LITMIR.BIZ

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was a blur until I turned eighteen.”

      “What happened that year?”

      “I left home for college.”

      “Where did you go?”

      “Columbia University.”

      “Was Columbia your first choice?”

      Chandra stared through the windshield. “No. I was seriously considering going to the University of Pennsylvania, then decided an out-of-state school was a better choice if I wanted to stretch my wings.”

      Preston gave Chandra a sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the road. “Mom and Dad didn’t want their baby to leave the nest? Yes or no?” he asked when she glared at him.

      “No,” she said after a prolonged pause. “I decided to go away because my brother and sisters went to in-state colleges. I wanted to be the one to break the tradition.”

      “Where did—” The chiming of the cell phone attached to his belt preempted what he intended to say. Preston removed the phone, taking a furtive look at the display. “Excuse me, Chandra, but I need to take this call.”

      She nodded, smiling. “It’s okay.”

      He pressed a button, activating the speaker feature. “Hey, Ray. Thanks for getting back to me.”

      “What’s up, P.J.?” asked a raspy voice.

      “How’s your schedule?” Preston asked.

      A sensual chuckle filled the car. “What do you need, P.J.?”

      “I need a score for a new play with an early nineteenth-century New Orleans setting.” He shared a smile with Chandra when she winked at him. “It’s a dramatic musical.”

      A pregnant silence filled the interior of the vehicle. “Did you say musical?”

      “Yes, I did.”

      “Hold up, prince of darkness,” Ray teased, laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft.”

      “It’s nothing like that, Ray.”

      “What happened?”

      “I’m collaborating with someone who convinced me to leave the dark side for my next project.”

      “Good for her.”

      “How do you know it’s a she?” Preston asked.

      “I know you too well, P.J. If she was a he, and if it’s a musical, then it wouldn’t have been about nineteenth, but twenty-first-century New Orleans.” His New Orleans sounded like Nawlins.

      Preston wanted to tell Ray that he didn’t know him that well. It had been the same with Clifford Jessup. Cliff had felt so comfortable managing his business affairs that he’d found himself with one less client.

      “Can you spare some time where we can get together to talk about what I want?” he asked instead.

      “I’m free tomorrow. I’d rather get together at your house. Beth isn’t due for another two weeks, but she’s been complaining about contractions. I don’t want to be too far away if and when she does go into labor.”

      The reason Preston had moved into the city was not to conduct business out of his home, but with Ray’s wife’s condition he would make an exception. “That’s not a problem. Better yet, bring Beth with you. If the warm weather holds, we can cook and eat outdoors.”

      The lyricist met his artist wife when they were involved in a summer stock production written by a Bucks County playwright. Ray had written the songs, while Beth designed the set decorations. It was love at first sight, and they married two months later. They’d recently celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary, and now were expecting their first child.

      “It would do Beth good to get out of the house,” Ray remarked.

      “How does one o’clock sound to you?” Preston asked.

      “One is good. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Preston smiled. “One it is.” He ended the call, placing the phone on the console between the seats. Following the images on the GPS, he made a left turn on the road leading to Paoli. “Will you join me tomorrow?”

      Preston’s query was so unexpected that Chandra replayed it in her head. She stared at his distinctive profile for a full minute. “You want me to join you where?”

      “I have a house in Kennett Square, and I’d like you to be present when I meet with Ray Hardy.”

      She sat up straighter, all of her senses on full alert. “Are you talking about the Raymond Hardy?”

      “Yes. Since you suggested a musical, then I’ll leave the music portion of the play up to you.”

      Chandra felt her pulse quicken. Raymond Hardy had been compared to British lyricist Sir Tim Rice, whose collaboration with composer Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber had earned them countless awards and honors in the States and across the pond.

      She gave Preston a skeptical look. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

      “No. My task will be to write the dialogue, while the music will be at your discretion.”

      “But...but I can’t write music or lyrics,” she sputtered.

      “That will be Ray’s responsibility. What I want you to do is tell him what you want. Ray is amazing. Give him an idea of what you want, and within a couple of hours he will have a song written in its entirety.”

      Chandra chewed her lower lip. She was being thrust into a situation where there was no doubt she would be in over her head. And it had all begun with her leaving her journal in a taxi where Preston Tucker had found it. If she’d retrieved her journal and not remarked about Preston’s work, then she wouldn’t be faced with the quandary of whether she wanted to become inexorably entwined in the lives of an award-winning dramatist and lyricist.

      “You’re going to have to let me know a little more about the plot,” she said, stalling for time.

      “We’ll either discuss it tonight or tomorrow morning.”

      “When are we going to have time tonight, Preston? We probably won’t leave my sister’s house until at least eight or nine. And, remember it’s at least an hour’s drive between Philly and Paoli.”

      Reaching over, Preston rested his right arm over the back of Chandra’s seat. “Don’t stress yourself, baby. You can spend the night with me, which means we can stay up late.”

      Chandra looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “I can’t spend the night with you.”

      A soft chuckle began in Preston’s chest before it filled the interior of the Volvo. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about your virtue, Miss Independent. Didn’t I tell you that you’re safe with me, Chandra?”

      His teasing her made Chandra feel like a hapless ingenue instead of a thirty-year-old woman who’d left home at eighteen to attend college in New York. When she returned it wasn’t to put down roots in her home state, but in Virginia. Then she’d left the States to teach in a Central American country for a couple of years. She was currently living with her parents but that, too, was temporary; she was estimating she would move into her cousin’s co-op before the end of the month.

      She rolled her eyes at Preston. “Nothing’s going to happen that I don’t want to happen.”

      “There you go,” he drawled. “After we leave Paoli I’ll drive back to my place to pick up my car, then I’ll follow you back home, so you can get what you need for a couple of days.”

      “A couple of days, Preston! When did overnight become a couple of days?”

      “There’s no need to throw a hissy fit, Chandra.” His voice was low, calm, much calmer than he actually felt. “I need

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