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EPUB 978-0-2286-0698-7
Kindle 978-0-2286-0699-4
Web 978-0-2286-0700-7
Print ISBNs
BWL Print 978-0-2286-0701-4
B&N Print 978-0-2286-0702-1
Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0703-8
Copyright 2019 by Geneviève Montcombroux
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book
To Michael
Pain hammered in Piers’ head. He winced and pulled the covers over his ears to block the insistent ringing. All efforts failed to shut out the noise. With every movement a lightning bolt seared the back of his eyes. He snaked out a hand to grab the phone but knocked it to the floor. More pain. More hammering. More ringing. More blood thundering through his brain.
He finally identified the sounds. Someone was ringing his doorbell and pounding on the door.
“Go away!”
His yell brought on a wave of nausea. Shouts came from outside. The pounding resumed. Unaware of his naked state, Piers rolled over and got to his feet. Eyes only half-open, he lurched across the room into the hallway. His fingers fumbled with the deadbolt. The door burst open. Focused on nothing but his pain and his roiling stomach, he propped himself against the wall.
A shrill whistle drilled into his ears.
“Well, my friend, look at you!”
The words reached him through a fog. Piers opened his eyes fully. His tongue slurred. “Clayton! What the hell... you doing... here?”
Clayton Tomlisson cast a glance at the man behind him. “I told you we’d find him hungover. Let’s chuck him in the shower.”
Recognition seeped through to Piers’ consciousness.
Mark... I’m dying. Read my will...”
“Shut up and save your strength. It’s way past noon and we’ve got to talk before the police arrive.”
Half carried by his friends, Piers ended up in the shower. In an unkind gesture Mark Bergson opened the cold tap. Piers yelped and cringed in the corner of the stall. After a while, the water numbed his throbbing head. He shivered, turned off the tap and staggered out. Mark held up a thick terry robe. They pushed him on his bed and got clothes out for him. Somehow, he managed to get dressed.
Escorted by his friends, Piers made it to the living room.
He sat gingerly on the couch. Clayton handed him a mug of coffee. Without a word, Piers drank. While not hot enough to burn his mouth the pungent liquid was warm enough to stop his shaking.
Mark pressed a couple of aspirin in his friend’s hand. “Swallow them. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
Before any time had passed, Clayton exploded. “Do you realize what you have done?”
Piers’ head split in two. With effort, he willed the pain away. “What did I do? I don’t remember a thing.”
Clayton lowered his lanky frame onto the arm of the couch.
“Ask us if we’re surprised. Apparently, you were the life and soul of the party.”
“The party... I left.”
“You drove off with Tracy.”
An instant of silence. Piers closed his eyes. The memory hit him. He wailed. “Ooh! No!”
From somewhere deep inside a rebellious flame sparked to life. Piers shook his head and immediately regretted it. By sheer willpower, he stiffened his shoulders. “We argued. She told me she was pregnant but she was going to have an abortion. I didn’t want her to do it. I promised support. She told me there was no need. It was her body. I think I was angry. I yelled at her too. We were fighting. Then the bang.”
“How did you leave the scene of the accident?”
“I don’t know. I was in the grass. I was sick. I don’t know after that.”
Clayton stood up. “I’ll make more coffee. Muffins are thawing in the microwave.”
“Mark, what happened?”
“You hit a minivan. Two people and their baby were killed. Tracy was killed. If you hadn’t left the scene of the accident and called 911, they could possibly have been saved. By the time a car drove by, it was too late.”
Piers closed his eyes. “NO!”
“The police traced your car to your sister and your father called me.”
“They’re coming to arrest me.”
“Yes.”
Clayton returned with a plate of steaming muffins and a pot of coffee. Piers ate in silence and managed to keep the nausea at bay. His head still painful but clear.
“I’m going to prison?”
“We’ll get you a deal. Your father already stalled the police to give you time before they come for you.”
Piers swallowed and drank the black coffee. Tears pooled around his eyelids. “No, I don’t want any privilege... I committed a crime.” He bent his head. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” He lifted his head. “Clay, Mark.” He held up a hand. “You’re my witnesses. I vow never to touch booze again. Not to my dying day.”
“That’s a step in the right direction. Here, have another muffin. You’ll need all your strength and it’ll absorb the left over alcohol.” Mark pushed the plate toward Piers.
“I’ll have to tell dad. I won’t be available.”
“It’s not as if you had an executive position.”
Piers laughed bitterly. “You’re right there. And what about the fitness commercial scheduled for... I can’t remember when?”
“Well maybe your brother can step in.”
“T-Bo doesn’t work well in front of the camera.”
Mark chuckled. “You mean he doesn’t like the groupies waiting for you at the store to beg for your autograph?”
Bitterness laced Piers’ tone. “If they buy, who cares whether they use the equipment or not? Like the commercials say, Reddington Sporting Goods – all your fitness needs.” He put his head in his hands. “Those poor people... I killed them. They lost their lives because I was a drunk... Do they have family?”
“A ten-year-old daughter who was away at camp,” Mark said.
“How will she ever forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?”
The doorbell rang. Clayton opened the door to the uniformed officers.
Piers shuddered as the prison gate slammed shut behind him. He was free. Older, wiser maybe, and a lot tougher. This was just like in a movie. He blinked in the pale april sun. Mark, his lawyer, took him by the elbow.
“Come on! Your father’s waiting.”
“I’m not going.”
Mark propelled his friend to his car. “Everything is behind you now. You must get on with your life.”
“Yes, my life. Tracy doesn’t have her life. Mr. and Mrs. Brockton don’t have theirs. Baby Carmen doesn’t-”
“Enough! You made a mistake and paid your dues to society. Wallowing in bitterness won’t change the tragedy, but you can make a difference with your life. Start with your father. He’s holding a job in the company for you.”
“Reddington Sports can do without me.”
Mark sighed. “Let’s go to my place for tonight and talk.”
The bitter fold on Piers lips remained while he settled himself on the plush seat of Mark’s BMW.
“My father didn’t forgive me. I want to go far away.”
“Your mother-”
“They didn’t come when I needed them most. When I was in the depth of despair. When I wanted to die. Now I want to go away to find who I can be. How can I live, when a young girl is mourning her parents, her baby sister. When parents are mourning their children and their grandchild.”
“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”
Piers gave a rough laugh. “I could have done it my first day in prison. Let the inmates kill me any time after that. Somehow I didn’t. I’ve been granted a life. I need to find out what to do with it. But I can’t do it here. I’ll go west or north. Yukon. Yes. I’ll go to the Yukon Territory.
Mark remained silent for a while. “Maybe you’re right. When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“It’s Sunday, the banks are closed.”
“I’m not touching my account. I’ve got a few bucks in my pocket from working in the jail. I’ll take a few clothes.”
Mark shook his head and pulled into his parking spot. “Your stuff is in the spare bedroom, I have a couple of hundred with me, I can go to an ATM for more.”
Piers straightened in the seat, hand on the door handle. “That will be enough. I can work. Thanks for all your support.”
“Friendship means something, Piers. Don’t you forget my number.”
For the first time in two years, Piers smiled.
Piers stared again at the hand-written sign taped to the store window.
HELP WANTED - APPLY WITHIN
He shifted his carryall from one hand to the other. The gray street with the piles of road sand left over from winter filled him with gloom. He looked again at the sign. A job in a tacky pizza parlor was not his idea of a great career move. But they were looking for help and he was looking for work... desperately.
He had made it on the bus to Ontario. The end of winter wasn’t a good time to travel. Then he had so little money left he had to get off in the middle of nowhere, near a place called Cochrane. A road repair crew gave him two days of work holding the stop-and-slow flag while their signalman was sick. Enough money to buy a meal and continue on the bus up to Thunder Bay. The Yukon was still a long way away. Finding work was taking longer than he had expected. His stomach growled again. If it hadn’t been for the independent trucker who gave him a ride into Winnipeg, he’d still be huddled at the outdoor table of a roadside café. He had noticed the loose tie-downs on the truck’s load and had run up to stop the driver.
He shut his eyes and tried to recall how long it had been since his last real meal. It must be at least two days. Even a couple of nights at the Salvation army hostel had drained his meager funds. At least he’d been able to clean up. At the soup kitchen, he was turned away because he wasn’t registered. As he walked out, a small hand had pushed a bun in his. The petite Asian woman smiled and hurried away. He chewed on the piece of sausage and white bun slowly to make it feel like a meal.
Last night, he had found a park and considered spending the night on a bench. Then thought again. Manitoba in late April was not the place for sleeping rough, not when it still dipped way below freezing at night. Back in the Annapolis Valley, flowers would be in bloom. His sailing boat would be bobbing at her mooring. Here, crews hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up the mess left by the snowplows. The Red River was still encased in ice. His last dollar paid for a bed at a homeless shelter.
No one would have known his job prospects would narrow down to employment at Flavio’s Pizzeria. If they wanted him. After so many job rejections since he had arrived, a tremor of apprehension clawed at the back of his neck. This time they had to want him. It was his last chance. He glanced again at the building. Flavio’s Pizzeria, and the empty store next to it, stood in the middle of a large vacant lot, a sort of overflow parking lot for nearby offices and factories.
He squared his shoulders and pushed open the door. He had hardly crossed the worn threshold when a soft feminine voice greeted him.
“Good morning, sir. And what can I serve you with?”
Piers’ eyes focused on the slim brunette behind the counter. A shockwave darted through his body. The sight of a woman had never done that to him before. His throat tightened. He forced out a few words. “Good morning. I... I see from the sign you’re wanting help.”
The woman smiled. Piers reckoned she was in her mid-twenties.
“That’s why it’s there.”
“I’m looking for a job.” The words still sounded alien on his tongue even after having said them perhaps a thousand times. At this point, he was reduced to begging.
He watched the brunette’s smile widen. It lit up the otherwise dingy interior.
“You’ve come to the right place,” she said. “You drive, don’t you?”
“I drive.”
“We need a delivery person. You might also have to help out in the kitchen. How do you feel about that?”
Piers shrugged. “I’ll do whatever is needed. I’ve no experience in the pizza business, mind you, but I’m willing to learn.” He couldn’t wrench his gaze off her face. The exquisite oval was illuminated by almond-shaped, green eyes, a green so deep it mesmerized him. Her absence of makeup and lack of sophisticated manners were a refreshing change from... He decided it was time to stop thinking of his former life.
The young woman pulled open a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “Fill this in, please. It’s a standard application form.”
Piers took the offered pen. He swiveled the paper toward him and began filling in his personal details, with the careful omission of the last two years and a slight spin on his former employment. His hand shook. Lying didn’t come easy. A faint sheen of perspiration dampened his brow. He wrote his first name and printed his second name in bold but left out his last name. If she asked for his driver’s license... He added Reddington in small scratchy letters spilling most of it into the adjacent printed space.
The woman’s voice startled him. “Tell me, why is a guy like you applying for a job here?”
A surge of panic coursed through his chest. He looked up to find those green eyes drilling into him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I can tell you’re not a working man. Your hands are too smooth. Your nails are neat and trim. Neither do you strike me as a student looking for part-time work. Why are you here?”
The forcefulness of her tone paralyzed him. He marveled at the way she seemed able to pin him down. A specimen on a display panel. It scared him. He scrambled to come up with a convincing answer. “Er, I used to have an office job.”
“So what happened?”
“Got downsized.” He sliced the air with his hand. “My position was eliminated. Cut.” He wondered if she would ask for references.
She nodded. “It’s happening more and more.”
He bowed his head and resumed the task of filling in the form. This job search was a tougher assignment than he had imagined. After fifty retail job and construction site rejections, he was down to this. His stomach gurgled, the hunger a constant reminder that things weren’t running smoothly.
“You’re a young guy. There must be tons of jobs in a city like Winnipeg.”
“Yeah, and two hundred applicants for each one.”
He caught the look of curiosity in her eyes. Curiosity mingled with a suspicion that compressed her lips. He promptly returned his attention to the form. Again, her voice, now with a harder edge, intruded on him.
“You’re wearing too expensive clothes to be an ordinary office worker. And if I’m not mistaken that’s a Gucci bag you have there.”
Piers summoned all his inner resources to remain calm. This woman was too darned observant for his liking. He regretted his lack of attention to details before embarking on this madcap journey. “I just happen to like neat clothes. I spent all my spare cash trying to look... trying to impress potential employers.” The lies now rolled off his lips so easily, it scared him.
She leaned over to examine the form. Piers got a close up view of her tight chignon. Not one shiny hair out of place under the invisible net.
She straightened. Again, the third-degree gaze. “From Halifax? Why Winnipeg?”
Piers took a deep breath. He hadn’t come from Halifax. Montreal was home. But he had a cottage in the Annapolis Valley. So it was only half a lie. What rotten luck, finding a woman with a mind like a steel trap in a joint like this. “You know the old saying, go west, young man, seek your fortune.” He wasn’t going to tell her Winnipeg was only a stop on his way to the Yukon, a place where they didn’t ask many questions. Yukon Territory, Dawson City, the end of the road.
“Fat chance of making your fortune here. Ever since Flavio’s heart attack, we’ve been struggling to stay afloat.”
“Flavio’s the boss, right?”
The woman nodded. Piers detected a new softness in her eyes.
“How many employees do you have?”
“Only me. I’m the manager and chief cook rolled into one. I also do deliveries when Mrs. B. comes in.”
A silence fell between them. She looked away, giving Piers a chance to admire the graceful profile of her face and the tantalizing sweep of her neck. Her Flavio’s Pizzeria apron molded her shapely figure.
He mentally shook himself.
When she spoke again, her voice carried a hint of vulnerability behind the tough exterior. “I just hope I can get the business going again now that you’ll take over deliveries. Flavio has helped with some of the food prep but he’s busy with his therapy.”
“How bad are things?”
“Only a handful of loyal customers remain. Yet our pizzas are the best in town. Handmade from scratch. No premixes.”
At the mention of food his stomach complained audibly.
Her face melted into a grin. “Hungry?”
“It’s been a long time since breakfast.” He omitted to tell her he meant breakfast the previous day. Or was that the day before yesterday? He had lost track.
“Come over to this side and we’ll have a slice.”
“You mean I’m hired?”
“Sure.”
Relieved, Piers smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Nicole Desmond. And you’re...” She picked up the form. “Piers Sonder.” She looked at him, half smiling, half frowning, as if made nervous by his closeness. “Piers. That’s a nice name. Unusual.”
He sidled around to her side of the counter. “Not to me. I’ve carried it around for three decades.” His fear and fatigue dropped away. She obviously didn’t recognize him from the fitness commercials. She obviously didn’t associate him with the sorry case the media had made of his fatal drunk driving accident. Though perhaps people’s memory was short and what was national news three years past was now archived at the back of the brain.
Nicole’s lips formed a smile. Piers guessed she hadn’t been doing a lot of smiling lately. No wonder if the pizza business was heading south.
“This is the kitchen. Needless to say we keep it spotless. That’s to ensure the health of our customers as well as satisfying the health inspector.”
Piers dropped his bag by the door. Nicole took a pizza out of a warming oven and cut it in four.
“I must keep a slice for old Mr. Knopf. He never fails to come in at noon.”
She slid the generous slice onto a plate and handed it to Piers. The two of them ate in silence, standing up. Piers made a huge effort not to wolf down his portion.
The door chimes jangled.
Nicole glanced at the wall clock. “That must be him now.”
She packed a slice of the remaining pizza in a carton and brushed past Piers. He eyed the last slice but gauged it impolite to snag it. She was probably saving it for her boss.
His boss too, now.
She returned and must have read his mind.
“Yes, that one is for Flavio. He should be back soon. I should teach you the basics of preparing the dough.”
In another time, Piers would have been tempted to crack a joke about knowing how to make dough. His sense of humor had vanished on that Sunday early morning when his good friends Mark and Clayton had shaken him out of his post-alcoholic stupor to tell him he had killed four people.
Though relieved at having finally landed a job, he knew his situation was still precarious. Besides, from the look of it, there wasn’t much about Flavio’s Pizzeria to provoke mirth.
Over the next half hour, Piers was initiated into the secret of making pizza dough of just the right consistency. From there he graduated to mastering the various toppings.
The back door opened and a tall, corpulent man came in.
“Hey, mia Nicole, guess what? My weight went down and the doc is satisfied.”
Piers reckoned that in the past Flavio had been a walking ad for his pizza shop.
Nicole clapped her flour-white hands. “Congratulations! And how were the exercises today?”
Flavio shook his head. “It’s hard on a guy who’s never exercised since high school. But I do it. Got me a membership at the gym.”
“Good for you.”
“Mrs. B. been in?” His inquiry had an embarrassed ring to it.
“Not yet.” Nicole’s eyes sparkled with glee. “But she’ll be here soon.”
A look of anticipation flickered over Flavio’s face. Piers moved from the corner of the kitchen.
Flavio acknowledged the newcomer. “And who have we here?”
“Flavio, this is Piers Sonder, our new jack-of-all-trades. Piers, meet Flavio Bellini, our boss.”
Flavio extended his hand. “Hi there, young fella.”
Piers shook the hand, aware of the man’s eyes boring into him. Once more he felt like a bug under a microscope. He schooled himself to remain calm. Flavio struck him as the kind of man no one could fool.
“So, you come and learn to make pizzas? Good! And you can drive. You’re a godsend.” His eyes receded into his head as he gave Piers the once-over.
Piers clamped his jaws. He mustn’t falter now or the man would see right through him and trick him into revealing why he should want to work in a pizza parlor.
Yet he figured he owed his new boss some kind of explanation. “I fell on a streak of bad luck a while back. Gotta thank you for giving me a break.” In that he wasn’t lying. His inability to get a job in his area of expertise, an euphemism if there was one, or any job at all, was rotten luck.
Flavio’s look under his taught eyebrows sent a shiver of fear down Piers back.
“You’ll do.”
An intense relief washed over Piers. He had no doubt that the man knew he was a criminal just out of jail. Gratitude swept through him.
The phone rang. Flavio picked up the receiver. “Sure, ma’am. We’ll have them to you at four o’clock on the dot.” He jotted down an address. “Thank you. Goodbye.”
He turned to Nicole and Piers, a grin on his face. “Okay, we have two extra large bacon pizzas for a birthday party.”
“Great,” Piers said. “Where do I deliver them to? I’ve got to learn the city.”
Flavio extracted a dog-eared map from under a heap of papers and spread it on the counter. “We are here. A stubby finger traced a line on the map. “The delivery is over here, Baker Bay.” He folded the map and handed it to Piers. “Now, let’s make those pizzas.”
Nicole removed the Help Wanted sign from the window. She lingered behind the cash register. A worry line creased her forehead as she eyed the kitchen. The sight of her new employee wearing expensive but rumpled clothes troubled her. Yet there was something appealing about him. She couldn’t place the feelings he aroused in her. Probably relief that he was willing to work for basic wages. All the same, he was just too good looking, too refined to be mixing pizza dough and making deliveries.
There was something hard about him, something tragic.
She should have asked for references, which she ought to follow, but she didn’t even want to read his application past his name in case she had to reject it. She desperately needed someone to help. If no one, the business would have to close. Flavio would assess him. Her boss had an infallible knack for detecting bad guys. Nobody knew that he had sometimes hired a released convict to give him a chance and a reference. Was Piers one of those? That haunted look in his eyes when he didn’t know she was watching wasn’t the look of the everyday man. Why else would he have emphasized a second name, making his real surname almost illegible? It didn’t ring a bell of known wanted men. But then, those most wanted men were not likely to come and ask for a job with their stomach growling with hunger. And she couldn’t explain why she somehow trusted he wasn’t a criminal.
The chimes sounded. A middle-aged woman in a faux-suede jacket and gray pleated skirt entered. “Hello, Nicole. How’s it going today?”
“Great Mrs. B. I hired a new helper this morning. He’s in the kitchen with Flavio.”
“What’s he like?”
“Nicole paused. “I don’t really know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You hired him, didn’t you?”
“What I mean is I can’t make heads or tails of him.”
“Ha!” Her eyes twinkled. “A young man.”
Nicole nodded.
“But not a teenager?”
“No, I’m not hiring kids these days. Most of them work hard when they’re here but then they disappear on us just when we need them most.”
“It doesn’t mean they’re all like that.”
Nicole sighed. “I know, but at a time when we are stretched so thin we have to have someone reliable.”
“What else about this young man?” An amused look lit up her face.
“Why don’t you go and check him out for yourself. Then let me know what you think. Flavio’s initiating him into the finer points of pizza making.”
Warmth colored Mrs. B.’s voice. “Flavio’s back from therapy?”
Nicole nodded. Lynne Bancroft walked into the kitchen. Nicole followed close behind.
“I hear we have a new employee.” Lynne dropped her purse on a chair.
Flavio straightened his back. “Lynne, I’d like you to meet Piers Sonder. Piers, this is our award-winning volunteer, Mrs. Lynne Bancroft.”
Piers held his hand out. Lynne put hers behind her back.
He glanced down at his floury hand and laughed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Bancroft.”
“I’m delighted, Piers. Don’t believe a word of what Flavio is going to say. But somebody’s got to look after him.”
“Uh-oh, I know what’s coming,” Flavio said.
“Right. Have you taken your walk for today?” Her voice carried an intimate edge.
“Not yet. Must show our new worker the way around the kitchen. We’ve got a birthday party order for this afternoon. The dough needs to be tossed just right.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.” She turned to Nicole. “Are classes nearly finished? How’s it going?”
“Very well. I got top marks on my last assignment.”
Piers lifted his head. His eyes met Nicole’s. Then he returned to his task.
Flavio pointed to the mixing bowl. “Now, take that dough in your hand. But you’ve gotta concentrate.”
Piers scooped up the dough. It stretched and he caught it with his other hand.
“Gently, boy, gently. It’s like caressing a woman’s breast, soft yet firm. Now, a little twist of the wrist and up it goes in the air. Catch it lovingly.”
Nicole flushed and busied herself with cleaning one of the ovens. Heat rose in her cheeks. It was not the first time she had heard Flavio explain handling the dough in words of lovemaking. Previously, it went past her with no more effect than if he had said “Use steel wool on the oven.” Her reaction disturbed her.
Piers applied himself to his task and won the gruff approval of his boss. Flavio hung around until Nicole had shown Piers the correct method of adding the required toppings.
Flavio ripped off his apron and tossed it aside. “Okay, enough. See I’m sitting down and resting. It’s been a busy day.”
Nicole took up a mop and set about cleaning the pizzeria. Lynne pointedly stood by the door. Flavio stood and paused. “Don’t stay too long, Nicole, okay?”
Nicole bristled. “Flavio, we can’t afford to close up shop early. We do our best business with the movie theater crowd. At least at the end of the week.”
“I still worry about you walking home alone in the dark.”
Lynne interrupted. “Now, now, don’t you fret. Nicole’s been doing that trip for how many years?”
Nicole laughed. It had become their little ritual but deep down she appreciated Flavio’s fatherly concern. “Closer to ten than I care to admit. You know I’m careful even though this neighborhood is pretty safe. Off you go, you two. I’ll keep an eye on our apprentice.”
Flavio was about to add another recommendation but Lynne dragged him out with her.
After the door closed behind them, Nicole grinned at Piers. “He’s supposed to work only half a day and take a nap in the afternoon besides the therapy. If it wasn’t for Mrs. B., he’d never do it and he’d be heading for another heart attack.”
“He’s lucky to have two caring ladies looking out for him.”
Memories crowded Nicole’s mind but she shook them off. “He was good to me at a time when I was young and inexperienced.”
“Did I hear you are studying?”
“I’m in my final year of an accounting degree at the U of M, University of Manitoba, that is. Studying part time takes longer.” Her voice quavered with a hint of self-consciousness. He was going to think she was a slow learner or none too bright. She couldn’t explain that taking only one class at a time left her with a little cash with which to continue the search for her baby, a little boy now. But that was none of his concern.
“Don’t apologize. Lots of students do their degrees part time.”
She sighed. “It’s been a long haul.” Her attention came back to his hand. “Cut the green peppers thinner.” She deftly caught the offending piece and sliced it neatly in two. Electricity zinged up her arm as her fingers brushed his.
“You’re a whiz with a knife.”
“Practice, that’s all.”
She eyed him up, not trusting his sexy voice or his persuasive charm. The sound of his voice, soft yet rich, but not deep like Flavio’s, sent tiny shivers up and down her spine. She could begin to like this man too much.
The timer pinged on one of the ovens. Nicole donned a pair of mitts and dragged out a fragrant, golden-crust pizza. Before she could place it in the warming oven, the front door chimes sounded. She dropped the mitts and went out to greet the customers.
“Hi Jack, hi Betty. What’ll it be?”
“Two slices of your best,” Jack said.
“You’re in luck, I just this minute took one out of the oven.”
Betty patted the back of Nicole’s hand. “Congrats! Jack told me you got top marks again on an assignment.”
“Thanks.”
At that moment, Piers appeared with two slices on a plate and handed them to Nicole. She wrapped them and pushed them across the counter.
Jack paid and the pair went out.
Piers bent toward the window to look at the retreating customers. “Who are they?”
“The guy is Jack Wilshire. He’s in one of my classes. Betty too but I don’t know her as well.”
“I stuck the two birthday pizzas in the oven. When they’re done, what do I carry them in?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” She led the way to the kitchen. “These are the insulated containers. Make sure you take the map.”
Piers refolded it and stuffed it into his back pocket. The timer went off. Nicole deftly slid the pizzas onto a disposable platter and placed it inside a carton.
“Unzip the container, please.” She put the carton into the holder. “Thanks. In the van you put the insulated holder on the middle rack of the metal cabinet. It’s normally heated, but something’s broken.”
“An electrical problem?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow morning. Not that I’m any good at that sort of thing, but I like to tinker. You never know, I might get lucky.”
Nicole smiled with an unexpected warmth. Despite her deep feeling that something was out of place with her new employee, she had to recognize he had a winning way about him. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad, after all, having him around. She liked the way he pitched in willingly. “You’re on. Getting a pro is expensive.”
Piers opened the back door. A bark stopped him. He looked down at a black pup, standing squarely on his legs.
“Good dog, Snowflake. Sit and shake a paw,” Nicole said.
“Snowflake?”
Nicole bent and patted the dog head. “He turned up starving in the middle of a snowstorm last February. Just a little pup.”
“How old is he now?”
“Probably six months according to the vet.”
Piers shifted the container to one hand and offered the other to the dog to sniff. Snowflake made a thorough inspection of Piers’ hand. He then diverted his attention to Piers’ shoes and pants. His wagging tail stirred the air.
“I made him a shelter in the corner made by our shop and the shop next door.”
Piers stepped forward to view the dog enclosure. “The store next door is bigger than yours?”
“It is by a good ten feet. Lynne got the chain link pen. We close the gate at night. He’s never moved from here and he stays out of the way of customers parking in the back. The vet thinks he might be a pure Labrador.”
“A jet black dog called Snowflake!” Piers chuckled. “I guess he doesn’t mind.”
Nicole laughed. “It took him all of five minutes to learn his name.”
“See you later.” Piers stowed the pizzas in the van.
For a long while after Piers had driven off, Nicole stared at the empty parking lot. Snowflake nudged her hand and she absently stroked his head. Unanswered questions hummed through her brain. Mostly, questions about Piers Sonder. She had the distinct impression he was being driven by something more than the need to earn a few dollars at minimum wage. In her mind’s eye she could see him getting a role in a Hollywood blockbuster without even trying. That voice of his... Surely they didn’t all speak like that down East. There was something special about him, a compelling mix of intimacy and authority. Yet there was a bleak look in his eyes. She shook herself out of her trance and went in. Still troubled, she wiped down the already gleaming oven door.
A flush came to her cheeks. She imagined the scores of women that he must have enthralled with his sexy smile. His stylish clothes troubled her too. Close up, her eye had detected that he hadn’t changed his shirt in a couple of days, but that did nothing to diminish the obvious quality of his clothes. Didn’t he have a place to sleep?
And the man was educated. Anyone could tell that from his speech and manners. He was the first employee to hold open a door for her. Not that she expected it from anyone, but she liked it. The old fashioned gesture spoke of good breeding. Piers was an enigma, right enough, one she didn’t have time to wrestle with at that moment, and to be honest didn’t want to.
She had one more phone call to make to yet another agency.
Her heart tightened whenever she thought about the baby they’d taken away from her. With the new awareness of adoptees to discover their biological parents, she prayed that the same applied to mothers seeking their surrendered children. The internet had proved a rich source of information. She spent as much time as she could surfing on Jack’s computer. There was little chance that a nine-year-old would be looking for his birth mother. All the same, she had to try.
Her savings had been used up paying the private investigator she had hired to trace the nurse who had handed the baby over to the agency representative. If only at the time she had thought of demanding the name of the agency. Only a teenager, and emotionally distraught, she’d been unable to think straight. They sedated her to calm her down. When she had come round, they accused her of being ungrateful. The baby, they said, would be much better taken care of by adoptive parents. In the depth of despair, she had fled the hospice for single mothers.
With Piers helping in the business, she’d have more time for her search. She sighed. Her thoughts drifted back to Piers. There was something about the way his light brown wavy hair framed a perfect face. His face was new to her, yet she had the impression of having met him before. She couldn’t pinpoint it though. If he had confessed he was really an out-of-work movie star, she wouldn’t have doubted it for one second. She tried to brush off the image of those brown eyes. No, not just any brown, more like a warm chestnut. The long lashes, lean cheeks and stubborn chin below a well-defined mouth sent her heart leaping every time he came close. His high forehead contributed to that killer appeal of his. He’d make a great TV hero.
Whatever he was, she sensed only too well the blatant sensuality he exuded when their eyes met. She was used to men ogling her with lust on their faces. Piers was different. Respect and kindness shone in his eyes when he looked at her.
Her last relationship had scared her. The moment she told the guy about her search for Christopher his interest cooled off. He wasn’t prepared for commitment. In retrospect, nor had she been. At least not with him. She placed her faith in finding Mr. Right. Until he came along, she wasn’t about to bestow the gift of sex on anyone else.
Once when she was an innocent girl of fifteen, she had fallen under the charm of a too-good-looking man. Little Christopher was the result. Not again, never again.
She wondered if the child’s adoptive parents still called him Christopher. The nurse who took him knew she had named him Christopher. It was on his hospital bracelet. For two months before the birth she had known in her heart that it was a boy. Full of wonder at the life growing inside her, she had talked and sung to him.
A tear pooled in the corner of her eye. She grabbed the phone and dialed.
Piers navigated his way through the downtown Winnipeg rush hour traffic. At every red light he consulted the map. He turned onto a congested roadway and found himself stuck in the middle lane when he needed to exit. A few honks later, he reached the turn in safety.
Finally, he entered the suburbs and located the Baker Bay address. He parked and glanced at the bare trees. Back home, green leaves were emerging to give the landscape a sheen of tender spring color. Here, the buds were barely forming.
Shrieks of laughter greeted him as he strode up the walk to where a somewhat harassed young woman stood in the open doorway.
“Pizzas for a birthday party.”
“You’re a savior! Thanks for coming on time.”
“Nothing like a few mouthfuls of pizza to keep the youngsters happy.”
The woman laughed. “At least for a short while.” She handed Piers a couple of bills.
Piers jaw sagged. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t have enough change.” He reddened in confusion.
“That’s fine. Just keep the change.”
He recovered from the momentary surprise. “Thank you very much.”
Piers turned back to the van and the woman disappeared into the house. The heat of embarrassment didn’t fade immediately. This was new for him. He drove the van down the block and parked. While the big tip made him happy, he was struck by the strangeness of it all. This was the first time in his life that someone had actually tipped him. Normally, he was on the giving end.
Well, you got yourself in this situation. So get used to it. Maybe the humility will help atone for your crime.
Taking himself to task helped restore his self-control. I’m successful in a job! A real job. A brief second, he wished his father could have seen the scene on the doorstep of that house. No. He didn’t want to think about his father.
He put the van in gear and drove to the nearest plaza. The aroma of frying burgers made his nose twitch. His stomach tightened painfully. Later. Later he would have a piece of pizza to satisfy his endless hunger.
A bank was still open. He walked up to a teller and asked for change for one of the bill. A warm glow of satisfaction accompanied him all the way back to Flavio’s Pizzeria. Maybe this job wasn’t going be that bad after all.
He patted Snowflake’s head and whistled a few bars. The dog cocked his ears.
The back door squeaked as he opened it. Nicole stood by the center table. He flashed her a warm smile as he handed her the money.
“So, how did your delivery go?”
“No problem. I even got a tip. How do we share?”
Nicole laughed. “No, it’s all yours. That’ll be the first time someone offered to share a tip with me.”
He let air out from his chest. “A tip is a welcome bonus.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you have something to oil the door hinges?”
“How about WD-40? We seem to use it on everything here.” She bent to look inside a cupboard and brought out a spray can. “Will this do?”
“Perfect.”
Piers set to work on the door. “I was wondering if you knew where I could find some cheap accommodation.”
“Actually, I was thinking you might need an apartment. There’s a basement suite in the block I live in. It’s been empty for ages. I’m sure the landlady could let you have it right away.”
Piers didn’t know whether he had to marvel at her insight for guessing he needed lodgings immediately or fear she might guess too much.
“Is it... expensive?”
Nicole chuckled. “Why do you think I rent there? It’s only a grand old house that has been converted into suites. Two floors and a basement, five apartments in all. Nothing fancy but it’s clean. Being the basement there are few takers.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Mrs. Harlow, she’s the landlady, lives in a suite on the top floor. We can go and see her now, if you like. I’ll phone Mrs. B and ask her to come and take care of the shop. I’ve prepared enough pizzas for the evening.”
Piers’ eyes followed Nicole’s graceful movements as she reached for the wall-mounted phone. He shook his head. He had enough on his plate without becoming attracted to his beautiful supervisor.
Try as he may, he couldn’t throw off the urge to unclasp the copper-hued hair so severely pinned at the back of her head. He imagined burying his face in its fragrant mass. He longed to forget his troubles in the warmth of those sea green eyes. He wanted, too, to find out what lay beneath her strict outer shell. That cynicism he detected had to be a front. Then again, he’d be courting disaster if he followed his impulses.
Lynne Bancroft’s entrance put an end to his musings. “So, you’ll be staying?”
Piers nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re off to look at an apartment for him,” Nicole said.
“There, take my car.” She handed Piers the keys.
Nicole grabbed them. “I’ll drive. He doesn’t know the way, and we need to get to the thrift store before it closes.”
“Thrift store?” Piers gave her a bemused look.
She didn’t reply until they were seated in the car. “I seem to remember there is an army-type cot in that apartment. And a small table plus a couple of chairs.”
“What about the thrift store?”
The glance she threw him showed her amazement. “Because you’ll need some basic household equipment. At the thrift store you can pick up second hand items for a song.”
A second hand store would be a novel experience for him. He was going to need time to adjust.
He looked at her profile against the car’s side window. “One teeny problem. I don’t have money to buy anything.” The admission hurt. He wondered how people managed for whom poverty was an everyday reality. There must be hundreds who never had enough money to buy the necessities in life... let alone Gucci bags.
“I guessed you didn’t have much money. I’ll advance you what you need.”
“Why should you do that?”
Nicole lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. “Because I must be crazy at times. I reckon I just have to put my trust in you. As long as you work hard, you’ll be okay by me.”
“Thanks!” He settled in his seat and decided to take her remark as a back-handed compliment. There was no time for deeper analysis.
Nicole stopped the car in front of a weathered sandstone ornate house that had to date from the nineteenth century. Stone pillars supported a covered entrance and half a dozen steps. Moulded carvings framed tall windows.
The negotiations didn’t take long. Piers penned his signature to the rental agreement on Mrs. Harlow’s kitchen table.
With a regal bearing, the old lady eyed him over her gold-rimmed glasses. “You’re working at Flavio’s. See that you do well by him. Do you want me to leave the bed and the table in the apartment?”
“Yes please, unless it’s extra.”
“I wouldn’t charge you for them. They’re not worth much.”
“Except to someone who has nothing.” The words sounded strange on his lips. He had had so much in his other life. Yet here he didn’t. Here he was obliged to shed his privileged skin to become one who had nothing. Prison had given him an education in the lowlife of society. Here, he was getting an education in how the rest of the world lived.
Mrs. Harlow smiled and shook her head. “You’re a good man, Mr. Sonder. Nicole, would you show the gentleman where the laundry room is, please? And how to work the machines.”
“I will, Mrs. Harlow. Is there anything you need? I’m going shopping after I show Piers his apartment.”
The woman pursed her lips. “I should really get a car and drive again. If it’s not too much trouble, I could do with a carton of milk and a bag of potatoes.” She reached for her purse and handed Nicole some money.
Piers opened the door for Nicole.
“Thanks.” On the landing she pointed to the door opposite. “That’s my apartment.”
Piers followed her downstairs.
“There are two young couples on the main floor, and now you in the basement. Here’s the laundry room. Washing machine and dryer. This is your apartment door.”
Piers opened the door and eyed the drab room.
Nicole looked over his shoulder. “The lime green paint must date from the nineteen fifties. Decorators in those days didn’t have a lot of imagination.”
“You’re not kidding.” He breathed in the musty odor common to closed-up rooms. “It’ll do fine.” A strange sensation gripped his stomach as he took in the prison-like windows set high on the wall and the metal cot in a recess off the main room. At least it was a shelter.
“I’ve some spare drapes. I’ll get them for you when we come back.”
Without further examination, Piers put down his bag and locked up. He let Nicole drive him to the thrift store. She parked by the entrance. The low stuccoed building showed cracks below the eaves. The glass doors were in need of washing.
They walked in. Piers halted in his tracks. Another alien smell assaulted his nostrils. It wasn’t quite mustiness, nor dampness. It wasn’t anything he was accustomed to. Not even like the prison smell. It was, he reckoned, the sharp, pervasive smell of second hand clothes and furnishings.
A glance at Nicole heading down an aisle lined with women’s dresses told him she wasn’t aware of anything unusual. She and other shoppers milling in the aisles probably detected nothing out of the ordinary.
He followed his female mentor, all the while trying to remember where he had once smelled that odor. A kid dashed from behind a row of suits and brushed past him. A memory flashed through his mind. Back in elementary school he remembered a boy who carried that smell on his clothes. One of his rich schoolmates commented that it was the odor of poverty.
He repressed a sigh. Now that he was poor, maybe in time he too would begin to smell like that kid.
Nicole seized a pair of sheets. “Still in their factory wrapper. Sometimes you’re lucky and get new items like these that department stores unload from their inventory.”
“Good.” He was at a loss to know what else to say. Her smile made him feel that this low-keyed shopping spree might be worthwhile. If not for the sheets then just to hear her triumphant cry after rummaging through shelves and bins.
“It’d be best to start with a comforter. You can get a blanket later.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“Didn’t you have an apartment before? Didn’t you ever shop?”
Shop he did, for clothes and sundries at the most exclusive stores in Montreal, Toronto and New York.
“I shared the apartment with... er... a girl. She took care of all the household stuff.”
Nicole pulled a face. From a stack she picked up a forest green comforter with an autumn leaf motif. “Feel this.” She thrust the corner into his hands.
“Seems nice enough to me.”
She spread the comforter out and examined it closely. “Good, no bugs. What happened to the girl?”
“She told me to move out after I lost my job.” Lying was still not easy. He visualized his bungalow on the grounds of his parents’ mansion in Montreal’s Westmount. Testing comforters was the last thing he needed to worry about. Every two years his mother had the place gutted and sent in her interior designers.
“That was pretty mean! You’re better off without her.”
Piers, still thinking about his mom, had to do a quick mental gear change to realize Nicole referred to his fictional ex-roommate. He shrugged. “Life sucks.”
“Doesn’t it just. This comforter is defect free. I think the dark green won’t clash with your walls.”
“You’re right.” What did his mother say? Men don’t like shopping. That’s why I never take you or your father along. Mom made all those kind of decisions. Just like Nicole was doing.
“Let’s go and look at the china.”
Piers followed, his arms cradling the comforter and the sheets.
“You probably think I’m pushy, but the store is about to close and you need some dishes.”
“You must think me dumb. I wouldn’t know where to start. I appreciate your help.”
One of her rare smiles rewarded him. Nicole shook her head. It struck him she likely shared his mother’s view on men and shopping. Not only did men not like it, they mostly hadn’t a clue what to buy or how to buy it. And Nicole and his mother were spot on as far as he was concerned, at least when it came to household furnishings.
A young female store clerk pushed a cart toward Piers. “Would you like a cart, sir?”
“Ah, yes, thanks.” He flashed her his movie star smile.
The clerk watched spellbound as he dropped his load into the cart.