High Energy (25 page)

He threw her a look. "I am a well-respected eccentric. At least I was until I

met you."

"What about Stan Mazurski?"

"Stan?" He said the word as if it had just been coined. "Okay, he seems stolid

enough not to fall under LaLeche's spell. I'll invite him and his wife for

dinner on Friday night."

"Not for the weekend?"

"Don't push it. Who else?"

Zanita tapped her chin. "I suppose there's always Auntie." She said it like a

true New Englander: ahn-tee.

"Why does that statement make me uncomfortable? Who is Auntie?"

"Hank's sister, my great-aunt. Oh, you'll love her, Tyber; she's wonderful."

"Why would you place a sweet, elderly aunt in the sphere of a piranha like

LaLeche? I don't think it's a good idea. Why are you giggling?"

"Auntie eats piranhas."

Tyber's eyes widened. He sank down in the seat as he got the picture. Great.

Aunt From The Planet Attitude. Just great. "All right, invite her down for the

weekend, but I want you to clue her in just the same."

"I won't have to. You'll see. She loves hats—always wears three of them."

He was afraid of that.

"I'll ask My—Maggy in to help Blooey with the serving."

"Who's your Maggy?" Zanita's tone held just a faint trace of jealousy, but not

so faint that Tyber didn't pick up on it. He immediately decided to play on it

by acting chagrined.

"I, ah—an old friend. I like her a lot. My—Maggy's a hell of a woman." Zanita

pursed her lips. Interesting, he thought. First Kim, now My Maggy. Zanita was

definitely showing potential.

"Will she be staying the weekend?" Her voice was flat.

"If I'm lucky. I really need her." He counted to three. Zanita lit off right on

time. He stretched his arm back behind her seat.

"What do you mean, you need her!" She walloped him in the stomach with her

enormous purse. "I won't—"

"Shh! What was that? Did you hear something?"

"W-what?"

"I thought I heard something—listen!"

Zanita went instantly still. "I don't hear anything."

"Look, it's midnight," he whispered, pointing at the clock.

Then she heard it. Faintly at first, getting slightly louder as if it were

coming toward them. A clip-clop of horses. Harnesses tinkling in the night. The

roll of wooden wheels over... gravestones?

Zanita was paralyzed in terror. Any moment she fully expected to see a ghostly

carriage loom out of the fog, the visage of a decaying corpse peering out the

window at her as it rolled by. She sucked in her breath.

A hand trailed its way down her neck.

Zanita let out a blood-curdling scream.

Tyber doubled over, laughing his head off. A small tape recorder rested in the

palm of his hand. She turned to him with the light of murder in her eyes.

"Trick or treat?" He blinked ingenuously at her.

"Evans, you are dead meat!"

The truck had not even come to a complete stop before Tyber jumped out and raced

up the stairs, a furious Zanita on his tail.

"Now, Zanita— " He was still laughing, which ignited her further. She chased him

into the parlor.

"Don't Zanita me; I'm going to kill you!"

He scooted around an oak tea table, feinting left when she lunged right. "Baby,

it was just a joke."

"You scared me half to death!" She just missed his arm that time.

Tyber gave up the table tag, racing back into the foyer. Zanita ran right after

him. He suddenly stopped and turned to her, arms open, and her momentum plowed

her right into him.

Tyber grinned wickedly, then tossed her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing? Put me down this minute!" She tried to lever her way up his

back.

"Is it a call to arms, Captain? Are we under attack?"

The commotion must've woken Blooey up. He was standing in the hallway wearing a

red nightshirt and sleep cap. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Hambone sat on the

floor next to him; the groggy cat leaned against Blooey's leg as if by doing so

he could pretend they were still cozy in bed.

"Nay, Blooey, just a hot-blooded wench what needs to be taught a lesson in the

Captain's cabin." He heartily slapped her rear end.

"Ow!"

"What lesson might that be, Captain?" Blooey grinned.

Tyber regarded the wiggling rump next to his face. "The Laws of Motion, I think.

Especially oscillation." He leaned over and nipped her buttock.

"Cut it out!"

"And you being the perfect one to be teachin' her such a lesson," Blooey

chuckled. "Good night, Captain; good night, Lady Masterson." He yawned and

headed back to bed, Hambone trailing behind him.

"Blooey, don't leave me with this madman!"

Tyber clicked his teeth. "Tsk-tsk. Listen to you, asking a man who believes

himself on a pirate ship to commit mutiny. I'm worried about you, baby. Truly, I

am." His hand stroked down the back of her thigh as he climbed the stairs with

her. "Oh!" She clenched her fists. "You are a—a—rogue!" Tyber threw back his

head and laughed. "Why, thank you, baby."

She was late. She was a mess.

It was after five and she had promised Tyber she would be back around three to

help with the arrangements for the weekend. And she would've been if it wasn't

for the flat tire on Rural Route 23. Now their guests—no, her guests—would be

arriving within the hour. Tyber would have a right to be put out with her.

She trudged up the stairs, quietly closing the door behind her. Maybe she could

sneak upstairs—

"Where have you been! I've called your office a hundred times—Good God! What

happened to you?" Her clothes were streaked with dirt, her jacket ripped at the

shoulder. A smudge of grease slashed across her forehead.

She didn't answer him right away; she was too stunned at the sight of him. He

was wearing black dress slacks with a white pin-striped shirt. As was his habit,

he had rolled the cuffs back, revealing those sinewy forearms of his. His long

hair was sleekly tied back from his masculine face, accenting the strong column

of his throat.

All she had ever seen him in were very casual clothes, mostly jeans. He looked

positively gorgeous. He looked positively furious.

"I—I had a flat tire on 23. I tried to change it, but the stupid jack wouldn't

stay put. I crawled underneath to see what the problem was—" He paled.

"Are you telling me you were under the car when the jack slipped?"

"Not quite, but—"

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up slightly. "My God. Why didn't you

call me?"

"I didn't have to; a nice truck driver stopped to help me. He was really very

sweet."

"You let a stranger help you on a deserted road? What the hell is the matter

with you! Don't you read the newspapers—what am I saying? You're a reporter, for

christsakes!" Zanita winced. He was really working himself into a full-blown

tirade.

"Really, Tyber, you're overreacting—"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to bother you." Wrong answer. She could tell by the way his

pupils glazed over. She quickly added, "Besides, there was no way I could call

you; it was a country road, nothing around for miles."

That stopped him. He considered her words for a few moments.

"All right. Only next time, call me."

Zanita knew men always said stuff like that in situations such as this,

completely ignoring logistics. As if the next time something similar happened,

they would somehow miraculously appear out of the ether to take care of it!

She never understood it.

Her grandfather Hank acted the same way. Zanita also knew that once you agreed

to what they said, regardless of how farfetched it might be, their feathers

immediately unruffled and they forgot about it. Tyber apparently was no

exception to this peculiar male trait.

"Okay."

"Mills called; she said she'd be here in about half an hour." Feathers sleek

again.

"I better hurry and clean up—"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a roar from Blooey. Zanita

jumped, throwing a questioning glance at Tyber.

"My-Maggy's here." Another crash was followed by more yelling, Blooey cursing,

and a raspy bellow from a distinctly Irish-accented voice.

Tyber winced. "Don't worry—they love each other." At Zanita's disbelieving look,

he added, "Sort of, Zanita, why are you staring at me?"

She still couldn't stop looking at him. "You're dressed."

Tyber wondered if her recent experience with the flat had shaken her brains. He

slowly approached her and carefully lifted her chin with his index finger. "Yes,

but don't worry, baby; it comes off."

He brushed her lips, standing well away from her dusty clothes. "Better hurry;

they'll be here soon."

As he watched her walk up the stairs, he made a mental note to add a cellular

phone to his shopping list.

Zanita whispered to her friend. "So, what do you think, Mills? Did I exaggerate

or what?"

"No, it's just like you said. This place is incredible." Her sights strayed to

Tyber, who was sipping a drink while watching the sunset through the large

sitting room window. "And so is he. I still hate you."

"Thank you, Mills. You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that."

And she meant it. Mills had given her the supreme compliment between

girlfriends: she was pea-green and woman enough to admit it.

They both giggled.

Tyber was thinking how beautiful Zanita looked when she came down the stairs a

little while ago in a long, dark blue dress. An amethyst choker circled her

slender throat, bringing out the color of her incredible eyes.

The corner of his mouth lifted as he smiled distractedly. He had noticed she had

chosen to bring her curls over her forehead. He just bet that grease mark had

been a bitch to get off; he should know, he'd worked on enough cars in his—

A screech of wheels drew his attention to the front of the house where an old

Mercedes, going much too fast, was turning the curve of the drive on two wheels.

What kind of a knuckleheaded dimwit drove down a private drive like the flames

of hell licked at their heels?

His eyes widened as he realized what was in the direct path of the erratic

automobile. He clutched the edge of the window sill, his knuckles turning white.

"The Harley—not the Harley!" he gritted out.

There was a crash crunch, a sound of gears grinding, the squeal of the tires

again, then the thump of a heavy door being slammed shut.

Tyber dropped his forehead to the window glass, closing his eyes in acute pain.

A second later, a decisive rapping issued from the front door knocker.

Zanita threw a wary glance at Tyber, wondering what had happened. Since he

wasn't moving to answer the door, she gingerly went to do it.

"Zanita!" A loud, nasal voice filled the foyer. "How marvelous to see you at

last! I can't tell you how happy I am to be with you."

"Auntie!" Zanita threw herself into the woman's arms.

"Let me see you!" The flamboyant woman held Zanita at arm's length as if

checking her for damage. "You wouldn't believe it, but some idiot left a

motorbike right in the middle of the road."

A choking sound came from the direction of the windows.

Auntie waved her hand, immediately dismissing the subject as if it were of no

importance. Her piercing brown eyes fell on Mills. "Look what we have here—it's

Marvelous Mills!"

"Auntie." Mills plastered a smile on her face, embracing the older woman.

Auntie, in her usual forthright manner, marched into the parlor, throwing her

enormous handbag onto the pouf. Tyber briefly wondered if enormous handbags were

a genetic trait passed on to the women in Zanita's family.

"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Mills hissed at Zanita.

"Because I wanted you here. Now hush up. You know Auntie loves you."

"She has a strange way of showing it; she always makes me feel like a kid whose

hand got caught in the cookie jar."

"It's not personal; Auntie makes everybody feel that way."

"And who is this marvelously handsome young man?"

Auntie turned to Tyber, who was valiantly trying to throw off his internal pain

by straightening his shoulders. And if the woman said mahh… velous one more time

he was going to spontaneously combust. His motorcycle.

"I'm the idiot," he responded curtly.

Auntie's eyes narrowed. Zanita quickly stepped in. "Auntie, this is Tyber. Did

you—did you have a nice trip down?"

"Oh, horrors! I thought it would never end." She reached into her purse,

withdrawing a card. "I'm sorry I tapped your bike, Tyber. Do send me the bill."

She handed him the card before peeling off her faux leopard coat and collapsing

onto the couch with a whoosh. "I am so parched."

Tyber stared at the card for a moment, thinking, tapped? The woman had crushed

his bike.

Zanita cleared her throat pointedly.

Tyber's head snapped up. "Uh… can I get you something to drink, Auntie?"

Zanita could tell he was having trouble with the name.

He thought of an acceptable drink to offer an elderly great aunt who murdered

motorcycles without an ounce of remorse, blithely going on her merry way as if

the remains of the crime weren't lying belly-up in his driveway! Hemlock. "Some