Excerpt from Dead of Winter by P.J. Parrish, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"But fifteen minutes? What can he tell about me after fifteen minutes?" Louis asked. "Did he do that with the other applicants?"

Dale shook his head. "He only saw three others. He kept telling me none of them looked right."

"What?" Louis asked.

Dale’s eyes drifted up to the photograph of the dead officer. Louis followed his gaze.

"He hired me because I’m black?" Louis asked, incredulous. "What, to fill some quota or something?"

"Hell, no," Dale said quickly. "Chief doesn’t care about that stuff. I mean, you must've just said something in there he liked." He nodded toward the photograph of Thomas Pryce. "Like him."

Louis shook his head. "I don’t follow."

"Thomas Pryce was...a good cop," Dale said. He shrugged again, looking for words. "Somebody you could respect, you know what I mean? I think maybe the chief saw something of him in you, that’s all."

Louis looked up at the photograph of Pryce. "How old was he?" he asked.

"Thirty-two," Dale said. "You’re the same height and build, you know. What size shirt you wear?"

"Sixteen, thirty-four."

Dale smiled slightly. "See? He won’t have to buy new uniforms."

Louis stared back at Dale, not sure if he was kidding.

Dale picked up the Saran-wrapped tray. "Want another cookie?"

Copyright P.J. Parrish 2001. All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author, PJ Parrish