The Charm Stone (37 page)

She sighed and stared unseeing at her computer screen. Her aunt rarely asked anything of her. Actually, other than coming for Thanksgiving dinner, she never did. Which made this whole thing even weirder. She certainly didn't seem to be losing any of her faculties, mental or otherwise. But the fact was, she had asked. And despite her annoyance at being so expertly maneuvered, Tanzy owed her too much not to do this for her.

So she picked up the phone again and called Riley.

***

“Helloo? Anybody home?” Tanzy's voice echoed down the central hallway and up the massive winding staircase as she let herself into the Harrington estate, a High Victorian Queen Anne with all the appropriate turrets, towers, and excessive ornamentation that was popular in the late 1800s, when the house was built.

A school pal who had visited once had told their friends about the “big hairy house” that Tanzy's aunt lived in. She'd called it Big Hairy ever since. Just not in front of Millicent.

She quickly punched in the security code so the alarm wouldn't go off. Millicent treasured her heritage, but was also quite the techno-geek, enjoying
all the latest gadgets. Tanzy sighed as she searched for the new pressure-sensitive light pad Millicent had raved about in her most recent email. “Hello?”

Her own voice echoed back. So where was this Riley person anyway? No one had answered her call earlier, so she'd simply planned on arriving around six and hope for the best where dinner was concerned. Of course, it was closer to seven now, but her
Morning with Santa
radio show had turned into a
Late Afternooner with Santa.
Single at Christmas she might be, but that didn't mean she had to jingle her own bells.

She sniffed the air, but no heavenly scents were wafting down the hall. Apparently she'd missed dinner. She tugged her cell phone out of her purse as she nudged her overnight bag with a toe, scooting it to the base of the stairs. She stroked her hand over the highly polished newel post. How many times had she slid down that banister, she wondered, still tempted every time she stepped foot in the place. It would be a little rough at the moment, what with the fresh pine garland woven with berries and other assorted stuff Tanzy had never learned the names of. It was only the first week in December, but Millicent always had a crew in decorating the entire place the day after Thanksgiving, which had been the last time Tanzy had been here, bailing out early that morning as the trucks had pulled up.

They'd done a masterful job as always, she noted, as she finally found the pressure pad. Faux gas lamps sprang to life, softly illuminating the front parlor. She'd take her bags up later, first she wanted to see this year's pageant of excess. Humming “Jingle Bells” under her breath, she wandered the length of the room. Every year she assumed Millicent couldn't outdo herself. Why, she had no idea, as her aunt always accomplished what she set out to do.

Tanzy punched the speed dial code on her phone for Hunan Palace, then leaned down to inspect the intricate white iris ikebana arrangement on the sideboard. Every room, including the powder rooms, would have its own holiday theme complete with coordinated color scheme and tastefully accessorized tree. Martha Stewart had nothing on great aunt Millicent.

Apparently the front parlor had been tagged Doves by the Dozen or something, given the countless delicate little birds flitting amongst the bows of the slender, but amazingly tall Douglas fir. The color scheme for the room was a blinding, yet ever-so-tasteful Winter White. Even the rug and furniture had been replaced or recovered. Well, Millicent was nothing if not a slave to detail.

“Hunan Palace-May I take your order?”

Tanzy fingered one softly feathered dove-real feathers, natch-and spoke without even having to think. “Kung Pao chicken, as hot as you can make it, two spring rolls, extra rice. Delivered please.” She gave directions, then tucked the phone away as she continued to wander the length of the front room, stopping and staring straight up when she realized the chandelier had been transformed with hundreds of cut crystal snowflakes replacing the regular crystal drops. “You da man, Aunt Milly,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“I thought no one dared call her anything but Millicent,” came a startlingly deep voice from the doorway. “That is when they aren't addressing her as Ms. Harrington.”

The Charm Stone

A Bantam Book/August 2002

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by Donna Jean.
Cover art copyright © 2002 by Alan Ayers.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
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photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
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For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-48273-0

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

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