Chapter Four
In the back room of the furniture store, I’m bending over to nip a few loose threads off the bottom of a sofa. Wearing a short skirt, my bottom surely must be hanging out exposed in this position; I can even feel a draft of air tickle my skin. Even so, I’m so engrossed by my work that I fail to hear the sound of footsteps behind me, and I am taken totally off guard.
“What a nice view!” The sudden sound of a male voice shocks me. I jerk up and turn around, tugging my skirt down as I do. It’s Pierre, sporting an unusually cocky smile.
“What are you doing back here?”
“Looking for you,” he says.
I know that I’m blushing. I can’t help it. But I still don’t have much sass in my often-tempestuous spirit. I’m just two days out of this last Ellery Caulfield session and I still
