Book 2 in the Blair & Piermont Crime Fiction, Romantic
Thriller Series authored by Donna Warner and Gloria Ferris
A Page Turner with Passion, Crimes, and Memorable Characters
A university professor is reported missing after receiving a chilling threat: “What’s your life worth? Jordan Blair, a Toronto cop, visits a Quebec City private investigator, Darcy Piermont, to explore a passionate connection that began on a Caribbean Island (Book 1). Their week of private time is compromised when Darcy is pressured to investigate the disappearance of his mother’s friend. As they search for Professor Stride, a second victim is discovered. Darcy and Jordan face-off with a felon whose mounting crimes motivate him to be desperate to win.
Buy links for "Death's Footprint"
CHAPTER 2
The Interview
Darcy Piermont scowled at the Rolex on his night stand. The watch had been a gift from his mother last year for his twenty-ninth birthday. Shit, he’d better get his ass moving. Rolling out of bed, he offered a prayer to the god of hiring lotteries that today would produce a winner.
He opened his underwear drawer and sorted through the eclectic collection to find something that matched his mood. He discarded trunks, thongs, and boxers, choosing a pair of purple low-rise briefs.
A second drawer stowed an assortment of T-shirts, with and without slogans. Nope. Today’s interview required a more professional look. From his closet, he scooped up a dress shirt, jeans, and leather sandals and headed to the bathroom.
Darcy showered and shaved quickly, only slowing down to avoid injuring the slight cleft in his chin. A slap of gel to make his blond mini-Mohawk stand at attention, and he was good to go.
He felt fortunate to have scored a townhouse on rue des Jardins, in the trendy Upper Town area of Old Québec City. He was behind schedule in the unpacking department, but c’est la vie.
About to walk past the mountain of packing boxes, he remembered that tonight there better be sheets on the bed. He eyed the sleeping bag he’d been using for the past week. That wouldn’t do for Jordan. Spying a box with the word “Bedroom” scrawled on the side, he tossed it on the bed and slit the cello tape with a utility knife from his dresser.
Dieu merci! Sheets. Which set would she like? White cotton, black silk, red satin? He went with the black silk and skillfully made up the bed, finishing off with a white duvet. He wiped a thin layer of dust from the night tables and dressers with the damp towel from his shower.
Done.
His stomach grumbled as he took the stairs down, two at a time. Whether the complaint was due to its empty condition or last night’s Scotch tasting with a friend he once worked with in Border Services, was anyone’s guess.
He took a hurried slurp of his coffee enroute to the office. Dropping into the chair, he speedread the résumé of today’s applicant.
Five minutes later, his doorbell chimed the opening bars of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. He snickered, and thought he might install a camera on the front steps to capture the expression on visitors’ faces as they considered which of the three white and two black piano keys to press.
He opened the oak door. There stood a young woman studying the brass plaque on the wall above the bell: Enquêtes Piermont.
“Piermont Investigations. I’m at the right place,” she remarked, eyes travelling from the plaque to the piano keys, then up to his face. “Darcy Piermont, I presume. The first door I knocked on belonged to a cranky old dude who said he didn’t want to buy any Girl Scout cookies. He slammed the door in my face.”
She reached out and clasped his hand in a firm shake. “Kelsi Chong.”
“Delighted, Miss Chong. I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting any of my neighbours yet. Something to look forward to, I’m sure. Don’t fret. Thirty years from now, you’ll pay someone to mistake you for a pre-teen. But I digress. Yes, you’ve found me. Not sure if that will make your day better or worse.”
“I guess we’ll see how this interview goes, Mr. Piermont. I’m pumped to dazzle you with my knowledge of your business.”
“Splendid. In that case, do come in.”
The last two interviews had been a bust, and this one could be headed down the same thorny path. Guiding her past the reception area to his office, he marvelled at how Miss Chong could walk gracefully in boots with four-inch stiletto heels. Without them, she’d be five foot nothing.
“Please make yourself comfortable.” Darcy motioned to the leather couch in the sitting area of his office. He sat in the arm chair across from her. Miss Chong gave her short skirt a tug after her bottom touched down.
She eyed the stacks of paper on his desk. “Man, I can see why you need help. Quite a mess you have here.” She shook her head and uttered a soft chiding sound. Her red lipstick made a striking contrast with her almond complexion.
“You aren’t afraid of speaking your mind, are you, Miss Chong? I like that.”
“Nope. And you can call me Kelsi.”
A few stubborn strands of charcoal-colored hair escaped from her up-do. She pushed them back behind her left ear and lowered her designer tote to the rug.
Giving his office the once over, she said, “Nice place you have here, Mr. P. After hoofing it from the bus stop, my throat is as dry as beach sand. Is it too early for a glass of chardonnay?”
Darcy didn’t need to consult his watch. “I believe it is. How about joining me for a cup of coffee instead?”
“I guess. Black with two sugars, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine, then. Be right back.”
In the kitchen, Darcy shook his head. Had he already lost control of the interview? He brought their cups back and set them on the teak table.
Kelsi said, “Ah, thanks, Mr. P.” Her first sip was tentative, followed by a slight gulp.
Darcy collected Kelsi’s résumé from his desk. “I see you’re bilingual. Excellent.” Applicants one and two had run for the door after this question was posed to them.
“Comment bien parlez-vous français?” He waited for her reaction.
“Je parle français Parisien et le français du Québec.”
Darcy blinked and swung into English. “You speak Parisian French and Québec French. Where did you learn to speak Parisian?”
Kelsi took a prolonged sip from her cup. “I have a French-speaking grandmother on my mother’s side. I spent summers with her in Provence when I was a kid.”
“Très bien. That’s one prerequisite out of the way.”
Darcy wrote a note on her résumé, looking up to catch her giving the dolphin tattoo on his left forearm the once-over. “This is the head office for Piermont Private Investigations.”
“That’s why I applied for the job.” She placed her empty cup down and crossed her short, shapely legs.
“Oh? We have branch offices in London, England and in Madrid, Spain. Our head office was in
Montréal until I moved it here last week.”
“Yes, I know about your other offices. Your mother is the CEO and operates from Madrid.
One of your uncles runs the London office. Your father was British and your mother is
Québécois. I checked you out online.”
“Of course, you did. So, where was I? Oh yes. I see from your cover letter that you are enrolled in a distance education course at Humber College in Toronto. You have one more semester to complete to earn your Protection, Security and Investigations Diploma. Correct?” “Oui, Mr. P.”
Darcy winced at her responsive rhyme. “That’s an unexpected plus. Will it be a problem for you to work full-time while completing your course work?”
“Of course not. I’m a woman, hear me roar.” Her impish smile showcased flawless, white teeth.
Darcy dropped his pen. After bending to retrieve it, he noticed Kelsi examining his hair.
“Nice junior Mohawk you have going,” she said.
“Thanks. Now, how are your bookkeeping skills?”
“I not only manage my own finances, I pay my grand-père and grand-mère’s bills since they’re in their late 70s.”
“That’s commendable but will you be able to persuade clients with accounts in arrears to pay up?”
“I can be highly persuasive, Mr. P. With an Irish mother and a Chinese father, I can be as solemn as a mourner at a wake or spout dragon flames from my tongue.”
After Darcy digested that image, he reactivated his own tongue. “Jolly good, then. According to your résumé, you’re proficient with Microsoft Word and Excel.” He resisted the notion of testing her skills in this area. No doubt, she was as capable as she claimed.
They went over the hours of work and salary. “Are you still interested in this position?” “Most definitely,” Kelsi replied, without hesitation.
“Any questions for me?”
“Just one. After I get my diploma, can I do some wet work with you?”
Darcy hesitated before responding. “I hope you mean field work. I hate to disillusion you, but the services I provide lean towards surveillance of unfaithful partners, investigating fraud and embezzlement, and contract work from crown attorneys.”
“Well, maybe things will jazz up when I’m here, “she said with a twenty-two-year old’s optimism. “In the meantime, I’m fine with assignments that will launch my ass out of a chair from time to time.”
“Let’s see how you do with this pile of paperwork first. When are you available to start?”
“I thought I already did.”
“In that case, follow me to your work station. I’d like you to greet walk-in clients and phone enquiries in French and English and screen calls prior to transferring them to me. Our operatives will call my cell number, so you shouldn’t have to deal with them.”
“You got it.”
“Kick back while I make a call. You can fill out the employment paperwork you’ll find on your desk. I’ll join you in a few minutes and give you the password to your computer. And Kelsi, I have a friend flying in today from Toronto, so don’t schedule any appointments until next Monday. You can reach me on my cell if any urgent matters crop up. By the way, my living quarters are upstairs.” Darcy nodded toward the hall and the winding oak staircase.
“Is your friend a woman?”
“Oui. Most definitely.”
“Is she staying here with you?”
“Oui.”
“Hope there’s lots of insulation in the walls.”
Darcy swallowed. “No worries. I had a state-of-the-art stereo system installed. The controls are behind the panel beside the window. You can always punch up the volume.”
“Way to plan ahead, boss.”
“Please call me Darcy unless we have a client and then make it Monsieur or Mister
Piermont.”
“It’s a deal, boss. I mean, Darcy. I have one field-trip left in my university summer course.
Would it be a problem if I left at 3:30 p.m. Friday? I’ll stay late Thursday night.”
“Not necessary. The answering machine can pick up calls that afternoon.”
What would Jordan make of his new hire? God help him if he’d made a holy shit mistake.
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