Date: Tuesday, 17 February, 2004
From: "Lightfoot" <>


DISCLAIMER: you know the drill...

Whoops! Sorry about that! Accidently hit the send
key...anyways, sorry about the long wait between
posts, but the school year has been getting hectic and
Mardi Gras is kicking up! :) Anyway, we are getting
to the heart of the mystery, so just bear with me...I
hope I'm doing a readable job! :)


copyright 2004 by Conner MacBride



Kelly squinted her eyes as the morning sun streamed
through the blinds and splayed across her body which
was sprawled unceremoniously on the couch, three of
the journals balanced on her chest. /What the hell?/
Something cold and rough was brushing across her face.
Opening her eyes, Kelly found herself face to face
with a sad pair of doggy eyes clearly saying "Feed
"Oooohhh God! Bad idea falling asleep on the couch."
She picked up the journal which held Laura's last
entry. The words of last night came back into her
memory. Laura had been going up to San Francisco and
she didn't want Steele to know. Had Laura been going
to see Roselli? And what the hell was so great about
Roselli? And-ohmigodit'snine-thirtyI'mlate for
classjustshootmenow! Roselli would have to wait for
later tonight. Biochemistry was going to kick her in
the ass if she didn't get to class. She rushed into
the shower, leaving the journals scattered on the sofa
and Sam whimpering forlornly over his lack of Kibbles
N' Bits.


Mrs. Lillian D. Chatsworth sat drinking her morning
tea in her favorite spot on the sunny balcony garden
she kept with such pride. Below her was a wonderful
view of the well-manicured garden of the reclusive
Remington Steele. There he stood, staring out into
space, never leaving that fortress of a house. Such a
solitary man. Such a change from thirty years ago.
She remembered him well from those days Such a


Kelly hung up the phone. Jarvis had told her what
little he knew of Roselli and that had all been
through Remington Steele himself. She downloaded the
public files on any Anthony Roselli who had been
employed by U.S. Immigration. She gritted her teeth.
This paper was turning out to be more of a pain in the
ass every day. Still, it was one of the weirdest case
files she had ever read. Samwise nudged her leg with
his cold, wet nose. Absentmindedly, she scratched his
ears as she read the downloaded files Jarvis sent her
and the ones she had collected from the Net. Roselli
seemed pretty straightforward. Educated at Washington
State. Four years U.S. Army, some special forces
training, apparently went to work for U.S. Immigration
right out of the army. Or did he?
Jarvis had told her that Steele and Laura had found
out Roselli was into espionage. Why would a secret
agent (okay, this was starting to sound like James
Bond) have anything to do with Immigration? /I need
those Immigration papers on Steele is what I need./
She flipped the papers. Pretty straightforward
stuff. Everything about Roselli was so cut and dried.
This profile did not suggest a secret agent and it
certainly didn't suggest someone involved in an
illicit affair. Kelly picked up the packet of
picture. Pulling out a magnifying glass, she examined
the murder photo. Roselli was sprawled back in the
armchair, his head back, the bottom of his jaw and
(apparently) the back of his head blown away, a spray
pattern of about two inched on the wall behind him.
Kelly read the report again, this time from the point
of view of a scientist. /One Caucasian female, age 34.
5'4", 110 lbs., brown hair, brown eyes, no tattoos,
three-inch scar on right calf. Apparently killed
after physical struggle. Blow to the forehead, open
cut on forehead, half-inch deep, two inches wide.
Three .38 caliber bullets in the back, two in the
dorsal area, one in the lumbar region. Dead
approximately two hours, fifteen minutes. One
Caucasian male, age 36. 6'1", 217 lbs., hazel eyes,
brown hair. .38 caliber bullet appears to have been
fired from close range to the underside of the
mandibular, impacted two inches above nape of neck in
the wall. Appears to be self-inflicted. Dead
approximately one hour, thirty five minutes. Murder
weapon on the floor by left hand./
Kelly sat back, chewing her green fingernail. Very
cut-and-dried. Nothing out of the ordinary. Once
again, Jarvis's words echoed in her head. /"I knew
Laura. I know what the facts proved, but I knew Laura
and I knew Steele./ So even a police detective didn't
go with the report that had been penned. Once again,
she scrutinized the photo. Nothing out of place,
nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated, she pulled
out the photos and files she had printed from Jarvis's
email. One of the photos was of Anthony Roselli's
face. She looked at the man Laura had supposedly
cheated on Steele with. Kelly shrugged. Not bad.
She pulled out the photo of the Steeles and looked at
Remington Steele. /But no Remington Steele./
Sighing, she got up to stretch her legs. Jarvis had
been told by Steele that Roselli had apparently had
the hots for Laura and had chased her and Steele from
the South American honeymoon attempt to their Irish
one. Why?
Her eyes drifted back to the diaries. Laura had
apparently kept diaries since forever, according to
her niece, but the only ones in the trunk were from
1980 until the night before Laura's death. On a
hunch, Kelly grabbed the one dated for 1986-1987.
Flipping through it, she scanned the lettering until
she came to the first mention of Roselli. Her brow
crinkled in thought. Apparently Roselli had been
masquerading as an archeologist when he had met Laura
in South America. Kelly stifled a giggle. Besides
mention of Roselli, Laura also was apparently
frustrated that every time she and Steele attempted to
have sex, something was always getting in the way.
She flipped through the pages some more. She came to
one of the last entries. An odd entry and an even
odder mention of Roselli. Laura's pretty left-handed
script flowed in a light quickness across the page,
such a difference from the etched in words describing
what it was like to be a runner-up to a hooker. There
was a palpable joy, a sweet "I can't believe it"
contentment to those words. There was also a
/Finally. Five years, two weeks, and three days, but
finally. I could say we finally had a honeymoon, but
we've been arguing like a married couple for five
years anyway./
Kelly smirked. Laura had a wry sense of humor that
appealed to her, and apparently had appealed to Steele
at one time. Kelly read on.
/I'd love to say that fireworks went off, or that the
earth moved, but it was more like relief; a feeling of
"God this needed to happen." Once things got started,
we laughed--- a lot. I've never laughed in the middle
of sex before. I don't care where things are two
years from now. Why worry? I'm sick of worrying
about the future. All I know is he's Remington Steele
and we finally got here and that's all I care about.
Tony called last night before we went upstairs./
Kelly's eyes perked up. She could almost hear
Laura's voice.
/I can't say he isn't nice-looking. I can't say it
didn't feel nice having a man chase after me. But
I've got five years with a mystery man-/ Kelly raised
an eyebrow. Mystery man? Steele?
/and I want it too badly. I want this. Whatever
else, I'm sorry if Tony feels I led him on, but I
don't want anything from him. Mr.
Steele-Remington-I'll get used to this wife thing, is
getting up. Apparently, so is something else/
Kelly shut the book, eyes wide. She was no prude,
but jeez! She bit her lip, looking down at the
journal. Laura had apparently been pursued by
Roselli, but had rebuffed him. She had wanted Steele.
She hadn't wanted anything to do with Roselli. She
looked at the few pictures of Remington Steele and
Laura together. If they had both been unsure in the
beginning, apparently they had been madly and deeply
in love with each other (according to Jarvis, since he
had known them) and had stayed with each other.
Kelly picked up the murder scene photo. She looked
at each body. Had Roselli been an obsessive psycho
who had lured Laura to San Francisco through false
pretenses or threats? She shifted in her favorite
spot on the sofa. Something bothered her about this
photo. /Everything fits, but it doesn't match what
I'm being told./ She held the two opposing photos in
front of her. /Jarvis said Steele believed the police
report because there was nothing else to believe. A
negative truth. I believe it because I can't disprove
it. The very essence of science./
Kelly gazed at the crime photo. /What was Laura doing
in San Francisco? What can be disproven?/
She looked at the clock. /I wonder how hard it would
be to get a Greyhound ticket to San Francisco./


Remington Steele sat in his armchair, watching
"Adam's Rib." A pair they were, Hepburn and Tracy.
She had been a match for him, witty, independent, and
full of fire. He smiled grimly. He thought at one
time he had met his Hepburn. Steele went to the
garden doors and gazed out into his sanctuary of
privacy. He frowned. Mrs. Chatsworth was standing on
her balcony, doing her best to inconspicuously min
everyone's business. An infernal busybody since he
had moved there, she lacked tact and intelligence and
enjoyed gossip; and he disliked anyone who felt the
need to remind him of a hurtful past for their own
amusement. She and several others like her in this
private neighborhood. Damn them all, why didn't they
just leave him alone? At least that idiot child had
apparently decided to leave him alone. He didn't need
any memories of Laura coming back to haunt him, even
in the form of youth.

TBC...Kelly takes off for San Francisco...