Next, the chicken sandwich on a buttery, toasted, wheat roll he set at a spot behind the ham. “You will work in Mr. Stoneybrook’s blind spot.”
“Stonebrook,” Danny corrected.
Of course she knew the name of his gardener. No doubt along with the man’s wife and three children’s names and how many seedlings they kept in pots by their window over the winter.
“Do you wish to learn or not?” he asked.
Danny mimed buttoning her lips, silently promising to hold her tongue... until she mimed unbuttoning her lips and said, “Must I be the chicken sandwich? It feels wrong.”
“The chicken feels wrong?” He spoke the words carefully, making sure it sounded as crazy when he said it as when she did.
She nodded. “Couldn’t I be the roast lamb? Or the garnished eggplant?”
Percy blinked. “There’s an eggplant sandwich?” He searched for the remaining items in the basket and, indeed, found a telling purple layered sandwich, the bread soaked through to wet paste. He dropped the thing and grimaced as it made an unappealingsplat. “Why on Earth would you wish to be the eggplant?”
“It’s unexpected, isn’t it?” Her brow wrinkled. “I was under the impression I am charged with seeming unthreatening, so the mark underestimates my threat.”
Jesus.“You got all of that out of two sandwich placements?”
Percy reflected on if he truly wished to continue the woman’s education in criminal sport, realizing he may have been feeding a monster in the making.
It was a credit to his own monstrous nature that he found the idea of Lady Danny’s shift to underhanded tactics wildly arousing.
“You’re correct,” he said. “Except it’smyjob, as the distraction, to play the unassuming.”
He saw the wheels turning in her mind as she tapped her chin. “So... you’re the eggplant?”
Percy sighed. “Yes, I’m the stupid eggplant.” How had he gotten roped into these ridiculous conversations?
“What am I to do, then?” she asked.
He grinned, pulling the last sandwich from the basket: a five-layered beauty of salami, ham, roast beef, cheddar, and some kind of pickled beet. Upon reflection, a much better substitute for the complicated woman at his side.
Replacing the chicken sandwich, he set the new indicator down. “You are the real star. While I distract Mr. Stoney, you will pinch the topiary.”
She didn’t correct the name-butchering a second time. No, her head was firmly in the game.
“Won’t he notice right away the topiary is missing and catch us?” she asked.
He tapped his nose. “Not if we put a fake in its place.”
Her mouth dipped into a disbelieving curve on one side. “And where, pray tell, are we to magically acquire a perfect fake in the next few minutes?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t need to be a perfect match. Only close enough of a resemblance to pass a glancing inspection so when the gardener moves on, if he happens to glance back, he’ll see what he expects to see.”
Danny’s eyes lit with understanding. “And by the time he realizes the tailless sow is missing, we’ll be long gone.”
He leaned back and took a bite of the five-layered heaven, speaking around his bite. “It’s called a ‘Frenchman’s Switch.’ Used to play the trick on unsuspecting tourists all the time as a boy.”
Danny laughed. “I bet you were good at it?”
“Not at first,” he said lightly, though the words conjured childhood memories weighted like boulders.
Finishing the sandwich, Percy brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Do you think you understand the play?”
“I believe so.”
“Good.” Percy smiled and gave her a nudge. “Because now we’re going to do it.”
