulge of her belly made leaning over to look at them closely difficult, and her back ached from sitting for
so long on the bed. The next stage would involve going over the selected shots and looking for a person
in various disguises. She would need a good light like the one at her desk to do that.
Conscious of her doctor’s orders and knowing she’d been violating them for nearly three hours now, she
reluctantly placed the evidence into folders and set them on her nightstand.
A warm bath and bubbles in the hot tub eased the soreness in her lower back--but not as well as Rei’s
hands. She wished heartily for a glass of wine and his company. Since neither was forthcoming, she
finished the bath and settled onto the sofa in the living room.
Neither the news nor any of the current movies distracted her for long. Promising herself to work the
case for a single hour, she gathered up the folders and took them to her office. At the end of that hour,
Laura had three distinct possibilities that she would review in the morning.
Despite the early hour of nine in the evening, weariness took its toll. She crawled back into bed, curling
up on her side with her face on Remington’s pillow. She fell into a deep sleep.
Nearly an hour later, the airplane from Dublin via Paris landed at LAX. Remington shook Siobhán
awake. They’d planned to arrive around four that afternoon, but mechanical problems forced a
grounding in New York. They’d had to change planes and wait for the baggage to be switched over.
Weary from the trip, Remington retrieved their luggage and found a taxi to take them home. When they
arrived at the darkened flat, he was filled with disappointment at not finding Laura there. He had hoped
to surprise her by arriving early in the evening. Frances had been in on it, but now he wondered if she
had decided to keep Laura with her since the flight had been delayed so long.
Siobhán staggered down her hallway with a half-hearted “Good-night, Da.” Remington dropped his bag
on the floor. From the kitchen, he poured a glass of water and listened to Siobhán as she moved about
her end of the penthouse. He waited until he saw her switch off her light before heading for his own
bedroom.
He wondered how bad a parent it would make him to leave Siobhán sleeping and go find his wife.
Probably not the end of the world, but not going to happen all the same.
But when he pushed open the bedroom door and found Laura exactly where he’d wished, he actually
took a step backwards, thinking he’d imagined her. Delighted, he didn’t think twice about shedding his
clothes and crawling in beside her. She muttered in her sleep, scooted closer to him and laced her fingers
with his. Bloody hell, I don’t care what anyone says. This is home.
8 November 2009
Chapter Twenty-Two: Revelations