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  Joy, Dara - High EnergyHigh Energy

  Dara Joy

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter One

  ^ »

  "Men? Boil them in oil!"

  "You don't mean that."

  "Cut off their—"

  "Zanita!"

  Zanita grinned at her friend Mills. "—lying tongues."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I was going to say lying tongues."

  "Sure."

  "Okay, so I wasn't. Anyhow, I am through, through, through!"

  Mills sighed dramatically. "Haven't I heard this before?"

  "I mean it this time, Mills." Zanita slammed her palms down on the kitchen table

  for emphasis. "I have had it!"

  "Really. Was it any good?" Mills tried to hide her smile in her coffee cup.

  "Will you be serious? I'm trying to have a discussion here."

  Mills sat back in her chair. "Is that what this is? And here I thought you came

  all the way over here for a good old rant-and-rave session."

  Zanita threw up her hands in disgust. "That too!" She looked dismally down into

  her mug. "It certainly wasn't for your coffee."

  "Watch it. Everyone loves my coffee. Just because you happen to prefer brew a

  spoon can stand up in doesn't make you a reliable critic. And we are getting off

  the subject—something you are remarkably good at, Zanita."

  "Well, what did you expect?"

  Mills raised an eyebrow. "Lucidity? Rationality? Perhaps a modicum of

  believability?"

  "All right." Zanita looked her square in the eye. "It wasn't."

  "What wasn't?"

  Zanita slumped in her chair. "It wasn't any good."

  Mills peered at her friend as if she had just come off Mars. Since people often

  wore that expression around her, Zanita chose to ignore it.

  "You didn't!"

  "I did." She exhaled. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Then why did you bring it up?" Mills gave her a smug look.

  "Okay, okay." Her friend knew her too well. No big surprise. "It was just so…

  blah."

  Mills blinked several times. "Blah?"

  "You're looking at me like that again."

  "Like what?"

  "Like I come from the mysterious face of Mars."

  "Sorry." Mills leaned forward in her chair. "But we are talking about Rick,

  aren't we? Your current paramour?"

  "My last, late paramour." Zanita ran a hand distractedly through her short black

  curls. "And why are you so shocked?"

  Mills leveled her a look. "I shall count the reasons." She ticked her fingers

  off one by one. "First, as I recall, wasn't it you who said you would never get

  involved with anyone again after Steve left you with nothing to remember him by

  except a mountain of debt?"

  Zanita closely examined the flowers on the wallpaper to her left. "I guess that

  was me," she mumbled.

  "And wasn't it you who waited two years before going out again with anyone

  else?"

  Zanita peered at the intricate pattern on the tile floor. "I guess that was me

  also."

  Mills nodded to emphasize Zanita's admission. "And wasn't it you who's been

  dating Rick for three months, telling the poor guy, who happens to be crazy

  about you, that you want nothing more from him than a platonic friendship?"

  Zanita drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "So what's your point?"

  Mills zoomed in. "What made you suddenly sleep with the guy?" she bellowed. "And

  it's a little hard for me to believe a man like Rick would be 'blah' in bed."

  Zanita hiked her shoulders. "I don't know why. Maybe I was curious."

  "Curious? What kind of a reason is that?"

  "I don't know!"

  "I can understand passion, or a mad, wild fling, or even good old-fashioned

  horniness, but curiosity?"

  "Get off my case, will you?"

  Mills felt instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, Zani, it was just so unlike you. You

  weren't turned on in the least?"

  Zanita grimaced. "No. And despite what you believe, 'blah' describes the

  experience perfectly. It was all over very quickly."

  Mills lowered her voice to what she deemed a serious tone. "Did you… ?"

  "No." Zanita ran her index finger around the rim of her cup; she was about to

  make a terrible confession. "Mills, I've—I've never."

  Mills eyebrows shot up. "Not ever?"

  Zanita sunk further into her chair. "Nope."

  "Not even with Steve?"

  She sighed. "Not even with Steve."

  Both women were silent for a few moments, the absolute seriousness of the

  subject demanding the proper respect.

  Zanita took a gulp of coffee. "Do you think it's me? I don't think it's me."

  Mills was outraged. "Of course it isn't you!"

  The two friends sat in silence pondering the dilemma.

  Finally, Zanita broke the silence. "Well, what is it, then?"

  As was Mills' habit when she was deep in thought, she took a large sip of

  coffee, then slowly lowered her mug to the table. Zanita knew she wouldn't speak

  until the sound of the cup hitting the table had faded away. At that precise

  moment, Zanita could count on Mills having an inspiration.

  Here it comes, she thought; the woman's a genius.

  Mills looked straight at her and pronounced, "It wasn't right."

  Zanita's violet eyes blinked twice. "That's it? It wasn't right?" She dropped

  her head to the table. "Jeez, Mills, give me a break."

  "Think about it."

  "No." Came the muffled reply from the tabletop.

  "Think about it. With Steve, subconsciously you never really trusted him—for

  good reason, I might add—so you couldn't… let your guard down, so to speak.

  There was always something missing. As for Rick—"

  Zanita lifted her head slightly from the table. "Please, no more psychobabble, I

  beg you."

  Mills continued unperturbed. "With Rick, there was nothing. No passion. No lust.

  Ergo no fulfillment."

  Zanita sat back up. "You really think so?"

  "Yes. Zanita, I've known you practically all my life. When you're in doubt about

  something, you always hold back. You withdraw into yourself."

  "I do?" She thought about it a moment. "You're right. I do. I never realized

  that before."

  "On the other hand, when you feel strongly about something, you jump right into

  it, head first, no holds barred."

  Zanita's tone became distinctly cool. "Are you saying I leap before I look?"

  "Drop the affronted act. Face it, girlfriend, you are not by nature a person who

  is concerned about the end justifying the means."

  "Meaning?"

  Mills stretched her arms out. "Meaning, you act first, then live with the

  consequences later."

  "So, Dr. Ruth, what does this all have to do with my problem?"

  "Everything. When you meet a man who makes you leap before you look, you will be

  just fine."

  "Well, I have nothing to worry about, do I?" she asked sarcastically. "We both

  know there isn't a man in existence who could befuddle me in that manner."

  Mills started giggling, saw Zanita's expression, and quickly placed a hand over

  her mouth.

  "What is so funny? You are supposed to be my friend."

  "It's just that I suddenly got this mental picture of some man coming along,

  tricking you into playing the shell game, and when you don't guess correctly,

  throwing you over his shoulder and hauling you off to bed."

  Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing.

  "Talk about slight of hand…" This caused another round of laughter.

  "Please—" Zanita gasped, holding her sides.

  "The hand," Mills giggled, "is quicker than the eye!"

  "Stop!"

  "N-now you see it—" Mills couldn't finish, she was laughing so hard.

  Zanita groaned. "That's terrible."

  Mills wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, I needed that. Didn't you

  say something about a seminar tonight?"

  "Yes, thanks for reminding me—I need to get down to the student union at

  Hampshire to sign up for it." Zanita reached for a cookie on the table.

  Mills automatically joined her. "I hate these damn things."

  "Then why do you buy them?"

  "Because they're so good." She took a big bite out of the cookie.

  "They are good—give me another one."

  "Here, take the whole bag—please." She pushed the bag to Zanita. Zanita pushed

  it back.

  "No way. I couldn't stand to see
them staring at me in the middle of the night."

  "They never last to the middle of the night here." Mills sighed as she took

  another cookie. "So what's the seminar on?"

  "Psychic development," she mumbled around a chocolate chip.

  "I didn't know you were interested in stuff like that."

  "I'm not—I want to do a piece on this guy who's been going around telling people

  he's a psychic healer. I've heard some disturbing things about him, but I

  haven't been able to substantiate anything yet. I thought if I went to a

  legitimate class on the subject, I could pick up some background information."

  "The paper sent you on this story? They're finally letting you do some

  investigative reporting?"

  "Not exactly. I'm doing this on my own."

  "Is that wise?"

  "I need to do this, Mills. I have to get off garden party assignments. All the

  Chief ever gives me to cover is fluff. How am I going to get at the good stories

  unless I take the initiative on my own?"

  "Maybe he doesn't want you getting hurt. Stuff like that can be dangerous,

  Zanita. We both know Hank is a nice old relic from a prior century, but he's

  been around the block. Maybe he's looking out for you."

  "Cripes, Mills, I'm twenty-seven years old! I don't need a curmudgeon of a boss

  who acts like my grandfather."

  "The curmudgeon is your grandfather."

  "That's beside the point. He used to be a great reporter. In his heyday, he

  exposed racketeers and gangsters. And a lot of political corruption. I cut my

  teeth on his stories."

  "That was a long time ago. I think Hank is quite content with his small-town

  newspaper. And every now and then he does keep the selectmen on their toes."

  Zanita drank the last of her coffee. "True, but I'm not content. If I can get a

  story, I can go to a major market."

  "You mean you'll have a legitimate excuse for abandoning Hank. He's put blood,

  sweat, and tears into that paper. Sure, it doesn't have a large circulation, but

  the people around here like it. What's more, they buy it. And you know why."

  Zanita closed her eyes. "Because they trust what they read in the Patriot Sun."

  She regarded Mills. "All the more reason for me to get this story. Old Mrs.

  Haverhill gave this man lots of money because he told her he could cure her

  stomach cancer with a healing. She died this morning."

  "I don't mean this to sound cold, Zani, but the woman had an incurable illness.

  She would've died anyway."

  "True, but she didn't deserve to be bilked and lied to. He took terrible

  advantage of her when she was in an extremely vulnerable position. It was

  contemptible."

  "I agree. But not all psychic healing is bunk. I've read that many medical

  practitioners are incorporating the technique into their practices."

  "Yes, which makes it even more important to expose the frauds. There are some

  people who could genuinely benefit from it. If these people end up with a

  charlatan, it's a tragedy."

  "A double tragedy in most cases, I'm sure."

  Zanita glanced at her watch. "I've got to run. Thanks for the tea and sympathy."

  "You mean coffee and sympathy. Let me know how the class went."

  Zanita nodded as she slung her enormous purse over her shoulder and headed out

  the door.

  About an hour's drive west of the city of Boston, the picturesque town of

  Stockboro, Massachusetts, was surrounded by lovely rolling hills and green

  pastures. This peaceful, verdant land had once hosted a small but significant

  skirmish during the Revolutionary War, and the historical setting was the

  perfect backdrop for an Ivy League campus. In the mid-eighteen hundreds, the

  town leaders had planted the seed, and Hampshire University was duly harvested.

  The community itself was an eclectic blend of intellectuals, jazz musicians,

  artists, a smattering of bluebloods, surviving sixties drop-outs, and farmers.

  All dyed-in-the-wool Yankees.

  It was an interesting community, where locals tolerated all viewpoints, but were

  extremely vocal about their own. Everyone was always up in arms over something—a

  hold-over from Revolutionary days, no doubt.

  Zanita loved Stockboro. It was a place where things always seemed to be

  happening. Alive, moving, and vibrant, its citizens were active in the community

  and cared about the town they lived in. In short, it was a perfect town for a

  newspaper.

  Despite what Zanita had said to Mills, she did not want to leave the 'Patriot

  Sun', her greener pastures were right here at home. What she did want was for

  the Chief to give her some meatier assignments. She knew all too well that she

  was going to have to show the Chief she was ready in black-and-white.

  The course she hoped to take tonight would provide good background information

  for her story. Zanita planned to do a series of articles on the subject of

  psychic healing. Knowing the opinionated citizens of Stockboro, she was pretty

  sure she could stir up a real hornet's nest with the piece.

  Swinging her car into the lot by the student union, Zanita got directions from a

  young coed to the sign-up desk. There, she approached a middle-aged woman, who

  handed her a listing of the extension classes and special seminars being

  offered.

  Quickly scanning the list, she checked off her choice and handed it back to the

  woman behind the desk, who was in the process of hanging up the phone.

  "This is your lucky day."

  Zanita looked up from a circular a student had just handed her. "What do you

  mean?"

  "The class you marked has been filled up since the moment it was announced. I

  just hung up the phone on a last-minute cancellation."

  "You're kidding!" She had no idea psychic healing classes were so popular. And

  if the classes were popular, her articles would really hit the—

  The woman interrupted Zanita's thoughts. "Oh-oh."

  "What 'oh-oh'?"

  "I'm sorry, I should've guessed—there's a huge waiting list for this class."

  She saw her article flying out the window. "Oh, but you can't!" The woman looked

  at her strangely. "I mean, I have to take this class. It's really important to

  me. Please?"

  The woman seemed uncomfortable to be put in this position. Zanita decided to

  press her momentary advantage.

  "You might not even be able to get in touch with any of those people on that

  list at this late time. The class is going to start in an hour. Here I am, ready

  and willing to attend. How will it look with an empty seat? Besides, you

  yourself said it was fate."

  The woman threw up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! You're in. Just don't

  tell anyone what I did." She stamped the form.

  "My lips are sealed. Thanks a lot—I really appreciate this."

  "You should—I've dealt with some of these people on the waiting list, and they

  can get weird when they don't get what they want."

  Zanita's violet eyes opened wide. Perhaps she could get a tip-off here? She

  leaned toward the woman, whispering, "Weird how?"

  "Oh, the usual. They throw an academic tantrum of some kind, and somebody gets

  rearranged. No one would dare mess with that department."

  "Why not?" Zanita took out her pen and pad.

  The woman said seriously, "Because they know how to make your house glow in the

  dark." Then she winked. "Lecture hall 223. Have a nice day."

  Zanita was still gaping at the woman in horror as she turned away to help

  another student.

  Do these psychics intimidate people with their so-called abilities! Was that how

  Xavier LaLeche was able to convince poor Mrs. Haverhill to hand over her bank

  books? She made a mental note to investigate this angle.

  She had just enough time to get a hamburger at the cafeteria. By the time she

  got to the lecture hall, it was fairly filled. Spotting an empty chair in the

  third row, she made her way down the stairs, quickly taking the seat. It was

  strange, but she seemed to be the only woman there.

  Her eyes flicked over the chairs in the hall. All men!

  And a scruffy lot they were, too.