Steeleoween
by Susan Deborah Smith

Remington Steele came out of the elevator and strode down the hall of the eleventh floor. Another day in a new life, and he was ready for it.

He wasn't quite ready for the vision seated at the reception desk of Remington Steele Investigations, however. Instead of the sultry, wise-cracking secretary, his eyes lit upon a harem girl from The Arabian Nights (Sabu, Maria Montez, Universal Studios, 1942).

Taking a step back, he checked the words stenciled on the door. Yes, he was in the right place.
"All right," he said, coming in again and confronting the veiled woman. "What have you done with Miss Wolf?"
The eyes gazing at him from above the veil looked somewhat familiar. The body language rang a bell, as well, as the woman rose and tore off the aqua chiffon obscuring her face.
"It's not Wolf, you twit, it's Foxe!" Bernice Foxe shouted.
"Ah, Miss Wolf," he replied, relieved. He looked her up and down. "Office attire didn't make it back from the cleaners, eh?"
"Watch yerself, there, pard," drawled a voice from behind him.
Remington whirled, astonished to see, not the amiable and generally ill-clad detective Murphy Michaels, but a gunslinger from the old west.
Peering more closely, Remington suggested, "Murphy?"
"You got it, pard."
"Costume ball?" he proposed. "Late night? Both of you - ?"
"Nah, it's Halloween," Murphy explained, twirling the six-shooter on his finger and then jamming it into its holster.
"Where's your costume?" asked Bernice. "Not that I care."
"He's in it," Murphy told her. "He's come dressed as a famous private detective. Every day is Halloween with this guy."
"Halloween," Remington repeated. "American children's holiday, isn't it? Aren't you both a little old to be - "
"Come on!" Bernice shook her head. "Are you telling me you didn't see anybody else in the building all dressed up? Nobody in the elevator was wearing a costume?"
Remington thought back. "Now that you mention it, I did notice a young man in a bathing costume, armed with a surfboard - but in California, I've learned that this isn't such an uncommon occurrence, even in an elevator."
Bernice pursued her line of questioning. "And last night, when Laura said, 'Don't forget to dress up tomorrow' . . . ?"
Adjusting his tie, he explained, "Image, Miss Wolf, image. Naturally I thought she was referring to the pair of you."
Bernice rolled her eyes and turned back to her typewriter. Remington escaped to the haven of his office where there was, blissfully, nothing to do.
* * * * *
Shortly thereafter, the head of the agency made her appearance. "Where've you been?" Bernice asked.
Laura Holt set two bags of groceries down on Bernice's desk and pushed her hair back.
"Power went out in my neighbourhood," she explained. "Somebody wrapped their car around a pole. Alarm clock re-set itself to midnight, and yours truly never even noticed - until about an hour ago." Gesturing toward the other office, she asked, "Is he in yet?"
"He's here, all right," Murphy replied. "And in costume, yet. He came dressed as Remington Steele!" This last was bellowed in the general direction of Steele's office.
Laura smiled faintly and began to unpack the groceries. "I thought we could fill the punch bowl with this," she said, lifting a two gallon jug of apple cider.
"Cider. Caramel apples. Powdered sugar doughnuts." Murphy eyed the array with approval. "Just like second grade."
"It's enough to get a party started." Laura up-ended the other sack, and an array of paper jack-o-lanterns, glow-in-the-dark skeletons and black cats spilled out.
Murphy took one of the skeletons and taped it to Steele's door. "Spooky sounds coming from in there," he announced, cupping his ear. "Sounds like - snoring."
"Where's your outfit?" Bernice asked.
"Downstairs at the cleaners," Laura replied. "I've got an eleven o'clock. I didn't think it would be appropriate to meet with them dressed as Atomic Man."
"Atomic Woman," Murphy corrected.
"Right. I'll change later."
Laura went on into her office.
Murphy pasted a black cat to Laura's door, and a grinning jack-o-lantern to his own. Bernice taped a string of bats and cauldrons from one end of the glass wall to the other.
"Well, the charade has lasted through October," she remarked.
"And we still don't know anything about him." Murphy snapped his fingers. "I've got an idea!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah!" He beckoned her closer, conspiratorially. "You know that I.D. bracelet he always wears?"
Bernice nodded.
"Well, maybe it's actually got his I.D. on it."
Such a thing had never occurred to Bernice, and she gave it some thought. After a minute, she admitted the possibility.
"Since he's always wearing it, how are you going to get a look?"
Murphy grinned. "That's where you come in."
Her brows rose skeptically. "Uh huh?"
"You could give him the old feminine wiles routine. Get him into a clinch, and then, when he takes it off - "
"Listen, Murphy," Bernice told him, "when I get a guy in a clinch, the last thing he's thinking of taking off is his jewelry."
Somewhat deflated, Murphy agreed, "You're right. It's probably a Medic-Alert bracelet, anyway."
"You mean the kind that says 'Allergic to Penicillin'?"
"Yeah. Except his doesn't say 'Allergic to Penicillin'. His says 'Allergic to Work'!"
* * * * *
Allergic to work, perhaps, but not allergic to a good mystery, albeit a minor one, one that Laura had wrapped up by midnight.
Remington looked at his watch. "Your holiday is over," he said, "and you never even put on your costume. Pity the case intervened."
Laura shrugged. "There's always next year."
He leaned across the desk, holding out one of the scarves from Bernice's harem outfit. Stretching it like a veil between them, he gazed longingly at the delightful Miss Holt. "You have beautiful eyes, you know," he murmured.
With a cry, Laura grabbed the scarf out of his hands and sprang away. "Of all the movies to quote!" she exclaimed.
Puzzled, Remington stood up. "Eh?"
"'You have beautiful eyes, you know,'" she repeated. "T'as des beaux yeux, tu sais," she added, in French.
He continued to gaze at her, mystified.
"Quai des Brumes," she said, exasperated. "A French actor, a French actress, some French studio, 1938. One of the most depressing, nihilistic movies ever made! And that's what you quote at me?"
Surprised, he replied, "I'll admit I'm a bit lax in the French cinema department, but is that the one where the tramp jumps into the swimming pool and - "
"That's Boudu Saved from Drowning," Laura snapped. "And it's not a pool, it's the Seine."
Eyes sparkling with admiration, Remington told her, "Laura, this is a new side of you entirely. An encyclopedic knowledge of cinema, and you've been hiding it from me all these weeks. Granted, it's French cinema, but I won't quibble. What say we pool our resources in an in-depth discussion of one of the classics - say, French Postcards - Mandy Patinkin, Marie-France Pisier, Paramount, 1979. Or better yet," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "'A Man and a Woman'?"
Throwing up her hands, Laura said, "I give up." Grabbing her handbag, she added, "Good night, Mr. Steele."
The door banged shut behind her. Remington retrieved the snippet of chiffon from the floor. "Good night, Miss Holt," he said to the empty room.

Challenge items:

1. swimming pool
2. the French film "Quai des Brumes," 1938; use the famous line "T'as de beaux yeux tu sais"
3. alarm clock
4. post card
5. Steele's chain bracelet (as in Steele at It and Forged Steele)
6. Suite 1157 Halloween party

Plus a personal challenge from MJ which should be obvious to the naked eye
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