Author's note: Like so many RS fans, I just didn't LIKE the ending.  But there are bright spots that make watching those episodes worth the aggravation.  So ... I kept the parts I liked, trashed the rest, put Laura in a corset and let Daniel run the show.  

A BIG thanks to Lauryn and Wilma for editing, Lovesteele for holding my hand, Nancy for her episode transcripts, and to the writers of Bonds of Steele, The Steele That Wouldn't Die, Steele Hanging in There and Steeled with a Kiss ... Jeff Melvoin, Brad Kern and Robin Bernhein.  I've shamelessly lifted dialogue, rearranged and used it for something other than its original purpose.  Have fun!

Harold Lindermann wrung his hands, caught himself and straightened to wait patiently for Mr. Steele and Miss Holt’s decision. He hoped they would take the case.  Too many valuable items had gone missing from the house, he’d told them, and the expense of replacing them to maintain the authentic historical ambiance for the guests was eating into his profits.  

Mr. Steele frowned and flipped through the guest lists for the past six months again, pausing on the first, third and fourth pages.  He nodded, pinning Harold with icy blue eyes.  “We’ll take the case.”

Miss Holt nudged him.  “Mr. Steele, perhaps we can caucus in the other room?”

“In a moment, Miss Holt.  We’ll take the case, Mr. Lindermann.”  

Harold restrained the urge to dance a jig.  Instead, he gave a regal nod.  “Wonderful.”

Mr. Steele shook his hand.  “Ms. Krebs will be contacting you to make the appropriate arrangements.”  

“Excellent.  I look forward to having you as guests.”  Harold rose, gave Mr. Steele and Miss Holt a perfectly correct bow for an Englishman of the early 1800s and exited in a similar manner. 

*****

Two-to-one odds Laura hands me my head.  Remington glanced at his infuriated partner.

“Now can we caucus, Mr. Steele?”  Laura’s frosty tone lowered the temperature in his office several degrees.  

On another day, he might have pretended to be contrite—he had run rather roughshod across her authority—but there were bigger concerns at the moment.  “Of course, Miss Holt,” he said, handing her the guest lists.  “Take a look.”

“I’ve seen it,” she said dryly.  

“Look harder.”  

She snatched the papers from his hand.  “See someone you know?  Personal friend?  Ex-associate?  Old girlfriend crawling out of the woodwork?”

Remington merely waited.  

“I don’t recognize any of—Leighton Sinclair?  Eric Gunnar?  Colonel Reginald Frobish?  Oh, no.”  Her voice dropped with foreboding.  “What’s he up to now?  I thought he was ensconced with the Earl of Claridge as a security consultant?”

“Perhaps he’s on vacation.

She dropped the papers on his desk, crossing her arms.  “What else could it be?”  Her voice dripped sarcasm.

By the set of her jaw, he knew she wasn’t simply going to hop on an airplane to check out Daniel’s latest ploy.  She’d soured on his mentor after London.  Not that she complained overmuch about the man; rather, she kept her silence on the subject any time it came up.  That, in itself, was a rarity and spoke of the depth of her emotions.  

“Laura.”  He drew out her name.  “He’s going to be at the house for a week.  If another theft occurs, I’d like to be in a position to respond to it.”

“So go.  He’s your problem, not mine.  You’ll need a complete list of the items stolen, and where they were stolen from, to cross-reference with the guests.  Be sure to ask Mr. Lindermann for that information.”

“It’s a week of undercover work in Northern California—beautiful country, wouldn’t you agree?”  

“Don’t forget to get a list of the guests for the upcoming session.”  

Damn.  Time to change tactics.  “Miss Holt, I can’t do this alone.  Besides, don’t you want to make sure Daniel doesn’t drag me into one of his schemes?” he cajoled.  

“You?  I’m afraid I’ll end up in the middle of one of his schemes,” she retorted.  Her dark lashes swept up.  “So, we’re supposed to find the thief, hope it’s not Daniel—which isn’t likely—and uncover the culprit or cover up Daniel’s misdeeds.”

He suppressed a grin at her excellent summation.  “It sounds Machiavellian when you put it that way.”

“Get a list of the employees.  A check of their financials should reveal if anyone has suddenly come into money,” she snapped.

“I’m terribly disappointed in you, Miss Holt.  You’ve missed the obvious here.”

“What could that possibly be, Mr. Steele?”  She gave him a dark look.

He wiggled his eyebrows.  “One undeniable fact.  It will be a great deal of fun.  We’ll get away from the office for an entire week and enjoy the delights of a vacation getaway unlike anything we’ve experienced.  It ought to be a simple open-and-shut case.”

“You take it.  I’m too busy.”  

“The Thin Man, William Powell to Myrna Loy, MGM, 1934.  Excellent reference, Miss Holt, you’re getting better at this.”

She glared at him and threw up her hands.  “I’m going to regret this.”  She strolled toward him, raking a finger down the front of his shirt before tugging his head down by yanking on his tie.  Her glossy pink lips parted, sending him an irresistible invitation.  “You will owe me for this one, Mr. Steele.”

“Repaying you, Miss Holt, will be my absolute, utter pleasure.”  He closed in, anticipating the taste of her mouth.

She ducked away and rounded his desk to press a button on the telephone.  “I’ll remember that.”  The innocence in her voice contradicted the twinkle in her eye as she punched the speaker button.  “Mildred, dig up whatever you can find on Harold Lindermann and his company, Brighton Country Manor.”  

“Brighton?  Oh, the Regency fellow.  That explains why Mr. Lindermann kissed my hand.”   

“He kissed your hand?” Laura echoed with a sideways look at Remington.

“Quite dashing.  He gave me a list of questions for you.  Hang on; I’ll be right in.”

Mildred appeared in the doorway with a notepad as Laura disconnected.  “I’ll need both of your measurements.  Mr. Lindermann has to get the seamstress working on your costumes right away.”

Remington nodded.  “Call my tailor.  He has mine.”  

“Our measurements?  Costumes?  What did you get us into, Mr. Steele?”  The trepidation in Laura’s voice made him grin even though he knew he’d pay for it in a moment.  

Mildred answered.  “Since it’s a Regency reenactment of a house party, you’ll need period costumes, Miss Holt.  You know: dresses, petticoats, corsets.  Oh!  There’ll be lots and lots of dancing.  You’ll need slippers.  And don’t forget about the maze.”  She sighed dreamily.  “You’ll have to get lost in the maze at least once.  They have horses.  Of course, you’ll have to ride sidesaddle, but you’ll manage.”  Her whole face softened as she visualized the scene.  

Laura sputtered, “I have to wear a corset for a whole week?”

Mildred wiggled her eyebrows.  “Yeah, and you’ll need to work on your British accent.  Maybe Mr. Steele can give you lessons.”  

Laura slid off the desk to jab him in the chest with a finger again.  “My fee just went up, buster.”  She stalked into her own office, presumably to fume in solitude.

Remington and Mildred exchanged good-natured shrugs.

Chapter 1: Sunday