Diamond Legacy

by Monica McCabe

  “And that is?”

  “Have you considered that tomorrow’s festival will be perfect cover for smuggling diamonds?”

  “No matter what, you aren’t going to quit, are you?”

  “You might as well get used to it,” she said and grabbed the art boards she’d come for.

  He sighed. “Yes, I’ve considered it, and I’ll be watching. But with so many potential witnesses and high-profile dignitaries attending, it’s doubtful anything will happen. You, on the other hand, need to behave yourself and stay out of trouble.”

  She didn’t blame him for trying. Still, she stuck her tongue out at him, and when he growled, she sprinted for the door. In the empty hallway, she turned back to see Roz hugging his neck and patting his head the way he’d done hers moments before. Then she pressed her big monkey lips against his cheek and Matt grimaced.

  Miranda couldn’t hold back her laughter as the scene etched itself into her memory. If she remembered nothing else from her trip to Africa, this was it. Well, this, and a man whose kiss could melt stone.

  “See you tomorrow, 007.” With that she was out the door and hurrying back to the conference room.

  Chapter 15

  “Mazey! Blessed miserable goat of a camel! Whoa, I say!” A robed Beja Bedouin tried to control the animal without success.

  Miranda surrendered her attempt to listen to the camel’s heartbeat and jumped aside as Mazey’s owner struggled with her harness. Agitated from being under countless yards of tent canvas, the Arabian camel bellowed with a sound perilously close to panic. And no matter how the Bedouin cajoled, Mazey refused to listen.

  The irritated camel began backing up, her path taking her deeper into the tent. No amount of begging, sweet-talking, or yanking on her reins changed her mind.

  They had a mutiny on their hands.

  “Ah, Jason—” Miranda began.

  “I’m on it!” He scrambled into action, yanking obstacles from the animal’s path. A couple of chairs, an aluminum display easel, a potted palm.

  Mazey abruptly changed course and down went the easel. A square card table covered with literature went over next. Parents yelled in alarm and pulled their laughing children outside the tent to safety.

  During the pandemonium, Miranda tried to gauge Mazey’s next target and sprinted for the lovely exhibition table piled high with medicines, equipment, and promotional freebies.

  “No, Mazey!” wailed her owner. “Moush kedah! Not that way!”

  The camel blithely ignored the command. Preventing collateral damage appeared hopeless, and Miranda swiped an expensive piece of equipment clear just as Mazey backed up to the table’s edge.

  With queenly aplomb, Mazey sat.

  An ominous groan of plastic and stressed metal sounded through the tent and the table collapsed. Mazey went down with it, unconcerned with the noise and flying debris. With the deed done, the camel sat smugly amidst the ruin, wholly satisfied at the level of destruction around her.

  “Ah, no!” The little Bedouin slapped his forehead with his palm, keening over the demolition. “Forgive Mazey, Lady Doctor.”

  “Please don’t worry,” Miranda consoled. “She’s just agitated by the crowd.”

  Unconvinced, the distraught man bobbed with anxiety. “Most humble of pardons.”

  She offered her best reassuring smile. “Honestly, the table can be replaced.”

  If any were available, that was, and she highly doubted it. There was a bright side, however. The tent remained standing. If Mazey had traveled another foot to the right, she could’ve taken out the center support post.

  Still, the poor Bedouin looked mortified, his dark complexion suffused with an embarrassed flush. When he began tugging on the camel’s ropes, Miranda placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Please,” she said, “let me try again. She’s sitting quietly now.”

  Clearly apprehensive, he hung his head with a resigned sigh and handed over the reins.

  Using her foot to shove aside several crushed boxes and loose paper, Miranda stepped closer. “Hello there, girl.” She stroked the camel’s head with a light soothing touch. Long furry eyelashes brushed her palm. Miranda enjoyed the sensation before traveling around to rub Mazey’s lower jaw. “Having a rough day, sweetie?”

  Mazey’s soulful brown eyes glowed with a distinct lack of forgiveness, and she opened her mouth wide to let loose a baleful groan.

  It was the opportunity Miranda needed. Risking her fingers, she lifted the camel’s upper lip for a quick peek at her gums. Healthy, soft black tissue surrounded a mouthful of grain-worn molars and canines, all perfectly normal.

  “Need any help?” Matt’s worried voice sounded behind her.

  “Another table would be nice,” Miranda said without turning from her patient. “This one likely won’t recover.”

  “Is that a professional prognosis or a general observation?”

  “Real funny.” She patted Mazey’s head and grabbed a carrot treat from her lab coat pocket, allowing the camel to lip it from her palm.

  Then she turned around. And nearly stopped breathing.

  Gone were the usual coveralls. Matt wore a ribbed collar polo shirt that strained across his shoulders, snug-fitting khaki slacks, outfitter boots, and his normal unruly mane of hair was brushed neatly into place. Her heart tripped wildly and very nearly fell in love.

  How could she expect to withstand his attraction when he came armed with weapons like that?

  Tired of being ignored, Mazey let loose another howl and lumbered up from the wreckage with an indignant snort, snapping Miranda out of Matt’s spell.

  “If you really want to help,” she said, “hold Mazey while I find my stethoscope.”

  She held out the reins, but Matt didn’t move. In fact, his expression turned downright uneasy.

  “How about I find your scope instead?” he offered.

  Mazey snorted and Miranda blinked in surprise. “You’re afraid of camels?”

  He frowned, but still didn’t move to take the reins. “You see this scar?” He held out his forearm for her inspection. “A camel bit off a chunk of skin on my thirteenth birthday.”

  She looked at the dime-sized scar and huffed. “I’ve got bigger.”

  “You what?” His frown deepened.

  “Look at this.” She lifted the hem of her shorts to reveal a two-inch slanted line running from the top of her leg toward her inner thigh. “That’s from a close encounter with a half-sedated lynx.”

  She glanced up and caught him staring at her thigh with an expression that clearly wasn’t sympathy. She dropped her pant leg and grabbed his hand, slapping Mazey’s reins into his palm. “Hold her.”

  He accepted his charge with uncomfortable resignation, and she turned her attention to finding her scope.

  Jason was one step ahead of her. “Looking for this?” He’d pulled the scope out of a pile of scattered vaccines and handed it over.

  With Matt standing as far away as Mazey’s leather reins would allow, and the Bedouin hovering underfoot crooning in Arabic, Miranda managed to finish the examination and proclaim the patient healthy.

  Spying a jumble of alfalfa boosters on the ground, she grabbed a crushed box and pulled a treat out, using it to coax the camel to the edge of the tent.

  It worked like a charm. Once underneath clear, powder-blue skies, Mazey stood calmly in the busy walkway, contentedly chewing her prize and ignoring the people steering around her.

  “Here, take these.” Miranda handed the box of treats to Mazey’s owner. “One or two a week will keep her happy.”

  “Eternal gratefulness, Lady Doctor.” The Bedouin bowed his appreciation.

  What was the appropriate response? She had no idea, so she bowed back.

  Which only set him in motion again, so she responded the same. When he bowed for the third time, Matt made a noise of impatience and gripped her shirt at the small of her back, holding her upri
ght. “The good doctor accepts your gracious thanks and wishes you Godspeed.”

  Despite aggravation with his method, Miranda accepted Matt’s silent command. She merely nodded this time. “Live long and prosper.” She quoted Spock’s famous saying.

  The Bedouin touched his forehead with a deep nod and a swirl of fingers. “May Allah send you many abundant blessings.” He backed away with a firm hold on Mazey’s reins, and they ambled down the pathway.

  “Now that was interesting.” Miranda held her hand above her eyes to shield the sun and watched the camel stroll away.

  “More like crazy,” Matt said. “I can’t believe the kind of risks you take in your job.”

  “Really?” Miranda lowered her voice, “All in all, I’d say yours is the riskier profession.”

  He shot a quick glance around. “I’d rather stare down a bullet than something that looks at me like a meal.”

  “Don’t worry, she’d probably have spit you back out.” He glared and she grinned. “It’s all what you get used to, isn’t it?”

  She headed back inside the tent to assess the damage. It was a mess to be sure, but nothing that couldn’t be cleaned up in short order.

  “Okay, here’s the plan.” She lifted up her display easel and set it back in place. “I’ll begin setting things back in order here. Jason, please fetch a supply of fresh vaccines, vitamins, and care pamphlets from the clinic. Matt, I’m fairly certain tables are scarce, but I trust you can rustle one up.”

  When both men stood staring at her, Matt in surprise and Jason with a grin, she shooed them away with her hands. “Hop to it, boys. There’s plenty of work to do.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Jason saluted.

  They turned around as one and headed off to do her bidding.

  “Is she always this bossy?” She heard Matt ask as they stepped into the warm sunshine.

  “One gets used to it, eventually,” Jason replied. “I remember the first time I met her at the zoo. There was this orangutan with a major need of a root canal.…”

  Miranda scowled as they zigzagged toward the main building, their conversation much too animated for her liking.

  Letta joined her under the tent, and her eyes were huge as she took in the damage. “I want it on record that I was nowhere near here! What happened? A herd of crazed hyena rampage through?”

  With a resigned shrug, Miranda smiled at her friend. “Would you believe a camel with an attitude?”

  “Yes, I would. A moment ago I saw Roz riding the back of a sheep.”

  Miranda laughed. “Now that would be fun to see.” She began tugging wooden chairs back into place. “Is Free Day always this crazy?”

  “Each one crazier than the last, from what I hear.”

  A refreshing breeze blew under the open sides of the tent, and Miranda lifted her face to enjoy it. Long anticipated autumn temperatures had arrived that morning, sweeping across the savannah on the wind. The cooler air couldn’t have had better timing.

  Loose papers ruffled in the wind, skittering across the ground, and Miranda quickly jumped to gather them as Letta pulled over an empty box. Together they stacked the pamphlets and papers inside.

  “So, does he remember?”

  Miranda glanced at her in confusion. “What?”

  Letta rolled her eyes. “The kiss? You weren’t sure if it was real?”

  A heated blush threatened as the scene from the storage room flashed by in vivid detail. “Oh, that. I’m fairly certain it’s real.”

  “Really?” Her eyes grew round. “What changed your mind?”

  Miranda battled over what to reveal, unsure if she should say anything at all, given the circumstances.

  “Well, well. What have we here?” Miranda looked up to spy Diana, the unfriendly librarian, standing at the corner of the tent with her arms crossed. Her patronizing gaze slid over the mess with something akin to delight. “Typhoon Letta strike again?”

  Miranda would’ve ignored the woman if her friend hadn’t stiffened at the insult.

  “Hello, Diana. Come to help or just cast aspersions?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for Matthew.” She brushed her blond hair off her shoulder and pushed her chest out, displaying ample bosom over the low-cut peasant blouse she wore. “I promised him a tour of the library.” Her look turned sultry. “Now would be perfect timing. Everyone is…occupied.”

  Now it was Miranda’s turn to stiffen.

  “And you can see he’s not here.” Letta didn’t try to hide her dislike. “I believe I heard him say he’s headed into town for supplies,” she lied.

  Diana’s smirk said she knew otherwise. “If you see him”—she stared straight at Miranda—“make sure to tell him I’m available.”

  Her words were spiteful and solely for her benefit. Miranda knew that, but they still stung.

  “Shameless doffie,” Letta mumbled under her breath. “Like he’d ever stoop so low.”

  Perhaps not. But there was an investigation to perform, and Matt couldn’t anger a potential source. It would defeat the whole purpose. She understood that but didn’t like it. Not that she should care. Her lust, and his willingness to oblige, didn’t a relationship make.

  A sour taste formed in her mouth as she watched the woman walk away.

  “That woman is mean spirited.” Letta picked up the remaining rubble and tossed it in the box. “Don’t even think she stands a chance.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Letta.” Miranda set about clearing the dismantled table. “Matt and I have only had one date. He’s free to play the field.” It was true, but she didn’t like hearing herself say it.

  Her friend snorted, but let it go. “Well, today should not be all work. Having fun is required. Have you seen any other booths yet?”

  Miranda shook her head and cast another glance Diana’s way. She’d stopped to talk to a man, one that looked suspiciously familiar. Miranda peered closer and recognition dawned. It was the nightshade Graham had argued with in the parking lot before she and Matt followed him to the mansion.

  How very interesting. Diana connected to the smuggling ring? It made sense. Someone on the inside to manipulate paperwork, keep watch over inquiries. Undoubtedly why she called in Graham that day in the library.

  “You need to find time to shop the vendors,” Letta was saying. “At the back of the lot there’s a Kenya furniture maker who uses Acacia wood from trees knocked down by wild elephants.”

  Diana and the delinquent headed off, heads bent together in discussion.

  Turning back to Letta, Miranda made a split second decision. “Can you stay here and wait for Jason and Matt to return?”

  Letta’s brows dipped in confusion. “Yes, but—”

  “Great.” Miranda didn’t have time to explain. “I’ll be back shortly to help set things up.”

  She took off after Diana.

  They wove their way through a maze of tents and plywood booths as Miranda shadowed their footsteps, careful to stay several steps behind. Blending in was easy. People were everywhere, laughing, talking, and dragging every animal under the sun through the throng.

  She followed her target to the back of the parking lot where they left the pavement and picked up the stone walking trail to the stables. Miranda stopped at the last booth, idly picking over the leather crafts on display until Diana and company disappeared inside the front doors of the main stable.

  Miranda hurried down the trail in their wake. The front door wasn’t an option, so she rounded the right wing and bent to squeeze through the split-rail corral fence. Spartan, an ancient quarter horse in permanent residency, pranced in excitement at her arrival. But she had no sweet apple for him this time and kept to the fence line, aiming straight for the stable.

  Cracking open a stall’s back gate, she peeked in. Totally empty, so she slipped silently inside and took stock of her surroundings. In terms of cover, there wasn’t much beyond a big, fresh pile of hay mounded in one c
orner. There was also a thick layer of sand used to cushion hooves, and it muffled her steps as she crossed to the inside half-door. She pressed against the wall beside it and listened.

  Voices emanated from the spacious central aisle, close enough to hear, far enough away to give her a false sense of security.

  “When am I getting my money?” Diana. And she sounded miffed.

  “Your doffie is always whining, Neil.”

  Neil had to be the nightshade, the other man’s voice too threatening to belong to the scrawny messenger she and Matt saw the other night.

  “Little problems lead to bigger complications,” the man continued to say. “Perhaps we should call this off?”

  “Non, brah. No problem here. Ignore the girl and gimme the skinner.” Neil’s voice fit with the bony, high-strung weasel his appearance implied.

  Miranda inched closer to the door and risked a peek at the other man, but luck wasn’t with her. The angle was way off. Her only clue was that he was a smart dresser in a white, neatly pressed, long-sleeved shirt and a dark pair of Chinos. Totally out of place in a stable. And who wore long sleeves in eighty-five-degree weather?

  “Unhappy women make for bad business,” the man said coldly.

  “I can take care of it,” Neil promised.

  Though Diana snorted, the implication of his words worried Miranda.

  “The samples your skelm demanded are in,” the man said. “Tonight at ten.”

  “At Glory Hill?” asked Neil.

  “Of course,” the man stated with a humorless chuckle. “The fact that he hates my presence there adds a certain charm to the meeting place.”

  A loud bang resounded from outside the stall, and Miranda rigidly pressed back against the wall, staring in horror at Spartan scratching at the gate, wanting inside.

  “I thought you said we were alone?” the mystery man barked.