She turned and saw him gazing at the two of them with a melancholy look on his owlish little face, as if for a moment he was an unwanted intruder upon an attractive couple’s moonlight assignation. But then, with an abrupt squaring of his little shoulders, he moved closer and, looking straight up into the good eye of the tall man, said: “Monsieur Monsarrat — finally we meet.” There was a moment of silence while the tall man stood tensely poised with the glass of champagne in his hand, the rim of the glass glinting in the moonlight as he raised it to his lips and took a long sip, perhaps deliberating if he should deny the truth of his identity or brazenly own up to it.
He was saved from answering, however, by a booming voice saying: “What the hell is going on out here? In case you folks didn’t all know, the party is inside!”
Mandy turned her head and saw Toot Monroe approaching. In his hand he was carrying a medium-size duffel bag. “I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but the garden is strictly off limits tonight. I’m in the process of having some work done out here and I don’t want anybody to see it until it’s finished. You know how it is with us artistic types,” he said, smiling at Mandy and Brother Simon. “Now why don’t you mosey on back inside and enjoy the party?”
Brother Simon looked at Toot Monroe. “Tell me, will Monsieur Monsarrat be rejoining the party with us, or do you and he have other plans?”
“Oh, you mean this fella right here? His name isn’t Monsarrat, it’s Jack Allen. He’s my gardening expert...”
“No, he is Jack Monsarrat. The One-Eyed Cat. And in his possession he holds the Sunburst Diamond.” Brother Simon paused and looked pointedly at the duffel bag Toot Monroe had in his hand, then said: “And apparently you are the one who plans on buying it.”
The smile on Toot Monroe’s face had vanished. “So what are you, a cop? You’re an awfully little fellow to be a cop. Hell, boy, you ain’t no bigger than Toulouse-Lautrec.”
“No, monsieur, I am not a cop. Or Toulouse-Lautrec. All I am is the proverbial flea in your ear — telling you that the receiving of stolen goods is a serious crime, and not something for the dilettante to indulge in. Consider what you are doing. It is not too late to walk away.”
Toot Monroe reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a gun.
“I never walked away from anything in my life, boy, and I’m not about to start now.”
Monsarrat tossed his now empty champagne glass over his shoulder, and said sharply: “Don’t be an ass. Put that away before somebody gets hurt.”
“I don’t need any advice from you, slick — all I need from you is that diamond. Hand it over.” For a moment, there was a heavy silence between the two men. During that silence Mandy brushed the side of her thigh with her right hand and felt, under her dress, the tiny, nonmetallic aerosol of mace that she had secured in her garter. And while its presence wasn’t as reassuring as that of an automatic, she still took solace knowing it was there.
Now Toot Monroe said: “I told you to hand over the diamond. I’m not going to say it again.”
“I don’t like people pointing guns at me. That’s not the way I do business.”
“Would you prefer a bullet in the head?”
“In front of two witnesses?”
“There’s plenty of bullets in the gun.”
“Steady on, mate, don’t go mental on me.”
Monsarrat gestured pointedly with his hand before reaching under his tuxedo jacket into his shirt pocket and drawing out a small black box. Then, arching an eyebrow, he opened it: An object, about the size of a silver dollar but more in the shape of a teardrop, flashed sharply in the moonlight. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?” he said to Mandy and Brother Simon. “Originally, in India, over a century ago, it was known as ‘The Teardrop of the Sun,’ but through the years the name morphed into what we now call it: the Sunburst Diamond.”
Mandy and Brother Simon didn’t say anything. They just watched while Toot Monroe let the duffel bag fall to the ground by his side and reached out with a greedy hand.
“Gimme,” he said, taking hold of the box with its glittering prize. “Call it whatever you want — it’s mine now.” And those words were no sooner out of his mouth than suddenly he went down on the ground and stayed there, unconscious, his head and shoulders covered with earth and clay and flowers. Mandy and Brother Simon exchanged surprised looks: A flower pot had come hurtling, like a meteorite, out of the night and landed squarely on Toot Monroe’s head.
Monsarrat bent down and retrieved the glittering stone, closing the lid of the box and, at the same time, looking up and meeting Mandy’s watching eyes with a sardonic grin as he slipped the box back into his shirt pocket. Then he picked up the gun and the duffel bag from the ground and straightened himself, his gaze now meeting Brother Simon’s. For a moment the two men looked at each other measuredly, until both turned their heads at the sound of footsteps coming out of the darkness. High-heeled footsteps, sounding distinct on the garden terrace’s granite floor.
From behind a wall lined with redwood tubs and planters, Dahlia Manning appeared, brushing off her hands, as though she had just finished doing a bit of gardening.
She came forward and Monsarrat greeted her with a ceremonious kiss on each cheek. Then he dutifully handed the duffel bag over to her. In return, she gave him a big hug, and said something to him that neither Mandy nor Brother Simon could overhear, even though both of them were straining their ears to listen. Finally, after trilling her fingers in general farewell, she turned and disappeared back behind the wall with the sound of her high-heeled footsteps fading into the darkness.
Monsarrat looked over at Mandy and Brother Simon. “Well, I guess the time has come.” He slipped the gun into his jacket pocket and glanced at his watch. “My ride should be along any moment.” Acting on her own initiative, Mandy strode up to Monsarrat and gave him a long slow look. Returning her gaze, he said: “Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.”
She smiled. All she had to do now was reach down and pull out the mace and spray him. Simple. Instead, she leaned into him and raised her chin, saying: “I couldn’t agree more.” She felt his lips on hers and she kissed him — really kissed him. And she was, for a brief moment, all moonlight and sensation. In the next instant, though, like a true daughter of the game, she composed herself and gently slipped her hand inside his tuxedo jacket and slowly drew the small black box out of his shirt pocket and palmed it.
What happened next, happened quickly: Mandy felt herself being seized around the neck from behind as a hot breath torched her ear with a menacing Southern drawclass="underline" “Don’t you move, honey. I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”
Ignoring the threat, Mandy pushed backwards and, simultaneously, firmly brought her high-heel down on her assailant’s foot. Now the voice at her ear let out a loud yell and she felt the grip around her neck loosen: She broke free and spun around with the mace in her other hand and gave Toot Monroe three quick sprays right in his big face. The big man dropped down to the ground again, as surely as if he’d been hit by yet another flower pot.
“Well done. You’re not only beautiful but dangerous,” Monsarrat said. “And that’s an irresistible combination. Now, we don’t have much time, so please listen and consider what I’m going to say—”
As he spoke, a roaring sound came from above. Mandy looked up at the clear, moonlit night sky and saw a helicopter approaching. Over the noise, he shouted to her: “Come fly with me.” Mandy, though surprised by this new turn of events, said nothing — for in the midst of all this excitement, she suddenly realized that Brother Simon was nowhere to be seen and she didn’t know what to think: Had he gone after Dahlia? Could they have been working together? Was she the source of his information?