High Energy, Joy, Dara [books to read this summer .txt] 📗

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

mineral water or ice tea?"

"Bourbon."

He paused just for a moment. "Bourbon it is." He tossed the card into a small

wastebasket he passed on the way to the liquor cabinet. He had no intention of

contacting this woman. Ever. "Some water or ice?"

"Heavens, no!" She answered in the voice that sounded as if it had escaped from

locked jaws. "Just bring me an empty glass and that bottle of Wild Turkey." She

tapped the coffee table to show him exactly where she wanted it.

Tyber did as he was told. Although an idiot, he was no fool.

Auntie took a healthy swallow of her drink. "Ahh, now I feel like a human being

again."

Tyber raised his eyebrow. A human being? From what planet? The woman was wearing

three hats.

Zanita picked up the faux leopard. "Let me hang up your coat for you, Auntie.

Would you like me to take your hats?"

"Just these two." She removed them from her head. "I always leave one on; my

trademark, you know." She focused on Tyber. "Be a dear, young man; could you get

my luggage out of the car for me?"

"Of course, Auntie." He quickly turned to leave, glad for any reason to be free

of that room. Of that woman.

Auntie scrutinized his departure with interest. "Marvelous buns."

Tyber's step faltered for a second, then seemed to speed up.

"So, Mills, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual." Mills swore she wouldn't give this woman any ammunition. None.

She reached for a stuffed mushroom from the tray Blooey had left earlier. Zanita

returned to the room.

"You know, Mills, I was in Bloomingdale's the other day, and I saw the most

perfect sweater for your coloring." She focused pointedly on Mills' statuesque

frame. "Although I'm not sure they had your size."

Mills' mouth closed. Slam-dunked, she lowered the mushroom back to the tray.

"Excuse me…" Tyber's voice sounded from the doorway. "There are seven suitcases

in your car; which one did you need, Auntie?"

"Why, you silly boy—all of them, of course."

Tyber went back out. Zanita winced when she heard him bellow "Blooey!" in his

best pirate captain voice.

He came back in just when Auntie said, "So where's the fish? Is he here yet?"

Tyber took a deep breath. "Zanita, can I talk to you for a minute?"

His voice was low. Too low. Zanita wet her lips, nervously following him out to

the foyer. He reached around her, sliding the parlor doors shut with a

commanding snap of his wrist.

"Yes, Tyber?" She tried for a sweet, innocent expression. It didn't work. He

looked about ready to fire all cannons. Tyber was in a rant.

"She has seven rock-stuffed pullmans with her! She's drinking straight bourbon

in there. Her