MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (11 page)

“I’m not done,” she
snapped. “After that, in 1911, Evelyn Walsh McLean, who was married to the
owner of
The Washington Post
, got her
hands on the diamond and her son was killed in a car accident, her daughter
overdosed on sleeping pills, and her husband ended up in an insane asylum
. Finally,
after she died, Harry Winston
bought the Hope and was smart enough to donate it to the Smithsonian, which put
it right here, safe and sound.” She smiled at him, satisfied at last. “
Now
do you understand why you couldn’t
pay me to take ownership of this necklace?”

John stared at her
beautiful face, her dark blue eyes glowing and alive. “Maybe you’re right,” he
conceded.

She nodded as if to
say, “damn right I am,” but knew she didn’t need to say it.

“Next you’ll be
telling me you believe in astrology, too,” he joked.

“Well, as a Capricorn
I’m not supposed to, but I do anyway,” she admitted. “Don’t you believe there
must be a bit of truth in something so ancient?”

John laughed. “I
never did, but then I kept dating Gemini women—with disastrous results. Everywhere
I went I seemed to fall for one. After a while, I started to think there might
be something to it and swore off future Geminis.”

Then she surprised
him.

“Well, since I’m not
a Gemini, what are you doing tonight, John?” she asked, tilting her face up to
his with a flirtatiousness he hadn’t seen from her before.

“I…I don’t know,” he
stammered, like a school kid caught unprepared.

“You must know DC a
little.”

“Sure, I used to come
down here a lot for work.”

“Well,” she bit her
juicy lower lip, “maybe you know some quiet little place you could take me to
dinner?”

“It’ll help me keep
an eye on those diamonds of yours since you insist on wearing them around,” he
joked.

“Do you like to mix
business with pleasure?”

“I normally don’t,”
he said, trying to be honest.

“I do,” she said,
suggestively.

“But you’re not doing
any business down here. Just going to a party and showing off your rocks.”

She smiled that same
Mona Lisa smile she had smiled in the car yesterday when she refused to tell
him about the Hope.

“I’ll make a
reservation at a little Italian place I know for eight o’clock—but it isn’t
fancy,” he warned her.

“That’s okay.”

They started moving
out of the Hall of Geology, timing their feet to walk in a slow, mutual pace so
they could talk.

“What are you up to
now?” he asked.

“I’m going to a dress
fitting for Saturday night.”

“I better go with you
since you’re wearing a king’s ransom,” he cautioned her.

She stopped walking
and turned to look him straight in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight.” She
jabbed a surprisingly sharp fingernail into his chest. “My overprotective
father is paying you to watch out for me at the Diamond Ball. Okay, I’ve agreed
to that, but that’s it. If I want to walk stark naked all by myself through the
worst ghetto in Washington with nothing on but my diamonds, that’s my
business.”

John would have liked
to see that, but he only said, “Point taken.”

She thrust out her
hand and he took it. Her skin was soft and cool, her fingers wrapped around his
palm and it felt right. He forced himself to let go after the appropriate two
pumps.

“What are you going
to do now?” she asked.

“Maybe I’ll…” he was
going to say hit an AA meeting, but instead replied, “Maybe I’ll stick around
here. It looks like there’s a great exhibit of WWI flying ace planes from the
banners I saw in the lobby.”

“You do that.”

He realized he had
been dismissed for the rest of the afternoon, which he didn’t like one bit.

He watched her float
down the corridor in her fluttery chiffon dress. When she was gone, he wandered
back into the mineral gallery and poked around. There were brightly lit slabs
of natural amethyst quartz from the Rio Grande, shining lemon yellow sulfur
from Yellowstone National Park, and opals of shifting colors from the Cyclades.
Rocks, crystals, and boulders filled every corner of wall space in the dim
room.

“ROCKS TELL STORIES,”
declared one museum sign. “ROCKS REMEMBER” and
“
ROCKS INFORM,
”
said some
others.

John stepped up to a
big, brightly lit replica of the earth’s core. It looked like a giant orange
with a section cut out. The sign by the display read:

Inside Earth, beneath its familiar surface and thin
crust, lie a rocky mantle and iron core. The inner earth is hot. Its core is
hotter than the surface of the sun. The inner earth flows and churns. In the
outer core, a churning dynamic liquid iron generates Earth’s magnetic field
.

John thought about
Veronica as he looked at the model of the world with its cold rocky surface and
the hot inferno within. She had surprised him with the come-on. Every time he
thought he had her pegged, she changed. He wondered what lay beneath her
surface, how many different sides of Veronica Rossmore there were and how he’d
know when he’d seen them all.

Oscar Kelly, the
superintendent at the John Adams Apartments in Georgetown, watched in amazement
as the old woman in front of him raced up the steps, as chipper as a puppy in a
fresh green field, while he dragged his ass up after her.

“I just can’t wait to
see my Army!” chirped the old bird as she reached the third floor of the
converted townhouse.

“You’re sure he said
he left the key with me?” asked Oscar, as he reached the landing.

She turned big,
watering eyes on him. “Oh yes, that’s what he said. He told me he would be at
work baking all day for that fancy caterer he works for.”

Oscar looked her over
again. “Okay, he must have just forgotten to let me know on the way out this
morning. Sometimes he gets busy and he forgets things…like the rent!” Oscar let
out a big laugh like a whale blowing its spout.

“Oh, I hope poor Army
isn’t having money problems.” She looked troubled.

“He does pretty well
for himself with all those cookbooks he writes.” The superintendent’s words
reassured Delores as he unlocked the door and held it open for her to shuffle
past into the apartment.

“Well, thank you so
much for your help, Oscar,” said the lady, and with a friendly little wave, she
closed the apartment door.

What a sweet old lady.
Oscar headed back downstairs
.

Inside the apartment,
Delores Pigeon looked around and nodded in approval as she entered the kitchen.
The room was big and airy with a nice window overlooking the C & O Canal.
Pots of fresh rosemary, lavender, and mint grew in the sunlight that streamed
onto the windowsill. Shiny copper pans hung above the Viking range and the
white tile walls gleamed with cleanliness. From a successful chef, she expected
nothing less, but one never knew what one would find when one entered a house
unexpectedly.

Now for the chamomile
tea.

With her prim white
gloves on, she opened the kitchen cabinets until she found a pretty orange tea
tin. Chef Armand never failed to mention on his television specials that his
very favorite accompaniment to the delicious desserts he whipped up was a nice
cup of chamomile tea. In fact, he swore he never went a day without drinking a
pot.

The Granny hummed
slightly off-key as she opened up her black alligator purse and took out a
packet of fine cinnamon-colored powder. Carefully, she removed the lid to the
tin of loose tea and sprinkled the powder over the crushed chamomile leaves.

Hmm…

She threw in a good
pinch more. Satisfied, she closed the tin, replacing it on the shelf. Returning
the packet of powder to her bag, she snapped the purse shut and stepped into
the living room. She peered out at the fire escape just outside the living room
window. It seemed to be in good repair. Without a second look, the Granny slid
open the window and crept down the fire escape to the alley below.

As her sensible black
shoes touched pavement, she decided to head back to that lovely furnished
apartment she had rented. It would be delightful to see all the sights of the
nation’s capitol but, she remembered with a sigh, she did have those brownies
to bake…

****

John met Veronica in
the hotel lobby at a quarter to eight. He was there first, nervously drumming
his fingers against a fluted column, craving a cigarette, craving a shot of
Maker’s Mark, but just drumming his fingers instead and watching the posh crowd
mill around.

The elevator doors
opened and there was Veronica. She wore a dark red strapless dress that clung
to her curves. Her lips and nails were red, too, and her dark hair fell loose
around her shoulders. A massive diamond-and-ruby necklace lay propped against
the tops of her breasts, which swelled out of her dress provocatively. The
necklace was the only jewelry she wore, but it was enough. It looked like the
kind of piece you would see on Queen Victoria at an important royal event.
Strands of glittering icy diamonds laced around her throat like a sparkling
spider’s web, and the eye-popping, pear-cut ruby glittered devilishly, a
perfect pigeon’s blood red. If Veronica had attached a roaring police siren
around her neck she couldn’t have attracted more attention. She smiled when she
caught John staring.

But he wasn’t the
only one.

Veronica’s eyes
flickered over to a tall, thin man in a tuxedo; his dark hair was greased back
and he wore a white flower in his lapel and a blonde DC debutante on his arm.
John narrowed his eyes as he realized who the man was. There was no mistaking
Nicholas Bezuhov, also known on the jewel thief circuit as the White Russian.

Nicholas must have
seen him, too, and he would certainly know John after all the years of
cat-and-mouse they had played together. Of course, it was also possible
Nicholas was just getting an eyeful of Veronica and her big ruby necklace.
Either way, John didn’t like it.

Neither did the blond
debutant. “Come on, Nicky,” she said in her cool, boarding-school voice. “We’ll
be late for dinner.”

With a polite nod,
Nicholas moved on. The debutante gave Veronica an icy stare as they passed her
on the way into the elegant dining room, which was already full of senators,
foreign diplomats, and the occasional well-heeled tourist who came to see where
the Washington power brokers broke their bread.

Veronica sized up the
blonde and dismissed her in the blink of an eye. Then she walked to John who
was still staring after Nicholas Bezuhov.

“Do you know that
man?” she asked, following his gaze.

“He calls himself
Prince Bezuhov,” said John, disgust seeping into his voice. “Fancies himself
some kind of Russian aristocrat, but according to our records, he’s pure
peasant masquerading as the great-grandson of the Grand Duchess Anastasia like
all the rest of the Euro-trash he runs with.”

She raised a
manicured brow. “I get the impression you don’t like him.”

“I don’t like phonies
and he’s one of the worst. I didn’t like the way he was eyeing your rocks
either.”

She patted his arm.
“Well, that’s what I have you for—to protect me and my rocks.” She was making
fun of him, but he didn’t care. She looked so beautiful that she could make all
the fun she wanted.

Still, he was
concerned about her diamond stash upstairs. “You sure you don’t want me to put
your jewels in the hotel safe? You have to understand, with this guy on the
premises, you’re very likely to come home tonight and find it all missing.”

“Don’t worry,” she
said confidently. “They’re in a very safe place.”

John shook his head.
He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t force her to lock up her valuables if she
didn’t want to. “I hope you have good insurance.”

Veronica wanted to
take her convertible, but John wasn’t letting a woman drive him around if they
were on a date. Since the elevator doors slid open to reveal Veronica at her
bombshell best, it was clear this truly was a full-fledged date.

He held out his arm
and she slid her hand through the crook of his elbow as a team of capped
bellhops rushed to open the door for them. The night was soft and warm with a
hint of summer in it.

“By the way, you’re
overdressed,” he informed her as they slid into one of the taxis that stood in
line outside the hotel.

“I know.” She settled
in next to him as the cab pulled away.

****

Across the street,
Dornal Zagen’s dead, gray eyes followed the red taillights of the taxi as it
disappeared down the avenue.

So Veronica Rossmore
and John Monroe were together. The Austrian thief smiled. That made things
simple. With the two people he most wanted access to right under his nose, it
was as if the stars had aligned to assist him in his plan. Or perhaps, his
employer had arranged it.