AGED FOR MURDER

CHAPTER ONE

Olivia Glass had exactly five and a half minutes to manage an unexpected disaster.

It was seven-thirty p.m. on a Thursday night, and she was in the back of an Uber, on the way to meet her boyfriend, Matthew, for dinner at one of Chicago’s hottest new restaurants. He’d been out of town all week and had messaged her that morning with the invite.

Now she had discovered a massive rip in her pantyhose, just above the knee.

Olivia stared in horror.

The hole in the black nylon was enormous. It was at least two inches across, and was starting to run up her leg.

She had no idea when this could have happened. The pantyhose had been perfect this morning when she’d put them on. Since seven a.m. she’d been in her office at JCreative, the advertising agency where she worked as an account manager, spending most of the day in meetings and teleconferences.

After receiving the surprise invite to the trendy Villa 49 from Matt, she’d realized that she wouldn’t have time to go home and change, and had rushed to the shops during the only free half-hour she had. Panicking because she was running out of time, she’d grabbed something off the rack that was shorter and clingier than she usually wore.

Back at the office, buyer’s remorse had descended, and she’d started to wonder if the dress wasn’t too daring for a thirty-four-year-old woman to wear.

“Age is but a number,” she’d told herself bravely. So what if the dress had been designed for an eighteen-year-old? Although she was a little heavier now, it wasn’t as if she’d been a stranger to the gym since then.

As soon as her boss, James Clark, the owner of JCreative, had left the building, Olivia had changed in the restroom at work. She’d run her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair, refreshed her lipstick, sprayed on some perfume, and rushed downstairs to meet her ride.

She hadn’t realized until she saw the damaged pantyhose how pale her legs were. Even though it was the middle of June, she’d been working so hard they hadn’t had a chance to see any summer sun. Through the rip, which Olivia now estimated was about the size of a dinner plate, her skin was blindingly white.

Matt would notice, Olivia knew for sure. He would spot the rip immediately. He was very detail-oriented, which was what made him a highly successful and wealthy investment fund manager. Even though they’d been together for four years, Olivia always tried to look her best for him and make him proud. Her pantyhose disaster would be a publicly embarrassing moment for both of them; the stuff of nightmares.

She had difficult things to confess to Matt during this meal. A wardrobe malfunction would complicate the situation.

For a moment, she considered taking her pantyhose off and arriving bare-legged. She could wriggle out of them in the back of the Uber, and hope that the driver didn’t realize what was happening and give her a one-star rating for using his vehicle as a change room.

She shook her head. Pantyhose removal was not an option. Her legs were positively blue-white, and she already felt self-conscious that this dress was shorter than her usual attire. She needed all the help the black nylon hose could give her.

Briefly, Olivia considered ripping an identical hole in the other leg, before deciding that this was impractical. There was no guarantee it would tear the same way, and in any case, she couldn’t carry it off. She didn’t even feel comfortable wearing ripped jeans.

What to do? The hole was roughly the size of a small car, her destination was now three minutes away, and she had no solutions to her crisis whatsoever.

Then Olivia saw her salvation ahead.

Beyond the next intersection she spotted the signboard for a lingerie and hosiery boutique that looked to be open.

She would ask the driver to drop her there, rush inside, change into a new pair as fast as she could, and call another Uber to take her the rest of the way. She’d be a few minutes late, but at least she’d arrive with a full and undamaged set of clothing.

“Could you please—” Olivia began.

Then her cell phone rang.

Reflexively, she grabbed the call and found herself speaking with James.

“Olivia. Are you still in the office?”

“I’ve just left. Is it urgent? I can check my email immediately.”

Olivia found herself sitting straighter, and she could hear the bright, brisk, professional tone that she instinctively adopted when conversing with her boss.

“Not urgent, but important. We need to meet first thing tomorrow. In the meantime I’ve had some more great feedback on the Valley Wines campaign.”

Olivia felt her heart sink as the Uber accelerated past the boutique. Her only chance had gone. Now they were heading into West Loop, the area characterized by its juxtaposition of old and new—low brick buildings and glass-clad skyscrapers, fine restaurants lining the streets, and a notable absence of any underwear stores.

She was going to arrive at Villa 49 in precisely two minutes with a hole in her pantyhose the size of the International Space Station, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“I’m glad the campaign’s going well,” she said.

“I’ll be sending you an email later, with details about your bonus. You’re going to do extremely well out of this.”

The cab swerved to pass a bus, and Olivia’s purse tipped onto its side. The contents fell out and scattered over the seat.

“You know who Des Whiteley is?” James continued.

“I think I’ve seen him copied on emails,” Olivia said, making a desperate grab for her perfume atomizer as the cab zigzagged again.

“He’s the CEO. The chief executive officer.”

“Of Valley Wines?” she asked.

“No, no. Of their holding company, Kansas Foods. He asked me to pass on his personal congratulations to you. Sales are through the roof.”

“That’s amazing.” Olivia stretched over to reach her wallet, her lipstick, and a rogue Kleenex.

Her eyeshadow, the small compact she always carried with her, was under the Kleenex.

The color was Shimmering Charcoal.

It gave Olivia an idea.

She opened the box and rubbed her finger over the eyeshadow. Then she rubbed it over her exposed leg.

Success. Shimmering Charcoal turned her skin pantyhose-colored. It camouflaged the damage so that it was almost undetectable.

“I told him that your approach to this campaign epitomized our company’s values,” James continued. “Methodical and organized.”

“Organized,” Olivia repeated, scooping up another finger full of eyeshadow.

“Creatively disciplined and results-oriented.”

“Results-oriented,” Olivia echoed in agreement, rubbing the charcoal powder into the gap.

“Planning for every eventuality,” James said.

“Absolutely. Planning.”

She should color in a wider area, Olivia decided, as the pantyhose might shift when she walked, or the run might travel higher. Carefully, she eased her finger under the nylon.

“We’ll speak tomorrow. I’ll be in the office at seven a.m., so let’s start then. We’ll need at least two hours set aside. We’ll have a short one-on-one briefing, and then a group meeting in the boardroom.”

What could it be about? Olivia wondered.

“I’ll see you there,” she said, and he disconnected.

Olivia closed the compact and put it back in her bag.

The success of the campaign had surprised everyone, herself included. As the only woman on the senior executive team, despite her years of hard work, she’d been used to applauding while others’ achievements were lauded. She’d never thought it would be her turn to head up a runaway success. In a way, this campaign had felt a lot like camouflaging the damage to her pantyhose.

She felt as if she’d gotten lucky while winging it, and didn’t really deserve it, or even want it at all.

“You said something?” The Uber driver interrupted her thoughts, glancing back at her. “You were going to ask me a question, then your phone rang.”

“Oh. No, it’s all right now. I thought I needed to stop earlier, but it turns out I didn’t.”

He nodded. “You mentioned Valley Wines. You work for them?”

“Not directly,” Olivia said. “I work for an agency that handles their account.”

“Are they any good? My wife likes one of the California brands. I can never remember the name, but it’s got a pretty label. We haven’t been able to find it recently so I told her she should try another.”

Olivia felt a stab of guilt. Shelf space was limited, and the gains made by Valley Wines meant other brands had lost out.

For a moment, she considered giving a standard response that the wines were great, and his wife must definitely try them. Then she decided not to. After all, she and the Uber driver were strangers, and it was always easier to be honest with strangers.

“My personal opinion?” she said. “Don’t touch Valley Wines. They’re horrible, cheaply made, and not worth the money.”

They had arrived. The cab stopped outside Villa 49.

“Thanks for the advice,” the driver said. “We’ll look for a different wine.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for the ride.” Olivia climbed out.

With her wardrobe disaster under control, it was time to think about what she wanted to say to Matt.

“I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but I’m really unhappy.”

That was going to be her starting point.

Mulling over what she should say next, Olivia walked into the restaurant.