High Intensity (28 page)

Auntie was not so easy to put off as Blooey, who had a tendency to accept orders blindly from his captain. She cornered Zanita in the foyer like a force majeure.

"What is this preposterous tale of your going to
Boston
!"

"Shh! Auntie, keep your voice down!" Zanita glanced anxiously around the hallway, looking for eavesdroppers. Not that her search would tell her anything; the house was riddled with peepholes!

"Well, where are you really going, darling? If it has anything to do with that delightful ghost, I want to go, too!"

Delightful? Thank goodness Tyber strolled into the foyer at that moment. The overnight bag they had hastily put together from their combined belongings was slung over his shoulder. "Auntie, you know we'd never ditch you," he drawled in a really believable tone.
Not
.

Auntie viewed him though slitted eyes.

"You know we just got married; we only wanted a night alone." He put his arm around Zanita's shoulders and said something under his breath that Zanita was sure Auntie wouldn't want to hear.

"Bull! You've managed very well up to this point, you mar-r-r-velously naughty boy, even to the point of dragging my poor niece under a bed!"

He winced at the reminder of her untimely intrusion.
Relatives
.

"Now, what's really up?" Auntie tapped her foot, sending her chapeaus to wobbling.

Tyber exhaled. The Aunt from Planet Attitude was a shark in three hats. He'd have to tell her something. He lowered his voice. "Look, we're just checking out something, but I want you here,"—he swallowed his pride for this—"I need you to keep an eye on Hubble."

Both Auntie and Zanita gave him astounded looks. For two entirely different reasons. Auntie was amazed that her new nephew was finally realizing how much she could help with the investigation, while Zanita was amazed at his brilliant use of subterfuge with her lovable but impossible aunt.

It worked like a charm.

"About time I got something with teeth in it! Hubble, is it? When did we not suspect Hubble! The pompous squirt-brain!"

Tyber rolled his eyes. When had she become part of the team?

She leaned forward, saying sotto voce, "Is Blooey in on it?"

Tyber rubbed his ear. "Ah, he has another assignment, but if you need help or anything else, you two consult with each other."

She clapped her hands. "Mar-r-r-r-velous!"

Tyber cringed, and taking his wife by the elbow, steered her out the door to the waiting cab.

"Are you sure she's your aunt?" he grouched as they got into the taxi.

Nantucket
was beautiful.

They had taken the ferry over from the Vineyard, thankful that the waters weren't frozen yet. The boat trip was a cold one, though.

It was a gray day. Informed that
Nantucket
was an Indian term meaning "far out to sea," Zanita was wondering just how far out to sea as the damp trip seemed endless.

"Just think of the atmosphere for one of your articles." Tyber held her in his arms, trying to warm her as they approached the dock. His mouth brushed over her short, dark curls, catching one between his lips in a playful tug.

"Look at that map tacked on the side of the ship—the island is shaped like a whale flipping its tail!" She pointed to the map flapping in the brisk wind.

"Ironic, isn't it? Since this was once a famous whaling port."

"That is peculiar. I wonder if we'll see any white whales," she joked.

"Only if they're related to Hippolito."

The boat finished docking, and Tyber picked up their gear, leading her through the sparse crowd of locals. In a few days, the town would be jammed for the holiday festivities. They had been lucky to miss the Christmas press.

They walked through the narrow streets of the town, their feet crunching in the packed snow. The town was a wonderful example of a perfectly preserved seaport of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Zanita loved it at once.

The streets were cobblestone, the sidewalks made of uneven brick. Gaslights dotted the streets and would soon be coming on, as night fell early at this time of year. English-style homes lined the streets, their wrought-iron and white picket fences lending a quaint atmosphere. The scent of woodsmoke from fireplaces filled the cold, salt-tinged air.

They passed by several old taverns and artisan shops.

"I love it here!" Zanita darted around him to look in a shop window that was dressed for the holidays.

Tyber smiled at her. "We'll come back another time, when we can really explore."

"Let's buy a house here instead!" she bantered.

A dimple grooved his cheek. "Okay. One on each island."

She looped her arm through his. "Sounds perfect."

The gaslights came on then, illuminating Tyber's handsome, chiseled face as he gazed down at her with a solemn expression. "It is perfect, baby."

Her breath caught in her throat. How was he always able to do that to her? Take her unawares and make her heart stop and race at the same time? She reached up on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his in a brief yet incredibly sweet kiss.

"So where are we staying tonight? I hope they have a fireplace; I need to thaw out." She briskly rubbed her arms.

"I'll thaw you out," he promised.

"I bet you will."

"Here we are." He opened a wrought-iron gate and motioned for her to enter. Zanita looked up at the signpost. "The Obadiah Crypt House? Geesh, couldn't you find something a little more creepy sounding?"

"You'll love it, Curls. C'mon."

"If you say so." She hesitantly moved down the walkway and up the stairs.

With the streets lit by the gas lamps and a mist rising off the snow, it wasn't hard to imagine that she had gone back in time about a hundred years.

Tyber opened the door to the inn.

The inside was nothing like its name implied. It was warm and inviting and cheery. A huge fire roared in the fireplace, and period furniture graced the large open entry room.

Zanita went to warm her hands by the fire while Tyber checked them in.

He returned a short time later with a room key. "The proprietor is sending up a pot of tea and some biscuits. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, a little." She followed him up the wooden staircase, noting the seascapes on the wall.

"We can go out as soon as we unpack. The innkeeper—"

"That would be… Mr. Crypt?"

"Ah… yes. He suggested his own restaurant, of course, which is famous, I think, but I told him we just wanted to go to a place where the locals would hang out. That way we can start doing some digging right away."

"Good idea. Where did he suggest?"

"The Den of Iniquity."

"Mr. Crypt suggested The Den of Iniquity?" She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a patient look.

"Yep. He said all the locals hang out there—no tourists."

"I wonder why," she snorted. "It sounds like a vampire bar!"

He winked at her. "Not on
Nantucket
, baby. It's a chowder house."

"What kind of chowder?" she asked, leery. "I only like
Manhattan
."

"Manhattan clam chowder?" He gasped, horrified. "Isn't that the red kind?"

"You're not funny. You know vampires keep me up all night."

"No, no, I just won't respond to that. I'll be good."

"Ha!"

"I asked the innkeeper—"

"Mr. Crypt." She laced her hands behind her back. "Let's call it as it is."

"Mr. Crypt… if he knew of any Sasenfrases from the area. He said no."

"Hmmm… maybe he hasn't been here that long?"

"Since seventeen ninety-two."

Her mouth dropped open.

Tyber hastened to add, "His family, anyway."

"I'm not so sure about that. But maybe we'll have better luck at The Den of Iniquity."

Their room was charming.

A four-poster bed graced the center of the room. It was an antique, three-quarter-size tester, not too long and not too wide. The fit was going to be cozy, Zanita acknowledged; Tyber was a tall man who liked to sprawl unchecked in bed while hugging her securely in his arms. Definitely a snuggle night.

The bed was covered with lovely ecru linens heavily trimmed in Irish lace. The canopy was made entirely of lace; tiny handmade roses dotted the length of it. She sighed. Very romantic.

A large fireplace was to the right of the bed. Someone had already lit the fire—a nice, warm welcome for guests on such a cold evening.

Dancing shadows flickered across the hand-hewn beams on the ceiling.

Once again, Zanita felt as if she had stepped back in time. As her writers imagination took flight, it was easy to envision herself in a room like this in the early eighteen hundreds… just waiting to have an illicit rendezvous with a pirate captain. Coincidentally, the rogue looked remarkably like Tyber. She would be waiting for him on the bed, sprawled out across the soft feather mattress, wearing nothing but—

"Earth to Curls!" |

Zanita gave a startled jump. "What?"

"What are you daydreaming about, hmm?" He gave her that knowing male look that said, "You couldn't possibly be thinking of anything else but me and what I'm going to do to you in that bed later."

Zanita snapped out of it. "You don't know that for sure."

He viewed her through half-closed eyes. "Uh-huh."

"Oh, shush! I just got carried away by the romance of the room."

He glanced at the bed speculatively. "Lots of lace."

Zanita bit her lip. What did that mean? With a man like Tyber Evans, anything at all. She wondered how many ways a physicist could think of to torture someone with lace.

Countless, she concluded apprehensively.

He was definitely ahead in their challenge so far. But he wouldn't gain any ground tonight if she let him know that she already had him figured out. She confronted him. "Get those ideas right out of your head!"

Tyber blinked, then he laughed. "What ideas?"

"Stop acting as if you don't know!"

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"The outrageous ones you are planning to torture me with later in the name of the unexpected!"

The rascal didn't even try to deny it. "You know you love to be tortured," he responded in a husky voice. "I'm just giving you what you expect, baby… unexpectedly."

He calmly placed their bag down on a low table.

Zanita wasn't sure how to respond to that sexy salvo. The man was too tempting for her to deny it… at least with a straight face. In lieu of a comeback, she opted to unpack a few of her essentials as if she were too busy to be bothered to respond. As she headed off to the bathroom, his low, deep chuckle flirted with her.

"No answer?" he murmured provocatively.

She hunched her shoulders and kept going. She would counterattack when the timing was more favorable.

A knock sounded at the door. Mr. Crypt's assistant, a tall, gaunt fellow, brought in a welcome tray laden with a cozy of hot tea and an assortment of biscuits.

Tyber took the tray from him. "Thanks, ah…"

"Cadarvah, sir," he sniffed in reply.

"Yeah… okay." He hastily tipped the assistant, hoping Zanita hadn't hear that. The man quickly pocketed his booty, giving Tyber a toothy grimace.

"Did he say Cadaver?" Zanita poked her head out of the bathroom.

Tyber hunched his shoulders. Now she had an answer. He conveniently turned away to pour the tea, knowing what was coming.

Zanita sauntered over and took a cup of fragrant
Darjeeling
. "How did you find this place, dearest? Was it in the booklet Best Country Inns for the Undead?"

He mumbled into his cup, "I heard it was very well known."

"From whom? The Zombie
Union
?"

He ducked his head and drank his tea.

Zanita gave a furtive little grin into her cup. She adored teasing him. The rogue looked so cute when he was chagrined. The Obadiah Crypt House! She almost laughed out loud.
Only Tyber
.

The Den of Iniquity was located in the middle of a dark cobblestone alley. A nondescript black wooden door flanked by a solid brick wall on each side gave no clue as to what was inside. The only way they knew they had the right place was that a small painted wooden sign of a pirate and a thief wrestling over a treasure chest hung above the lintel. Mr. Crypt had tipped them off to that.

"You're sure about the vampire thing?" Zanita asked Tyber warily.

"Relatively speaking." He gave her his physicist shrug.

"I was afraid you'd say that." She hesitated before going in. "Are you absolutely relative about that?"