High Energy by Joy, Dara (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

me that I was thinking the very same thought when I was talking to

LaLeche. I knew there had to be some intuitive connection between the two, which

my subconscious brain had already figured out. I got to thinking about the hokey

alien make-up in the movie, and that thought led to special effects, which led

to Hollywood, which is in L.A. I remembered Xavier spent two years in L.A. at

Space Age Systems. Alien—Space Age—LaLeche. It hit me; Space Age Systems might

not have been just a shuttle component manufacturer as we had originally

thought, but an F/X studio. Simple linear reasoning." He looked at her

expectantly.

Zanita rolled her eyes exactly as she had done the first time he met her and he

was explaining Chaos at the seminar.

Simple reasoning? Only Tyber and, perhaps, Sherlock Holmes, could've made those

brilliant deductive leaps. "Whew! Doc, you are amazing."

Tyber grinned, winking at her. "It's all part of the service. Go write your

article, baby."

Zanita frowned. "But we don't have anything to put him in jail with."

He put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. "All we have to do is

expose him. You write your piece; they'll come out of the woodwork to nail him."

The article was published in the Sunday edition of the Patriot Sun.

Hank wasn't in when Zanita dropped off the piece, but she didn't have to wait

too long to find out his reaction.

He called her at Tyber's house after dinner and chewed her out for putting

herself at potential risk. Then he demanded to speak to Tyber. Tyber gingerly

took the phone from her, not getting much in by way of conversation except a lot

of "yes, sirs" and "I know, sirs" and "I will, sirs." Then he handed the phone

back to her with an apologetic shrug.

Once Hank calmed down, the newsman in him came to the fore. He told her the

piece would run Sunday and that he had sent a photographer out to a seminar

LaLeche was doing so they could run a picture with the article. "Damn fine

article. Don't do it again," he said just before he slammed down the phone.

Zanita made a face at the receiver. "You curmudgeon!"

The article with the photo was picked up by the wire services and was reprinted

across the country in numerous papers. Zanita had a name. Not a big name, but a

name.

Tyber had congratulated her by sending three dozen long-stem roses to her office

that morning with a note promising her a special dinner from Blooey and him.

Theoretically, it should be her farewell dinner, only she hadn't been able to

broach the subject with Tyber yet. Since the story had wrapped up faster than

she anticipated, she wasn't sure what to do now. Should she move out before

Thanksgiving? What about Auntie's invitation? They could all still go, but it

would be awkward. After all, they had no real reason to continue their

relationship other than as friends.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the sudden tension.

Perhaps I should take a page out of Scarlett's book and worry about this

tomorrow? Why ruin the celebration with upsetting thoughts that could just as

easily be faced in the morning? She deserved this day, and so did Tyber.

Feeling somewhat better, she straightened her shoulders and hit the keyboard.

Hank had put her on a story about a successful new day-care center in

Stockboro—for dogs—Hank's retaliation for taking on the LaLeche story without

the paper's permission. She had spent the entire morning being licked to death.

Hambone wouldn't come near her for a week.

Tyber poured himself a cup of coffee.

In the fall and winter, Blooey always had coffee and hot water for tea on the

stove. As far as Tyber was concerned, that service alone made the man

invaluable.

He sat down on the stool next to the counter, cradling the warm cup in his

hands. Blooey was hard at work chopping nuts for some brownies he was making.

Tyber didn't speak for several minutes.

Blooey, sensing that the Captain was pondering something of great import, waited

for the him to gather his thoughts.

Aye, the Captain always seeks out my opinion on matters weighing on him.

Sometimes, Blooey knew, the Captain came to him like a younger brother seeking

an older, wiser ear. Truth was, neither one of them spent much time off the sea.

Because of what they did and the way they lived, men such as they didn't have

much experience in port, as it were.

So, when they found themselves on dry dock, they needed to stick together.

Tyber took a deep breath, then took the plunge.

"I think Lady Masterson should become a permanent member of this crew; what do

you think, Blooey?"

So, there's the way of it. Blooey smiled inwardly.

Carefully maintaining a serious expression, he stopped chopping walnuts for a

minute as if he were pondering the question. He slowly shook his head, "Aye,

Captain; she's copper-bottomed, clipper-built, sir, and that's a fact."

The set of Tyber's shoulders relaxed. He gave Blooey a huge grin. "What say you,

we think of something really special for dinner tonight? Something to let her

see how much we like her being here with us?"

"Well now," Blooey said, stroking his chin, "once when I was working the Far

East trade, iffen you get my drift, Captain—"

"You were ransacking the East Indies trade routes."

"Aye, just so. I learned of an exotic cuisine which stimulates the passionate

soul to near recklessness. Met a sheik there once what swore no woman could

resist him after she partook of the delights of such a feast." He closed one eye

and gleamed at Tyber with the other.

"You've convinced me." He set his empty cup on the tile counter. "Carry on,

sailor!"

Dinner that evening was absolutely exquisite.

Blooey had gone all out, preparing a gourmet feast fit for a queen. There was a

compote of fresh melon and passion fruit sorbet, spinach salad with raspberry

vinaigrette followed by breast of chicken in a vermouth and ginger cream sauce,

and an exotic rice pilaf containing little bits of dried fruits and pistachio

nuts.

Tyber opened a bottle of Crystal to accompany their meal.

The dining room table, with the leaves taken out for more intimate dining, was

beautifully set with candlesticks and a centerpiece of white camellias.

Where the men had found the camellias this time