Jailbait by Piper Rayne

Author:Piper Rayne [Rayne, Piper]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Six

I park my dad's truck outside the shop. With my key in the lock, I catch the sight of a decent-sized yacht in the marina.

Must be Bill Santora. I had to Google him after he left a message to see who he was. He’s known as the ‘Sausage King’ of San Francisco and from what I saw he's worth more than twenty Climax Coves and then some.

“Marcus!” A woman calls from across the street outside Double D's Diner.

The key stops mid-turn and I circle around to find a woman in her late thirties with curly blonde hair rushing across the street.

“I'm sorry, I just wanted to let you know that the Santora's are at the diner. They got in early and the shop was closed.” She bites her bottom lip and wrings her hands in front of her. “No one has told them about George yet.” Before I can respond she smacks herself in the forehead and holds out her hand. “I'm Debbie by the way. One of the D's.” She points behind her to the sign above the diner, her lips spread wide with a welcoming grin.

I nod and take her hand. “Marcus. But you know that already.”

“Your dad was something special to us.” Her other hand clasps over mine. “He'll be missed.”

“Thanks.”

There are times I feel as though I should be the one consoling everyone in this town and not the other way around.

“Anyhoo, they just sat down and Dennis—the other D—is getting their food ready in a jiff. So, I'll send them over as soon as they're done.”

I nod, my eyes darting to the windows of the diner to see if I can spot what a man worth tens of millions looks like.

“Thank you, Debbie.”

She pats my hand. “My pleasure.”

With that, she turns and jogs back across the street. Focusing my attention on the shop again, I finish turning the key and enter the shop.

I decided last night—after watching the sunset on my dad's front porch while sipping a few beers—to finish whatever jobs my dad already had lined up. I could run away and let this town fend for themselves, but it's not in my nature. Not to mention, there isn't a ton waiting for me up in Portland. Wrapping up all the loose ends will give me the time and income I need to decide what I’m going to do with this next chapter of my life.

I rush around attempting to clean up the shop before Bill Santora arrives. I have zero idea where my dad talked with his clients. There isn’t an inch in this place that isn’t covered in sawdust and I have to think the country club folk don't want to get their three-thousand-dollar Italian leather loafers dirty.

A bell rings throughout the shop and I realize for the first time that there must be a doorbell outside. Seems none of the town folk must know about it. If they do, they sure as hell don’t put it to use.

I walk across the shop, glancing down at my khaki pants and denim button-down.

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