Neighborhood Steele - Part Ten
I forgot to say, in the previous post, how much I appreciate everyone's encouragement. It's nice to know that people are interested in reading this and that they're not putting any pressure on me to hurry. Thanks!
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans,” Laura said, smiling as she shook the hand of a thirty-something woman with pretty blonde hair.
“You’re most welcome,” Mrs. Evans returned. “I hope you find them.”
Steele shook her hand as well, and he and Laura made their way to the sidewalk in front of the Evans home. “She didn’t seem suspicious either,” he said wearily, looking around the street. “Why don’t we let go of this, Laura?”
“We’ve still got one more,” Laura reminded him, pointing at the last house on the eastern side of the street.
“But none of the neighbors suspect anything. Admit it. Da Vinci’s mad as a hatter.”
“Devinsky,” Laura corrected. “And you may be right, but we’re here anyway and we might as well get to know the families around us. That’s assuming we’re actually going to move in here.”
Steele sighed and fixed his sunglasses back into place as they came to the end of the road. “Who’s this?”
Laura checked her list. “A doctor… Summerby.”
They made their way up the path to the door of the Summerby home. Music was coming from inside: quite a difficult piano piece.
“Hmm,” Laura smiled, listening. “They have taste.” She rang the bell and waited.
There was no answer.
“They probably can’t hear us over Mr. Brahms,” Steele said. He rapped sharply on the door.
The music stopped abruptly.
Steele raised his eyebrows. “That was awfully good for a live performance.”
A young man appeared at the door, his flyaway hair looking as though he’d spent ten years running his hands through it. Despite the mop, he was quite handsome.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly.
“Dr. Summerby?” Steele asked.
The man shook his head. “No, that’s my wife. I’m Simon. Also known as Mr. Charlotte Summerby.”
Steele took the hand he offered and glanced at Laura. She liked Simon instantly, he could tell. “Remington Steele. Also known as Mr. Laura Holt,” he said, inclining his head in Laura’s direction.
“Nice to meet you,” Summerby smiled. “Len told us you might be moving in.”
Steele sighed at the now-familiar response. “He seems to have been quite - um - expeditious in telling the whole neighborhood.”
Simon nodded sympathetically. “You get used to him. Charlotte and I have been here almost a month and he’s only just stopped calling once a day.”
“You’ve only been here a month?” Laura asked.
“That’s right.”
“So you didn’t know the last family who lived there at all? The Chans?”
Summerby shook his head. “Nope. Sorry.”
“Well,” Laura said, “Thanks for your time, anyway.”
“No problem. And if you need help moving in, give me a call.”
They said goodbye and returned to the sidewalk, stopping in front of the Summerby home when they reached it.
“Nice man,” Laura remarked.
“Mmm,” Steele said, grinning, “and so modern of him to let his wife be the family breadwinner.”
Laura shot him a sarcastic smile. “Okay, so I liked his attitude about that too, but really I think he was selling himself a little short.”
“Oh?”
“Simon Summerby is up-and-coming name in the classical piano world these days. I knew it sounded familiar.” She sighed. “Well, you were right, it was a waste of our time. Shall we get back to the office?”
Steele didn’t answer. He was gazing across towards the western side of the street at the house facing the Summerbys’. Laura looked too, noticing the For Sale sign on the lawn.
“I wonder why the realtor didn’t show us that one.” Steele said at last. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s bigger than we asked for.”
“Mmm,” he muttered. “But you have to admit, it is lovely.”
Laura took a closer look. The house, though modern, looked slightly colonial. It had wings on either side of the main section, and looked to be surrounded by greenery of all types in the back. It was white, but not boring, for the windows were large, and banality was the last adjective that came to mind when one looked at the explosion of color coming from the front garden.
“Don’t you think it’s lovely?” Steele prodded hopefully. “It looks very private.”
Laura nodded. “It’s beautiful. But it’s pretty big. For the two us it isn’t very -“
Steele kissed her before she could say ‘practical.’ “You really like it?” he asked, his eyes showing more excitement than they had in a long time.
She took another glance and nodded.
Steele grabbed her hand. “Let’s have a closer look.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans,” Laura said, smiling as she shook the hand of a thirty-something woman with pretty blonde hair.
“You’re most welcome,” Mrs. Evans returned. “I hope you find them.”
Steele shook her hand as well, and he and Laura made their way to the sidewalk in front of the Evans home. “She didn’t seem suspicious either,” he said wearily, looking around the street. “Why don’t we let go of this, Laura?”
“We’ve still got one more,” Laura reminded him, pointing at the last house on the eastern side of the street.
“But none of the neighbors suspect anything. Admit it. Da Vinci’s mad as a hatter.”
“Devinsky,” Laura corrected. “And you may be right, but we’re here anyway and we might as well get to know the families around us. That’s assuming we’re actually going to move in here.”
Steele sighed and fixed his sunglasses back into place as they came to the end of the road. “Who’s this?”
Laura checked her list. “A doctor… Summerby.”
They made their way up the path to the door of the Summerby home. Music was coming from inside: quite a difficult piano piece.
“Hmm,” Laura smiled, listening. “They have taste.” She rang the bell and waited.
There was no answer.
“They probably can’t hear us over Mr. Brahms,” Steele said. He rapped sharply on the door.
The music stopped abruptly.
Steele raised his eyebrows. “That was awfully good for a live performance.”
A young man appeared at the door, his flyaway hair looking as though he’d spent ten years running his hands through it. Despite the mop, he was quite handsome.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly.
“Dr. Summerby?” Steele asked.
The man shook his head. “No, that’s my wife. I’m Simon. Also known as Mr. Charlotte Summerby.”
Steele took the hand he offered and glanced at Laura. She liked Simon instantly, he could tell. “Remington Steele. Also known as Mr. Laura Holt,” he said, inclining his head in Laura’s direction.
“Nice to meet you,” Summerby smiled. “Len told us you might be moving in.”
Steele sighed at the now-familiar response. “He seems to have been quite - um - expeditious in telling the whole neighborhood.”
Simon nodded sympathetically. “You get used to him. Charlotte and I have been here almost a month and he’s only just stopped calling once a day.”
“You’ve only been here a month?” Laura asked.
“That’s right.”
“So you didn’t know the last family who lived there at all? The Chans?”
Summerby shook his head. “Nope. Sorry.”
“Well,” Laura said, “Thanks for your time, anyway.”
“No problem. And if you need help moving in, give me a call.”
They said goodbye and returned to the sidewalk, stopping in front of the Summerby home when they reached it.
“Nice man,” Laura remarked.
“Mmm,” Steele said, grinning, “and so modern of him to let his wife be the family breadwinner.”
Laura shot him a sarcastic smile. “Okay, so I liked his attitude about that too, but really I think he was selling himself a little short.”
“Oh?”
“Simon Summerby is up-and-coming name in the classical piano world these days. I knew it sounded familiar.” She sighed. “Well, you were right, it was a waste of our time. Shall we get back to the office?”
Steele didn’t answer. He was gazing across towards the western side of the street at the house facing the Summerbys’. Laura looked too, noticing the For Sale sign on the lawn.
“I wonder why the realtor didn’t show us that one.” Steele said at last. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s bigger than we asked for.”
“Mmm,” he muttered. “But you have to admit, it is lovely.”
Laura took a closer look. The house, though modern, looked slightly colonial. It had wings on either side of the main section, and looked to be surrounded by greenery of all types in the back. It was white, but not boring, for the windows were large, and banality was the last adjective that came to mind when one looked at the explosion of color coming from the front garden.
“Don’t you think it’s lovely?” Steele prodded hopefully. “It looks very private.”
Laura nodded. “It’s beautiful. But it’s pretty big. For the two us it isn’t very -“
Steele kissed her before she could say ‘practical.’ “You really like it?” he asked, his eyes showing more excitement than they had in a long time.
She took another glance and nodded.
Steele grabbed her hand. “Let’s have a closer look.”