Date: Monday, 26 January, 20
From: "Lightfoot" <>04


Okay! Sorry about not posting over the
weekend...anyways, the plot thickens. Kelly's
getting in deeper and deeper, and Steele's dying by

DISCLAIMER: RS is currently owned by Warner Brothers,
yadda yadda yadda...and they're PUTTING THEM ON DVD
SOON! (I know this has nothing to do with the
disclaimer, but I thought I'd mention it). Anyway,
not making a profit, so don't sue! Also, don't
plagiarize. It's not nice and God don't like ugly!



copyright 2004 by Conner MacBride



Kelly slung open the door to her apartment and threw
her stuff down. She slumped down in her chair and
buried her head in her hands, her eyes burning with
hot tears. The exhilaration of the past few days came
crashing to Earth. She shivered. Never had anyone
looked at her like Remington Steele had looked at her.
He looked at her like she was a disease, or a demon.
Kelly wasn't sure why she was so upset. What else had
she expected? For Steele to go, "Great! Come on in
and let me tell you about the woman who broke my
She spread out all the information on the coffee
table and stared at it, unsure of what to do. It
would be so easy just to trash all of this and start
over with something easier, like Jack the Ripper.
Yeah. There was an easy one. To this day no one knew
whom Jack had really been. Her eyes drifted back to
the pages on her table. /But this case is so JUICY!
Even if it is so soap opera obvious. And somebody
from it is still alive! Even if he's not talking./
No, she wasn't going to drop this. Besides, she'd
already started writing the first page. One thing for
sure, she was going to need more information,
including the crime report. Tomorrow.
Kelly exhaled slowly. Right now, though, she was
drained and needed some fun. She picked up the
telephone and punched a number in. Three rings.
"Evie? Yeah, it's Kelly. What the hell? Nope, just
been busy. That paper for class? What do you mean,
you're already on page 6? Bitch! Anyways, let's go
clubbing! What new club? Cool beans! One hour!"


Remington Steele sat at his desk, staring out the
window at the Los Angeles skyline. "Mr. Steele?" A
voice, soft and lilting, danced on his ears. He rose
out of his chair and saw his favorite sight. He
grinned. "Yes, Your Ladyship?"
Laura pushed him against the wall, pulling his head
to hers, locking her mouth on his. Tongues entwined,
bodies merged. A fire he had forgotten blazed high
and hot, and her burning tears fell on his face as his
hands buried themselves in her thick hair...
Remington Steele sat up in his chair with a start.
He was sweating, his breathing labored. His dreams
haunted him with a past that never was. His heart
pounded as the tears of pain and betrayal came again.
He covered his face with his hands and wept for a life
that had been a beautiful illusion and the ultimate
con. Damn that little bitch for showing up on his
doorstep and reminding him of the one woman who could
hurt him like no other.


Bright and early, Kelly walked into the library,
having managed to recover from her encounter with
Remington Steele. Of course, the six jello shots
helped that one, because with the hangover she had,
everything else seemed less important. She dumped her
books on the table and pulled out the pile of notes
and information she had collected so far. She kept
going back to the photo of the murder scene. It
seemed like a perfect crime, only the cops knew who
had done it. Everything seemed so picture perfect. A
naked body on the bed, a jilted lover in a chair, his
brains blown out in a murder of self. She bit down on
her pencil, annoyed at having no edge to take with
this paper. And she was supposed to analyze stuff
like this for a living? /I can't even write a decent
Julia was cataloging some books at her desk. Kelly
sighed and gathered up her stuff, flopping her
battered fedora on her head. She leaned over the
information desk, pushing her hat back out of her
eyes. "Hey, I need some more information on the
Steele murder, Julia."
Julia looked up from her work, a startled expression
crossing her face.
Julia shook her head. "Sorry. It was just like
looking at a ghost."
"Uh..nothing. Just," Julia waved her hand
dismissively. "Never mind."
"Yeah." Kelly leaned forward. "Well, apparently,
I'm not to a lot of people's taste this week."
"Come again?" The librarian stared at her.
"I went to see if maybe Remington Steele would talk
to me yesterday."
Kelly nodded. "Yep. He was, like, really not happy
would be a mild way of putting it."
Julia looked sympathetically at the young woman.
"Well, I did warn you."
Kelly lifted her head and tilted the fedora in
salute. "You were right, I was wrong. I bow to your
Once again, Julia stared at her. "Um...yeah. Look,
let me get you that info, 'kay?"
Kelly rolled her eyes as Julia hurried to the back
office. Apparently, everybody was trying to avoid her
this week. She slapped her hand down on the counter
top. "Shit!" /I forgot!/
She jumped over the desk and walked to the back.
"Hey Julia!"
Julia whirled around, glaring at her. "You cannot
come back here. It's for employees only."
"What am I gonna do? Steal the micro discs? I
forgot to tell you. I need at least one picture of
Laura Steele. A good one. I gotta see this woman's
"Yeah sure." Julia had already tuned her out, still
gathering the information, avoiding eye contact.
Kelly was rapidly getting annoyed. It was one thing
for Remington Steele to piss on her. He, at least,
had a reason. It was another thing for Julia to do
Julia shoved some papers at her. "Here, try this.
If those aren't enough, you may have to go through old
police files."
"What about a picture?" Julia looked at the last
page and stared at the college student in front of
her. "What?"
"Nothing." She handed over the newspaper clippings
and photo. "Here you go, Kelly."
"Now ger out."
"Getting out."


Remington Steele sat in front of the television.
Irony of ironies, he was watching Rebecca, one of
Olivier's finest. /Rebecca. Lord Laurence Olivier,
Joan Fontaine, Selznick International, 1940./ Oliver's
Maxim deWinter is tortured by the memory of his
adulterous first wife. How appropriate. He clicked
the remote, turning off the movie. It was time for
his afternoon walk anyway. This was how it was. One
gray day after another, sitting here and waiting to
die. He would walk past the cemetery where the slut
he married lay in her adulterous grave. He'd sooner
spit on it, rather than pay any respects to the woman
who had seen fit to hurt him and lie to him.


Kelly looked at the new copies Julia had given her.
Finally, a picture of Laura Steele herself. Kelly
knew she shouldn't be so happy at finding the picture;
after all, the woman was dead. She looked at the
photo, dated 1989. For the first time, she saw Laura
Steele. This was the woman who was so slandered in
the press as a whore. /This is her?/
What had Kelly expected? She wasn't sure. Laura
Steele wasn't glamorous, or even gorgeous. Somehow,
after seeing the clippings of the young Remington
Steele, Kelly expected some sort of glamour-girl to
match his James Bond looks, movie star-like. Marilyn
Monroe. This was like looking at Sabrina. Or Holly
Golightly. /I gotta quit watching Audrey Hepburn
She was....Kelly half-smiled. Laura was pretty, in a
wistful, sprite-like way. She had big, almond-shaped
dark eyes that seemed to gaze through you, as if
figuring you out. Laura was petite and slender, from
what she could see in the photo. She and Remington
Steele were walking up the court house steps. Kelly
scanned the article. Apparently, Steele had just
gotten his citizenship and reporters had snapped a
picture of them. Big news back then.
The young woman frowned. This picture was apparently
snapped a few months before Laura's death. She
scrutinized the photo. Steele and Laura were walking
together, his arm wrapped around her waist and she was
looking up at him, her innocent angel's smile and
dimples an odd contrast to her husband's cosmopolitan
good looks. His head was bent down and he appeared to
be about to kiss her. This was the woman who
apparently cheated on her most-eligible bachelor
husband? Kelly sat back, well aware that she looked
really stupid reading and writing in her car. She was
also well aware that something wasn't clicking here.
This picture was taken a few months before Laura was
found naked and shot to death in a hotel room with
Roselli. Kelly knew pictures often weren't what they
seemed and what often looked happy on the outside
could be rotten to the core. /See also, my parents'
marriage. Mom ran out and Dad was left to pick up the
Still, this was not the face of an unhappy woman.
Laura Steele's face was alight with happiness and
beautiful with those angel eyes shining up at
Remington Steele. Kelly thought of the bitter old man
she had pulled out of his house. She winced. Those
eyes in the photo were sparkling and deep blue, like
sapphires, or the Mediterranean. The old man who had
shouted at her to get off his step had cold eyes; cold
and dead. In this photo though, they were warm and
brilliant and sparkling; and they looked down at Laura
Steele with a bright love and affection that belied
everything the old man in Beverly Hills had snapped at
her. Kelly slumped in her seat. Where had this
evident great love turned to great hate? She looked
down at the delicate face with its infinite eyes and
bright smile; and at the dashing face with its
jewel-like eyes and loving smile. Something wasn't
making sense.
/Who are you, Laura Steele? And what happened to

tbc . . .