The Big Bad Wolf Tells All Page 3

  Millicent chuckled. It was a rather rusty, somewhat scary sound. “Actually, I do have someone staying on to handle certain business matters. I’ve given my regrets to the round of social events. My annual endowments have already been taken care of. I’d appreciate you cleaning up after yourself when you choose to cook, and I’m sorry, but you’ll have to manage on your own with laundry and other such things. I’m certain you’re well used to taking care of those matters on your own.”

  “Laundry? Cooking?” Tanzy was nonplussed. “If I’m just dropping by to check the house and water plants and such, I won’t be needing to cook or wash, but I—”

  “I’m sorry, I should have made myself clearer. With everyone gone but Riley, I would feel better if I knew someone was staying under the roof. Someone I could trust.”

  “But you travel all the time.”

  “For a week to ten days, yes. But this will probably be most of December and a good part, if not all, of January. And what with the winter weather on the East Coast, one never can entirely depend on airline travel.”

  Tanzy opened her mouth, but she had no idea what to say.

  “I know this is asking a great deal of you. And I don’t mean for you to spend every waking minute here. I realize you’re a busy woman with quite the hectic schedule yourself. But you can bring whatever you need with you. I’ve had your rooms and private office all spruced up for the holidays, so writing your column here won’t be a problem. Riley is fairly unobtrusive, but I’ve directed him to do whatever is necessary to make your stay comfortable.”

  “Riley? What happened to Margaret?” Margaret was her aunt’s longtime personal secretary and valued confidant.

  “You’ve not met him, but he’s trustworthy. Still, I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re here as well. Margaret’s about to become a great-grandmother, so I’ve given her extended leave, too. She’s staying on with her son and his family in Ohio until the new year.”

  “That’s wonderful, really. So who is this Riley and when did you—”

  “Here’s Wainwright with the car, darling. I’ve got to run.”

  “But Aunt Millicent, I—”

  “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, Tanzy dear. I’ll contact you once I arrive in Philadelphia and see to my lodgings. I’ve no idea if Frances intends to put me up, but like as not I’ll be staying at the Bellevue as usual. If anything comes up, you can simply contact me there and leave a message. In the meantime, Riley can handle any other questions you might have. He’s expecting you by dinnertime tonight. If that’s not convenient, please let him know as soon as you can. Ta ta, darling.”

  Tanzy was left staring at the dead receiver. “Ta ta, my ass,” she muttered as she hung up. She’d been hornswoggled by a master. “Nothing about this is convenient. Which you knew when you called me. Oh-so-cleverly on your way out the door.” Tanzy had half a mind to call this Riley person and tell him he was on his own, and not just for dinner tonight.

  And who was he anyway? Millicent was scrupulous about who she hired, but she still didn’t trust new employees easily. Tanzy didn’t remember her talking about him before, either. But to be honest, when her aunt started off on a tangent involving business matters, Tanzy’s eyes tended to glaze over and her mind wandered. For all she knew, Riley had been in Millicent’s employ for years.

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

  So, mentally rearranging her schedule, she picked up the phone again and dialed Big Harry.

  Early holiday season query:

  If you’re doing a radio show with Santa and discover, after jokingly sitting on his lap, that the North Pole is more than a geographic location . . . well, just how far down in hell will you go if you lay Santa? On the upside, he said I’d been a very good girl. On the downside, however, he only comes once a year.

  Chapter 3

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

  Millicent was quite proud of Big Harry, as Tanzy called it when Millicent wasn’t around. It was one of the few houses that had survived the great earthquake and fire after the turn of the twentieth century. Fitting, Tanzy thought with a smile, seeing as her great-aunt, a pillar of society, was somewhat of an architectural treasure herself, still sturdy and erect, facing a new century with nary a lapse in strength or conviction.

  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 over Thanksgiving.

  “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 hoping for the best where dinner was concerned. Of course, it was closer to seven now, but her early morning Single Santa radio show had turned into a late afternooner with Single 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 her 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 set 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 barely December, but Millicent prided herself on her holiday décor. She always had a crew in the day after Thanksgiving, which had been the last time Tanzy had been here, bailing out early that morning as the first flotilla of vans and trucks had pulled up out front.

  They’d done a masterful job as always, she noted, finally finding 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. Each room, including the powder rooms, would have its own holiday theme, complete with coordinated color scheme and tastefully accessorized tree. It was enough to make Martha Stewart multiorgasmic.

  Apparently the front parlor had been tagged Deluge of Doves or something, given the countless delicate little white birds flitting amongst the bows of the slender Douglas fir. The color scheme for this room was a blinding, yet ever-so-tasteful winter white. Even the rug and furniture had been replaced or re-covered. Millicent was nothing if not a slave to detail.

  “Hunan Palace. May I take your order?”

  Tanzy fingered one softly feathered dove 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. She made it to the center, then stopped dead and stared straight up, completely awed. The chandelier had been transformed, each crystal drop having been painstakingly replaced wit
h hundreds of intricately cut crystal snowflakes.

  “Well, damn. You da man, Aunt Millie,” she declared reverently.

  “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, or Madame H.”

  Tanzy spun around to find a tallish, somewhat lean man standing just inside the arched entrance to the room. Rangy, she thought, was a better term to describe him. Although somehow that didn’t quite suit the rest of the image. Rangy indicated a certain edginess. This man was more . . . generic. Generic charcoal-gray suit, made of generic cloth, styled in a generic cut, not ill-fitting, but not tailored, either. Nice enough black leather shoes, sturdy yet manly. Tanzy had always held that a man could be judged by the thickness of his soles. The thinner the soles, the thinner the character.

  Average soles, she noted, with just a hint of thickness. Interesting. Hair was styled in Generic Barbershop. Dark, not wavy, not overly straight, worn just a fraction too long. Somehow it looked more bookish than rakish on him. Although that might have been due to the thick, wire-rimmed glasses. All in all, not bad, really. For a sheep.

  Well, except for that voice. Definite high wolf quotient on the voice. Maybe he should think about radio. Or phone sex.

  She looked back up at the chandelier, hiding her amusement. “I’m Tanzy, Millicent’s grandniece, and I only call her Millie when she’s three thousand miles away.” She glanced back at him, surprised to find he’d closed the distance between them. Stealth quotient moderate to above average, she thought. She’d have to remember that. She stuck her hand out. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I assume you’re the infamous Riley?”

  He didn’t react to the attribute, but simply delivered a perfunctory, somewhat cool-handed shake, barely grasping her fingers. Not the kind of grip that pinned a woman to the bed. Ah well.

  “Riley Parrish,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you at the door.”

  He offered no other excuse and Tanzy didn’t ask for one. She didn’t need a watchdog, companion, or a hovering pseudo-host. Apparently he didn’t aspire to be any of those things, either. Perfect. They should get along just fine. “I wasn’t sure about dinner, so I ordered in Chinese. I’ll be glad to share.” She paused, gave him a not-so-innocent half smile. “That is, if you can handle the heat.”

  Not so much as a flicker of testosterone.

  “Helen left several dishes prepared,” he said. “I missed your message—”

  “I didn’t leave one.”

  He merely nodded. “So I thought I’d wait until your arrival to arrange dinner.”

  She wished she could see his eyes, but the reflection of the illuminated snowflakes danced across the lenses of his glasses, completely obliterating her view of what lay behind them. Not that she held out any remaining hope. She supposed she should be thankful for the ear candy he provided every time he spoke. “Don’t go to any trouble. I’m happy with takeout. Besides, I sort of got behind schedule this afternoon. If you’re not going to join me, I’ll just take it upstairs and have a working dinner.”

  There was a small pause as he studied her from behind his shield of snowflakes. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the tiniest spike of tension crept between them. Then he inclined his head slightly and said, “As you wish. I have work of my own to keep me occupied.” He turned, escaping any further inspection on her part. “I’ll leave a light on in the kitchens for you in case you need or want anything later. I’m seven on your phone pad if you need me, otherwise I’ll bid you good night.”

  Bid you good night? Who said stuff like that? He was beyond the total sheep. He was the sheepmaster, the guy who taught other sheep how to embrace their inner sheepness. He was thirty, thirty-five max. Couldn’t you at least leave me something fun to play with for Christmas, Aunt Millie? His aloofness wasn’t even tempting.

  “Have a good one, Riley,” she called to his retreating generic form. She couldn’t even make out his backside beneath the slack fit of his jacket. “I’ve got an early call in the morning, so I’ll be quiet when I let myself out.”

  He paused beneath the archway. “Early call?” How anyone with a voice like that could make a question sound so completely lifeless was beyond her. Zero intensity with this guy.

  “I’ve got to tape this thing for the Barbara Bradley Show. They screwed up the schedule again, so I’m on early. I’ve got a few other things after that, but I’ll be back by dinner if you want to give one of Helen’s mystery dishes a whirl.” She had no earthly idea why she’d added that last part, but Millicent had asked her to be here and the least she could do was play nice.

  “That would be fine. I’ll have it ready by six.”

  “Six it is.”

  He nodded and left.

  “Boy, can I get the hot dates or what?” she asked the doves clinging to a spray of what looked like sugarplums. The doves stared vacantly back at her. “Might as well get used to that look,” she muttered, since she’d probably be seeing it across the table for the next couple of weeks.

  Riley Parrish stood beneath the stinging spray of the shower and attempted to honestly assess his début performance. When Millicent had hired him for this detail, she’d been very specific about not falling under Tanzy’s “spell.” Apparently her grandniece attracted men like an open flower attracted bees. Or Santa attracted elves, he thought with a wry smile. Millicent had made it clear she wanted him to be vigilant, yet maintain a certain distance.

  Riley hadn’t really thought that would be a problem. He was a professional first and always. But Millicent had pressed, saying if push came to shove in this situation, she didn’t want emotional issues clouding the waters. He’d been on the job for less than a week and he still wasn’t convinced there even was a situation, but he’d already wasted his breath explaining that a few emails hardly constituted a serious threat. Millicent had paid the retainer plus expenses anyway.

  So, in his professional capacity as both her personal protection and private investigator, he’d done some digging on one Tanzanita Harrington—and just what the hell kind of name was that anyway?—and learned that she was well educated, self-employed, had good business savvy, and confidence out the wazoo, was aggressive both professionally and personally, and was a minor media celebrity . . . and a man-eater, by all indications. More like a Venus Flytrap—emphasis on the word flytrap—than a flower. But he wasn’t threatened by any of it. Intrigued maybe.

  That latter part had been uppermost in his mind when he’d read her column this afternoon while parked at the end of the ninth-floor hallway at the Four Seasons. Killing time while she got her holly jolly ho ho’s off. He had to admit that since beginning this job and reading archives of her columns, he had come to enjoy her biweekly diatribes on the single life. He found her brash, in-your-face style refreshingly candid. He admired people who didn’t feel the need to apologize for their opinions. Even if he didn’t completely agree with hers.

  It was when he’d read her comment on the wolf versus sheep theory she was developing that he’d hit on a solution that would reassure Millicent . . . and make his job easier. Or at the very least, more entertaining. And he was a firm believer in enjoying his work.

  Finnian Parrish, his father, business partner, and general pain in the ass, would think his idea was nuts. Which was expressly why he hadn’t shared it with him. Riley had gotten them the job, hadn’t he? How he ran it was his business. Not that Finn would ever even know. He was on another job, in Santa Rosa. Riley would likely have this wrapped up before Finn got back into town.

  Besides, how better to go unnoticed on Tanzy’s radar than to become a sheep? Of course, he hadn’t really intended to do more than be wallpaper this evening. Unnoticed, background material, human white noise. Then she’d gone and flashed those expressive green eyes at him—which hadn’t looked nearly so interesting on the tapes he’d viewed of her talk-show spots—and he’d found himself saying things like �
��bid you good night.” Just to tweak her.

  He flipped off the water, picturing that deflated look that had crossed her face when he’d limply shaken the tips of her fingers. Not wolfish enough for you, sweetheart? Grinning, he grabbed a towel and rubbed himself dry. Yeah, this assignment wasn’t going to be particularly challenging, but it was likely to last a little while. At least until he could convince Millicent that her grandniece wasn’t in any direct danger. So why not have a little harmless fun with it?

  Besides, it would fill the Parrish coffers and get his dad off his back. Who was he kidding? He shook the water from his hair. Finn resided on his son’s back, always had, ever since Riley had been named starting running back in junior high.

  Riley limped a little as he strolled to the small office that was part of his suite of rooms—cushy assignment, but hey, it was the holidays, he deserved to treat himself, right?—and flipped on the laptop monitor. Between the damp Bay Area weather and all the recent surveillance, his knee was giving him fits. It was at times like this that he thought maybe his dad had the right idea after all about taking their business venture south, to warmer, more soothing climes, but he’d be the last to admit it.

  After cashing in just about everything he owned to get his dad’s business out of hock, Riley figured they’d do things his way for a while. And with this job coming on the heels of the Waterston job, they were finally getting somewhere. He figured Millicent would be good for at least a handful of referrals.

  Still, the little daggers of pain reminded him to check online stats after he was done working. The Pioneers had a shot at the postseason this year, even though, in Riley’s opinion, Coach Schilling had been nuts to take the draft pick over grabbing Harrison when he became a free agent. But then, Riley was only a washed-up former player, so what the hell did he know? He’d been gone from the team as long as he’d been on it, having only four years in the pros before blowing out his knee in a collision on a punt return. Not enough to bank a serious nest egg, or get an on-air job announcing, much less a coaching position. Maybe at the college level, but his dad had needed him then and . . . well, here he still was.