ISBN 1-59426-014-1 ISBN 978-1-59426-014-8

Chapter One

She was born in April, but her parents named her January. By the following morning they had second thoughts and changed the forms. Now, nearly thirty years later, Olivia, nee January, Chatham slipped an emerald green dress over her head and wiggled her hips to adjust it. The top half of the silk and satin sheath fit like a second skin. The skirt flared just below her waist and ended primly at the middle of her knees. Olivia studied her reflection in the mirror, twisting right and left as she tried to see if it made her behind look big. The phone interrupted her inspection.

"Merry Christmas!" she said into the receiver.

"You're still in your room? Why aren't you on the way over?" Josephine Bookman, Olivia's best friend, sounded stressed. She always fretted over her parties, worrying each detail to pieces. Olivia often told her to throw some old records on the stereo, pour potato chips into a few bowls, and get the Twister game out, but Josie never listened. Poor thing. Twister was a marvelous ice-breaker. Even when there wasn't any ice to break.

"Calm down, Josie. I'm on my way downstairs to do some mingling. Then I'll head over to your house."

"Mingle fast, okay? Whatever you do, don't let Alice Parker corner you. She'll start talking about her cats, and that could take hours."

"They're her family. She's just lonely, Josie. It wouldn't hurt you to listen to her sometime, too. You'd make her so happy."

"It'll be my New Year's resolution. I promise to listen to Alice babble about Tinker Bell and Snowflake if you promise to get over here in half an hour."

"Don't worry. I won't lollygag." She hung up before Josie could answer. Josie may stew before her parties, but Olivia had a quirk of her own. She got so excited at the notion of seeing so many friends at once, she turned into a clumsy fool. What was the saying? Two thumbs on left feet? Something like that.

Fluffing her hair, she took a deep, calming breath and crossed to the bathroom to check her makeup a fifth and final time. She hummed Jingle Bells while dabbing Mariella Burani behind her ears. Olivia knew she sang off-key at church and during festive sing-alongs, but for some reason, in this large marble and tile room, she thought she sounded exactly like Barbra Streisand. Marveling at the vagaries of acoustics, she shut the light off and left the room.

Olivia picked her satin purse off the bed and climbed into matching high heel shoes. She turned off the stereo and all but one lamp in the sitting room, then left her suite, closing the door firmly behind her.

As she walked down the hallway toward the second story landing she looked over the mahogany railing, admiring the decorations in the vast entry one floor below. The chandelier had been dimmed, and soft light reflected off gold and silver ribbons and bows, making them appear fuzzy, as if she were looking at an unfocused photograph. Slowly descending the wide staircase, she trailed her hand along the banister. Wreaths, flocking, lights, candles, and miniature towns sitting on tables made the place feel like a fairyland. Her mother had outdone herself with decorations for this year's Christmas gala.

Moving home had seemed natural after the breakup of her marriage to Sam Wallace. She'd shut herself in her rooms, planning to lick her wounds and heal her heart. Two days later Josie barged in and told her she'd wasted enough time mewling over a two-timing warthog like Sammy. Olivia readily agreed, and considered Josie's suggestion that they go on a shopping spree absolutely brilliant. The two women spent a frenzied week in Chicago, giving the term 'Windy City' a whole new meaning. That was six months ago, and Olivia was still living with her parents, still trying to figure out what to do with her life. Leaving Chatham, Wisconsin was out of the question. This was home. She knew everyone in town, and could only think of a handful of people she didn't like. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she slapped a palm on the newel post. Nope, she wasn't leaving Chatham. She'd have to find her future here. Something would come along to spark her interest.

People wandered between rooms on the lower level of the large house. Olivia stopped and exchanged words with most of them. She plucked a glass of wine off the tray a passing waiter held out to her. Another uniformed arm offered a platter of hors d'oeuvres. She picked up a cracker topped with something, stared at it for a moment, and popped it into her mouth as she moved from the library to the living room. Not bad, she thought, and looked for more appetizers. She found several trays of food sitting on a table and sipped her wine as she picked up another mystery tidbit.

Olivia swiveled to survey the room, and as she did her clutch purse slipped from under her arm. She caught it but dropped the cracker. Oh Lordy, why do they always land upside down? Olivia glanced around in embarrassment as she picked up a napkin and bent to clean up her mess. Finished with her task, and certain that no one had seen, she turned and looked into a pair of amused gray eyes.

Good grief, what was he doing here? And why was he standing by her parents? Another lady, one she recognized, completed the grouping. She'd seen the man around town a few times the past couple of weeks, but had never spoken to him and didn't even know his name. He usually wore jeans and sweatshirts, and was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. He wore his dark hair a shade too long, and Olivia sometimes wondered if he'd bothered to comb it that day. Tonight, in his suit and tie and with his hair smoothed back, he looked like the Marlboro Man gone Wall Street. No, she corrected herself. He looked like a predator. A shiver raced up her spine.

"Livvy," her father called out and waved his hand in the air, motioning her over. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Olivia bumped a table topped with full champagne flutes as she moved toward her parents. She glanced down and saw liquid sloshing over the sides of the Waterford crystal, but none of the glasses fell and broke. The tablecloth was probably a goner, though.

"Hi Mom, Dad." Olivia brushed the air beside their cheeks, not wanting to get lipstick on them.

"Livvy," her father said, "this is Professor Mecklenberg. Teaches at the college over in Deerwood. Professor, our daughter, Olivia."

"Call me Cheryl," the woman said as she shook Olivia's hand. Chin-length chestnut curls danced around Cheryl's head. She smiled, but Olivia thought it appeared forced. Her eyes held no warmth. Olivia had taken one of Professor Mecklenberg's classes. She hadn't liked her then and didn't feel comfortable with her now. Taking a small step back, Olivia wondered why Cheryl would have such an immediate and unusual affect on her.

"And this is Tucker Monroe," her father continued, indicating the tall, broad-shouldered man with smoky gray eyes standing next to Cheryl.

"Nice to meet you." Tucker shook Olivia's hand. "I was just telling your parents how much I'm enjoying their party. I think the canapés are the best I've ever had." His eyes sparkled, and Olivia knew he was making fun of her for dropping one.

Olivia raised her chin and looked up at him. "Mom always throws the best parties in town. And she does all the menu planning herself, don't you, Mom?"

Eleanor Chatham blushed as she fingered the pearls at her throat. "Don't carry on, Livvy. It's not as if I make them."

"Tucker here's in the market," Olivia's father told her.

She stifled a sigh. There were few things Richard Chatham enjoyed more than talking about the stock market. That and beating the IRS at their own game were his passions. If this Tucker guy had any tax tricks up his sleeve, he was in for a very long night.

"I dabble in it," Tucker said. "It's a hobby."

"Damn lucrative one by the looks of things." Richard glanced at his Olivia. "Drove up in one of those new sports cars. What's the name of it again?"

"Porsche," Tucker answered with a shrug. "I've always liked cars."

"Another thing we have in common," Richard told him.

Olivia's mouth almost fell open. She'd never seen her father look twice at a car. She doubted he'd know how to lift the hood of one. Why was he kissing up to this guy? And why did the name Tucker Monroe sound familiar? She quickly drank from her wineglass as the answer registered. He was the mysterious man Josie had been raving about lately. Olivia looked at his lopsided grin, dimpled cheeks, and masculine frame. For once Josie hadn't exaggerated. She'd be green with envy when she found out Olivia had actually met him.

"If you plan on sticking around town, you might want to invest in a four-wheel drive car for the winter. We've been lucky, it hasn't snowed yet, but it will. I doubt Porsches do well on icy roads." Olivia set her glass near the edge of a table.

"Good advice. I'll put that on my to-do list." Tucker grabbed the teetering goblet, then moved it to the center of the table.

"Thank you. I seem to be clumsy tonight."

"Livvy's always over-excited before going to a party." Eleanor smiled as if proud of the fact.

"Then you can relax," Tucker said. "You're at the party."

Olivia shook her head. "Not this one. Josie's."

"Josie?"

"One of Livvy's little friends," Eleanor explained.

Olivia put an arm around her mother's shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. She was almost thirty years old, yet her mother still referred to her buddies as her 'little friends'.

"Cheryl recently moved here from Deerwood, Livvy. Tucker's new in town, too. Where are you from, Tucker?" Eleanor asked.

"Chicago, Buffalo, Minneapolis, LA, all over really."

"What an exciting life! How long do you plan to stay in Chatham?"

"I don't know, Eleanor. I guess until I decide to leave. That's usually how it works."

Olivia looked at him suspiciously. Why would anyone move all around the country? Maybe he was running from the law, a fugitive on the lam. The thought made her shiver again. Then he smiled at her and she knew he couldn't possibly be a criminal. He probably just got bored easily.

"I thought I recognized you from the college, but I must have been wrong. The name of the person I'm thinking of wasn't Chatham," Cheryl interjected.

"I took one of your English classes, but my name was Armstrong then."

"Oh," her father said with a nod. "That was when you were married to Eric." He turned to Cheryl and Tucker. "Livvy always takes her maiden name back and moves in with us when she's between husbands."

"You make it sound like I run through husbands the way Elizabeth Taylor does." Olivia felt her face grow warm. "And living here is only temporary, you know that."

"Temporary since June."

Eleanor patted her arm. "There, there, dear. Your father and I love having you here."

"What line of work are you in, Ms. Chatham?" Tucker asked.

"Call me Olivia. I'm sort of between things right now."

"Livvy is very civic minded," Eleanor said. "She does a lot of volunteer work."

"Where do you volunteer?" Tucker stuck a hand in his pocket. He seemed relaxed and at ease. Cheryl put an arm through his and stared at Olivia with the expression of someone who'd found a fly in their soup.

Olivia shrugged. "Nowhere right now. I did work at the library, but the head librarian, Glory Bea Carter, wouldn't let me do anything but check books in and out. Stamp, stamp, stamp all day long. I was almost happy when she fired me."

"Why would anyone fire a volunteer?" Tucker inquired.

"She wanted me to fine people if they brought their books back late. For Pete's sake, how can you fine someone for being a slow reader? The very idea is ridiculous and could break their spirits, make them feel inadequate."

"Why didn't you pay their fines? You could probably afford a quarter here and a quarter there."

"She did, Tucker," Eleanor said. "Glory Bea said that was wrong and encouraged people not to be responsible for themselves. She called Livvy a neighbor. Mercy me, we're all neighbors."

"She said enabler, Mom."

"I don't care what she called it, dear. It was just an excuse to let you go. I think she's one of those people who holds a grudge all their lives." Eleanor turned her attention to Tucker and Cheryl. "When Livvy was a little girl she adored Glory Bea Carter. Every time she saw her she'd shout, 'Golly gee, it's Glory Bea!' and run to her and throw her little arms around the poor woman's legs. Glory Bea never married, never had children. I imagine a youngster with Livvy's enthusiasm was a tad overwhelming to her." Eleanor reached for Olivia's hand and squeezed it. "But we don't let little things upset us. Livvy went on to volunteer at the local clinic. They made her hostess."

"A clinic with a hostess?" Tucker raised his eyebrows.

"Nurse Weathers was mighty territorial. She wouldn't let me behind the counter, not even to answer phones. I suppose a person has to be a bit aggressive to reach her level of success. She and Doctor Plys ended up making a new position just for me. Chatham Clinic Hostess."

Tucker cleared his throat. "Sounds like an interesting job."

"I loved it. I mingled in the waiting room and tried to ease the fears of patients and their families. Sometimes I bought small gifts for them. It's amazing how much a tiny little thing can cheer a person up."

Olivia's father looked at Tucker. "I'm afraid Livvy took her hostess duties a bit too far. So many people stopped in to visit every day, Doc Plys said his waiting room was becoming a social club."

"I got the boot. Personally, I think Doctor Plys overreacted. Firing a person who brings potential customers to your business doesn't make sense to me. Everyone needs a doctor now and then. Why not make a nice impression so they remember him?" Olivia smiled, trying not to let the hurt show. Being fired from two volunteer jobs could certainly lower a gal's self-esteem. Olivia didn't know what she was going to do with her time. Apparently she couldn't even give it away. Pulling her thoughts to the present, she remembered Josie's party and glanced at her watch.

"Good grief, I'm late." Olivia pecked the air by her parents' faces again, and then turned to the others. "Nice to have met you. Enjoy yourselves."

"I hope to see you again, Olivia. It's nice to meet someone so public-spirited." Tucker gave her a wide grin, displaying a bright set of pearly white teeth. Cheryl looked as if she'd just stepped on a bee.

As Olivia moved away from the group, she heard her mother say, "Livvy's always in a hurry."

"Came into the world two weeks early, and hasn't stopped moving long enough to take a deep breath since," her father added.

Her dad, what a kidder. Olivia turned to look at him and saw Tucker staring at her. Ducking her head, she went to the entry, fanning her warm cheeks with one hand. That Tucker, talk about magnetism. The air around him practically crackled. He was even better than Josie had claimed. He had an aura. That was it. She'd explain him to Josie as a man with a huge aura.

Olivia bumped into a woman in a white dress as she backed out of the coat closet. Unfortunately the woman had been drinking a glass of red wine. Zinfandel now decorated her ample bosom.

Olivia grabbed the lady by an arm and steered her toward the kitchen. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure we can get that out. Isn't there some kind of fizzy water that works wonders on red wine?"

The woman patted her hand. "Don't fret, Livvy."

Olivia blinked at her. "Aunt Lucille. I didn't even recognize you. You've lost so much weight."

Aunt Lucille pulled her shoulders straight, clearly pleased by the compliment. "You're the only one who's mentioned it."

"I'm sure everyone else meant to. The party, you know. People forget what they're about to say most of the time."

"You go on to wherever you were headed, honey. I know where the kitchen is."

Olivia blew another air kiss and wiggled her fingers at her aunt as she turned to leave. Poor Aunt Lucille hadn't lost an ounce. She threw her coat over her shoulders and opened the door to find Sammy standing on the veranda, his finger an inch from the doorbell.

"Were you invited or are you crashing?" Olivia asked.

Sammy nodded in the direction of the guests' parked cars. "Does that Porsche belong to Tucker Monroe?"

"Uh-huh." Olivia hurried out the door and pulled it shut behind her.

"If he's invited, I ought to be welcome, too."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He gambles."

"So what? Why are you really here?" Olivia didn't see her car under the portico and remembered she'd had to move it to make room for other vehicles. She turned toward the garage.

Sammy fell into step beside her. "I think we should try again."

"Try with someone else." She stopped and snapped her fingers. "I know, try with your exercise guru. I could hardly believe my eyes when I walked in on you two. She must be double jointed everywhere."

"I made one little mistake. Haven't you ever done something you shouldn't have?"

Olivia put her hands on her hips and looked at Sam Wallace's petulant face. Shaking her head, she bit back an answer. "No, that one's too easy." She began walking again. "Sammy, it's over. It was over the last time you wanted to try again and it'll still be over the next time you think of asking so don't ask because I'm telling you now, it's over." Olivia ground her teeth, hating the way Sammy brought out the ugly side of her. She pulled her keys from her purse when she reached her new Lexus SUV.

"When did you get this?"

"Two weeks ago. It's an early Christmas present from Mom and Dad." Olivia opened the door and climbed into her gift. "You kept our SUV, remember?"

"You got our 'Vette. Did you sell it?"

"It's in storage until summer, and it was mine before we got married, so it wasn't ours. Go away, Sammy. Have a nice life." She pulled the door shut, ignoring his protests.

Olivia started the car and, checking her makeup in the mirror, rubbed a smudge of mascara off her cheek. No wonder that Monroe guy had stared at her. She couldn't even get her makeup on right.

Olivia made her way slowly down the winding drive, awestruck as always at the beauty of the landscape in front of her house. She wondered if her mother had bought every Christmas light in town.

* * *

The next day Tucker Monroe got what he'd been hoping for, something to get his mind off Olivia Chatham. Her father's comment about her moving home between husbands had given him pause, but since he never planned to marry, he shrugged it off. His mind kept straying to long, taffy-colored hair and wide, guileless green eyes. It took the police to snap him out of his musings. When they came to his door, and asked him to go to the station with them for questioning, all thoughts of her flew out of his head.

"Questioning about what?"

"The murder of Cheryl Mecklenberg. Is that your coat sir?" one of the officers asked, nodding at a jacket hanging over the back of a chair.

"Yeah," Tucker replied absently. Cheryl had been murdered? She hadn't made much of an impression on him, but it shook him to hear she was dead. "When was she killed? How?"

The officer picked up the jacket, ignoring Tucker's questions, and felt in the pockets before handing it to Tucker. "We'll talk at the station."

"I'll follow you." Tucker pulled his coat on.

"We'd prefer you ride with us. We'll see that you get home when we're finished." The officer's tone left no room for argument.

Tucker wondered if he should get an attorney, but decided to hold off. It might be something he could handle alone. Asking for a lawyer right away would look suspicious, and the last thing Tucker wanted was public attention and another discussion with an attorney. He'd had enough of both to last three lifetimes.

Olivia Chatham wasn't out of Tucker's thoughts for long. Less than an hour later he realized she was half his alibi.

© Cyndia Depre--all rights reserved