A Steal of a Deal by Ginny Aiken Read Free Book Online

good.
    “Okay,” I say a short while later. “Not even Thanksgiving compares. I’ve eaten more tonight than I ever have before. Who wants to roll me to my bed?”
    Everyone laughs, pats her middle, shakes her head.
    “Oh, all right, you guys.” I pretend to frown. “I’ll walk myself there.”
    “Ooof!” Allison says. “I can’t think of lying down right away. I’m too full.”
    “And too excited,” Glory adds.
    “Want to hang out with me in the lounge for a while?” our makeup guru asks our camera wizard.
    Glory stands. “Sure. I have to check my stuff to make sure nothing got too rattled during the flights. I’d love the company.”
    They go one way, Aunt Weeby, Miss Mona, and I go the other.
    Farooq bows and bows and bows. “Rooms ready,” he adds, then bows again.
    “Sugarplum?” Aunt Weeby says as we head out of the dining room, her voice dreamy. “D’you think the bedroom’s gonna be something out of the Arabian Nights too?”
    I chuckle. “Different continent.” I take another peek over my shoulder at the posh table and chairs and beyond that, the movie-set living room. “Who knows? Maybe it’s even more . . . more .”
    My aunt, better known for brashness than meekness, finally tears her gaze from the carved blossoms on the teak sideboard by the door. “Oh, Andie! I can’t imagine much more.”
    When we reach our room, she doesn’t have to imagine a thing. The room we share is luxurious almost to the point of too much. Gold silk draperies at the windows shield us from any possible chill. The same fabric, in a lighter shade of gold, covers a duvet on each of the two large beds, and a spectacular black-and-ivory Persian rug spreads out almost wall to wall. A huge dresser, topped by an equally vast mirror in an ornate carved frame, matches the two nightstands, and in a corner, a pair of slipper chairs in a warmer gold than the draperies flank a round side table. A lamp draped in sparkling crystal teardrops helps give the room its over-the-top appeal.
    “I’ve never seen anything like it,” my great-aunt whispers. “Me neither.”
    That brings her back to the ground. “But you ain’t lived half as long as I have.”
    “So there you go. You’ve got me beat fair and square, so there’s nothing more to say. This is something else.”
    “That made no sense,” says one of the queens of nonsense.
    “That’s because it’s way past our bedtime—by maybe two or three time zones’ worth of days.” I plop onto the nearest bed. “I call this one!”
    “I’m not picky. I’m so tired, I’m gonna sleep like a hibernating sloth. Oh! Do sloths hibernate?”
    “Beats me. I know they’re slow and sleep a lot . . .” I wrinkle my nose. “Wait! Can’t you come up with something nicer than a sloth? Even Rip Van Winkle would do.”
    Aunt Weeby unzips her suitcase, her small, well-shaped nose high in the air. “I like me my sloths, sugarplum. And if you don’t mind, I’ll be brushing my teeth first.”
    Briefly, very briefly, I wonder if she even knows what a sloth looks like. Not exactly GQ cover material, get my drift?
    Before long, we’re both under the covers. We pray together, whisper our good nights. Then, in that same hushed tone, Aunt Weeby adds, “Glad you came back home, Andie?”
    “I don’t have to think about it. I was glad when I came home, and I’m gladder now. Good night.”
    “God bless you, sweet sugarplum.”
    “The Lord bless you too.”
    “Sweet dreams.”

    Nightmare . . .
    I fight it.
    A woman’s scream . . . pounding footsteps.
    Bad nightmare.
    More screams . . . knocking on a door. Garbled voices, male and female .
    “Andie! Wake up, sugarplum.”
    I roll to my right side, pull the pillow over my head.
    “. . . She sleeps like a rock, I tell ya,” Aunt Weeby says, her voice shaky.
    “But at a time like this!” Miss Mona counters, a hitch in her voice.
    “How’s she to know, Mona Latimer?”
    Aunt Weeby? Wailing?
    I fight the cobwebs of sleep