Zanita swallowed nervously. She always got the willies over ghost stories. "We don't have to-I have to get this article done and-"

"So, write your article now. I need to finish up something myself," he said mysteriously. Then, "You're not afraid, are you?"

"Don't be silly! Okay, you're on."

"Fine. We'll rendezvous in the foyer at eleven."

"Fine." Her voice quavered slightly.

Tyber stood to leave, stopping to point a finger at her. "If you don't show up, Curls, I'll know you're chicken."

Zanita snorted disdainfully, turning back to her article as if to dismiss him.

It was just as well she didn't see the expression of ungodly glee on his roguish face.

Hollywood couldn't have done it better.

A dense fog wafted around the decrepit headstones, several of which had fallen over and settled thickly around the cab of the truck. The light of a full moon filtered eerily through the thick, soupy haze, barely illuminating the road they were parked on. The only road out.

An owl hooted atmosphere into the night. A cold, biting damp permeated the interior of the truck, seeping into her bones even with the stadium blanket Tyber had thrown over them.

She could hear Boris Karloff assuring her that this was a thriller.

She expected to see Michael Jackson and his moonwalking zombies any time now.

Zanita peered at the small digital clock Tyber had hung on the dash. 11:40. Twenty minutes to go.

"Do you want to tell ghost stories?" Zanita could hear the mocking laughter in his voice.

"No." It was the last thing she wanted to do. This is creepy. How had he maneuvered her into this display of idiocy?

Tyber leaned back in the seat, vainly trying to stretch his long legs out. He laced his hands behind his neck, cracking a few cold, stiff joints in the process, then draped his arm across the back of her seat.

He stared straight ahead. "Want to neck?"

"No."

"Have you thought about who you're going to invite for the weekend?"

She turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"I told LaLeche we were having some friends down for the weekend; it seemed a convenient excuse to invite him. Don't you think he'll be suspicious if there's nobody there but him?"

"Why didn't you mention this before! What are we going to do?"

"We?"

"It was your plan!"

"Yes, but it's your story." Zanita folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Okay, okay. Think of some people. Fast. What about your girlfriend Mills?"

"Mmm. She might; especially if she's not doing anything this weekend. I've already told her about your house, and she's dying to see if it's as kooky..." Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.

Tyber's brows slanted down, making him look rather like a disgruntled Viking. "Who else?"

"I don't know."

"How about Hank and your grandmother?"

"No! I don't want Hank getting a clue about this. What about some of your friends and colleagues?"

"No way. Forget it. Get that idea right out of your head."

"Why not?"

"Why not, she says. Other than irrevocably destroying my credibility amongst my colleagues and friends by setting them up to get bilked by a con man, I can't think of a single reason."

Zanita snorted. "Oh, Tyber, no one expects you to be normal."

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?"