“This isn’t really necessary, but if you’re sure,” Darren said softly. “Thank you.” He smiled and turned away, hurrying back to the butcher shop, where he got his gear back on and went right to work, trying to ignore the way Henry stared holes in his back.
The man was an artist with meat—he could get the best cuts out of just about anything. But when it came to people skills, he was best kept in his butcher shop and away from the customers. So as Darren restocked the case, he helped a number of customers make their selections and wrapped them in white paper, taping them up and putting on the price sticker, all the while trying not to think about a man with golden skin, deep-blue eyes, and hair the color of straw. It had been quite a while since anyone had asked him out or had the patience to work around his schedule. Not that this was a date or anything. Itwas just dinner because his friend had treated him badly. And Darren reminded himself not to read anything more into it.
ChapterTwo
Chester Killington, Jr.—Chet to his friends and most of the world—pulled on a fresh pair of buttery-soft pants and a clean silk shirt that he had just had steamed so the wrinkles simply melted away. Then he slipped his feet into soft leather shoes that fit perfectly before checking himself in the mirror. He knew what he looked like and was proud of his appearance. After all, for most of his life, these looks had helped him get whatever it was he wanted. Unlike most of the beautiful people in his circle, he was self-aware enough to know that not everyone was as well-off or lucky as he was.
His phone rang just as he was reaching for his jacket. He glanced at the screen on the side table and groaned. The last person he wanted to speak to right now was his father. “Hello, James.” He had figured out some time ago that calling his father by his first name really got under his skin, so he continued doing it because that was the type of dysfunctional family they were. Tactics and power plays were all part of the game, at least the one his father played… and Chet knew if he didn’t play along, his old man would steamroll over him.
“What are you doing there? I sent you out there on business, not to run halfway around the state so you could play with your friends.” Typical conversation starter.
Chet shrugged even though his father couldn’t see it. “I’m fine, Dad. My flight was good, and I made it here all right. Nice of you to ask.” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the table near him before making sure his collar was the way he wanted it. “The deal with Allied is done. I sent you the signed paperworkalready. It’s probably on your assistant’s desk.” Chet felt sorry for him. Alan was an amazing guy, and his father ran the man ragged half the time.
He picked up the phone and texted his father images of the important pages in the document. His father’s phone dinged with each one.
“Is there anything else?” he asked. “If not, I have a dinner appointment. And in case you don’t remember, my calendar is clear for the next couple of weeks. I won’t be in the office.” He had worked for months to put this product distribution deal together, and it had gone off without a hitch. Chet’s project would make the family’s commercial baking business millions and ensure a stable, flexible product distribution network for the next decade.
“Can’t you ever just stay in the office?” his father asked.
“No. I don’t like being in the office. I have good people on my team who take care of the day-to-day work, and they do it well. I put together the deals that make you a fortune.” Besides, if he were in the office, then he’d have to see his father more often, and that sent a chill up his spine.
“Where are you now?” his father asked, a little more subdued than normal.
“Cabot Cove,” he answered with a grin. That would probably drive his father up a wall. “I’m staying at the Hill House in Mendocino, and in the back, there’s a sign that reads Hill House of Cabot Cove. They filmed a TV show here in the nineties.”
“Yes, I know.” His father grew quiet, and Chet wondered what he was up to. Chet finished getting ready and then tossed his jacket over his arm, ready to pick up Darren.
“I’m going to be late,” he said gently, pondering what his father was doing. He checked the time again. He had fifteen minutes, and he only had to go a few blocks, but he didn’t want Darren to wait for him and think he had been stood up.
“Yeah, yeah. There’s some property there I’d like you to evaluate.”
“Here? Why?” As far as he knew, his father had never been here before. Whatever. His father often tried to be mysterious and enigmatic. Just more needless drama.
“Just look into it for me. I’ll send you the address.”
Chet picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “Fine. I’ll check it over the next few days. Text me the information, and I’ll review it. Is that all?” He closed the hotel room door and strode down the hall to the elevator, not waiting for a response. “Then I’ll see you in a few weeks.” He ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket.
The parkingarea in front of the market was full, so he found a spot for his rental Lexus in the side lot, then got out and went inside. “Is Darren still here?” he asked one of the checkout people.
She pulled out her phone. “He’ll be right out. He’s getting changed.” She actually giggled and kept glancing at him. Chet was used to being noticed and smiled back at her. She giggled again, and he wandered into the store. Teenagers were interesting… and a little predictable.
“Chet,” Darren said softly as he came down the aisle. He wore tan pants and a simple blue button-down shirt.
“Are you ready to go?” Chet led the way out of the store and to the rental car. They got inside, and Chet headed for Fort Bragg. “How was work?” He needed to start the conversation.
“It was okay,” Darren said. “Not that exciting. I stocked the meat counter and cut up chickens for packaging.”
Chet couldn’t help chuckling. “You sound like a chicken serial killer.”
Thankfully, Darren laughed. “By the time I get them, they’re already dead, but it does sometimes seem like I’m cutting up the evidence. Henry’s worse, though. He cuts up the beef and pork, so he does the big stuff.”
“So you work in the butcher shop at the grocery store and as a server at The Pub. You must be really busy.” Chet said. He knew people worked multiple jobs to make ends meet; he’d just not met someone like that before. His circle of friends were the children of wealthy families and trust-fund babies. Rarely did they have to worry about money.
“I am,” Darren said, and Chet glanced over at him.
“Do you live in Mendocino?” Chet asked.
“Yeah. I came here as a teenager. Things were really bad at home, so I came to live here with my grandmother. I guess you could say I ran away. I couldn’t be with my mother any longer. My grandmother died a few years ago, and I inherited her house.”
