Chapter 16 Harper
“Sissie Sloan wants to talk to you,” Kelsey said from somewhere in the Pacific, teal waves probably rolling over her toes and white powder sand.
Harper tapped her brakes. “Did you say Sissie Sloan?”
“I did.”
“What does she want to talk about?” Harper asked as she continued her drive through Catawba, passing an entire forest of streets—Sassafras, Mulberry, Walnut, Chestnut, Spruce, Pine.
“She didn’t give me the particulars. Just that she wants you to call.”
Kelsey paused to speak with someone on her end, probably a masseuse in her oceanfront cabana. Harper could almost smell the suntan lotion. Taste the pina coladas. Hear the palm trees rustling in the breeze.
She pulled the truck to the curb, a few blocks from Sunshine Café, her phone cradled to her ear. After she’d wrecked her Miles pitch last weekend, Harper had a hard time believing that Sissie Sloan wasn’t just pitying her for the fiasco.
“You still there?” Kelsey asked.
“Physically, yes.” Harper blinked herself back into reality. “But I’m pretending that I’m sprawled out on a towel beside you, soaking in the rays.”
“Be glad you’re not beside me right now. I think I got food poisoning on the plane.”
“Oh, no—”
“Just hit me tonight.” Kelsey groaned. “The concierge has me drinking gallons upon gallons of ginger tea.”
Harper glanced at the row of old homes beside her, the blue sky above. Money and fame had a lot of influence, but parasites were no respecters of people. “I sure hope you feel better soon.”
“I’m not leaving my room until I do.”
“Did you give Sissie my number?” Harper asked.
“What do you think?”
“That I would be mortified if she called and I wasn’t prepared.”
“Correct,” Kelsey said. “Do you still have her business card?”
“Of course.”
“Then I demand, as your closest friend and loudest cheerleader, that you take a deep breath and give her a call. Life is too short to wallow.”
Harper cringed, but Kelsey was right. She’d never be able to completely erase her colossal fail in the Cantors’ living room, but wallowing over what happened would get her nowhere.
“How long is a reasonable time to wallow?”
“Another hour, and then you’re done.”
Harper glanced at the dashboard clock. It was a little after two p.m. in Los Angeles. She’d call Sissie this afternoon. “Thank you, Kelsey.”
“It’s my job to keep you on the rails.”
“Get some rest,” Harper said before they disconnected.
Sunshine Café reminded her of a Victorian dollhouse, all neat and properly ordered with a veneer of dust shielding the unused corners. The woman who manned the front swiped a menu from the hostess stand. “I’m Rene, Betsy’s daughter. You must be her new friend.”
“I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”
“Mom never sends over a stranger.” Rene eyed the clock as the hour hand crept by five. “But she said you’d be coming for lunch, and I’m afraid we’ve moved on to dinner.”
“I’ll eat whatever you have to offer.”
Rene placed a glossy menu on the round table built for two, the seats both cushioned with blue gingham. “What took you so long to get here?”
Harper leaned back against the wooden spindles. It felt strange to be sitting at a table, preparing to order food instead of serving it. “I had a bit of a detour.”
Rene studied her as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Did you get lost?”
“No.” She glanced down at the menu, a moment to think before she decided to confide in Betsy’s daughter. “I ended up at Via Belle’s old house.”
“Haven House, locals call it.” Rene filled her glass with water. “Did you see the ghost?”
“Not unless he’s a businessman trying to moonlight as a lumberjack.”
Rene’s laughter chimed like bells in the empty space. “Sounds like you met Finn Sterling.”
Finn. As if he should be swimming in that lake. “Does he own the place?”
“He oversees the house and estate.” Rene pulled a tablet from her apron skirt, its blue gingham matching the curtains and seat cushions. “I hope he didn’t flex his authority.”
“He scared the living daylights out of me.” If daylights were really alive.
“I think he rather enjoys terrifying the tourists.”
“He’s good at it.” But at least someone, no matter how disturbing, cared for the property. While she hadn’t looked back, Harper suspected that he’d watched her awkward climb over the gate, probably waiting on the porch until her truck disappeared down the lane.
Rene tapped her pencil on the table. “Do you want the house special? I’ll give it to you for our lunch price.”
“What’s the special?”
“Corned beef on rye with swiss and the best kraut in central PA.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Honestly . . .” Even though they were alone in the dining room, Rene lowered her voice as if the walls might be listening. “I think Finn wanders around that place like he can still find out what happened to Mrs. Belle.”
“What do you think happened to her?” Harper asked.
“No idea, but from what I’ve heard about the woman, it’s probably quite a story.”
A story. That word and its many possibilities tumbled around in her head.
The bell chimed again, and Rene rushed across the room to seat a small family.
Harper pulled out her phone and placed it by the silverware. Perhaps Via Belle was just a distraction from her own reality, falling back to times much simpler and sweeter with her mom, but something about the novelist’s story kept beckoning Harper forward.
And now Sissie had asked her to call. On one hand, she was thrilled to connect, but what was she supposed to say?
Remember me, the woman who botched her pitch and almost burned down the Cantor mansion?
Of course, Sissie remembered. And while Harper appreciated the woman’s encouragement, she had no ready story idea to pitch beyond Miles and two other scripts waiting for Evan’s review.
After what happened at his estate, he would probably burn her work anyway.
The front door opened repeatedly like a jack-in-the-box, springing hungry diners into the café.
As Rene juggled tables, orders, and an endless supply of drinks, Harper slipped Lady of the Lake out of the shopping bag and studied the cover.
If the biography contained anything remarkable, others would know what happened to Mrs. Belle, but she still wanted to read everything she could about the author’s story.
It was a connecting point, she’d readily admit, to her mom’s story, but the question also gnawed at her: how could someone so well-known simply disappear?
Rene swung a plated Reuben over Harper’s shoulder and placed it on the table, continuing their discussion from fifteen minutes past. “Some say that Mrs. Belle’s second husband convinced her to leave Catawba after he returned home from the war.”
Harper jumped at the interruption, quickly bridging her way back to reality. “Which war?”
“The second big one,” she said. “Other people think he murdered her.”
“What?” The word spewed out of her mouth along with a half swig of water.
“Rumors have rooted and grown over the years.” Rene tapped her pencil eraser on the biography’s byline. “Eli Lamb. Now, that’s a familiar name around here.”
“Who is he?”
“The principal at our K-12 school when I was a kid. After he died, they renamed the school Elijah Lamb. Have you met Ingrid yet?”
“No, but she had a potful of stew waiting for me when I arrived.”
“Ingrid was Eli’s wife.”
“Any idea why he decided to write a biography about Via Belle?”
“I could guess,” she said. “In fact—”
A bell dinged, this time from the kitchen, and Rene was gone in a flash. Then a second chime came from Harper’s phone with the flash of a text.
CALL SISSIE SLOAN!
Kelsey knew she would hesitate, but she wasn’t going to back out.
I’m eating lunch first.
The thought of that makes my stomach churn.
I’ll text you after we talk, but don’t worry. Keep drinking your ginger tea and sleep that bug away.
You got this!
Another server brought Harper the bill. She paid it and then slipped outside to the truck, but she didn’t drive away.
There was only one way to find out what Sissie wanted, and she’d already made the worst possible impression.
It wasn’t like she could do anything else via phone to ruin what Sissie already thought about her.
Sort of like facing off Finn in the forest. She’d have to feign confidence in the moment.
A deep breath and then two, like Kelsey suggested, before she dialed the number.
Three rings and then someone answered, “This is Sissie.”
Harper had expected a barrier or two before reaching the producer, an assistant or secretary who’d connect them, if Sissie was even available. But the woman had given Harper her cell phone number! If she wasn’t on the line with the actual Sissie Sloan, she might scream.
“Hello?” Sissie probed.
“Hi,” she finally managed. “This is . . . Harper. I’m Harper. Harper Rayne.”
“Is that the rule of three so I won’t forget?”
“Actually, it’s so I’ll remember.”
Sissie laughed. “Well played.”
Another breath, her nerves ebbing into a moderate calm. “Kelsey said you wanted to talk.”
“I do.” A shuffle of papers echoed through the phone. “You were the one who liked While You Were Sleeping.”
“I’m afraid that’s true.”
“No reason to fear,” Sissie said. “I wanted to speak with you about writing something new.”
She hesitated. “For Evan?”
“Not this time.”
Harper leaned back, relieved. No matter what Sissie had in mind, she would never be able to work with that man again.
“Evan picked a script for his next movie,” Sissie continued, “but I’ve decided not to work on it.”
“Why not?” So un-Hollywood in her asking, but the answer was important.
“It’s not my thing,” Sissie replied. “But I am interested in directing my own film.”
“That’s intriguing.”
“I’m glad you think so, but first things first, Harper Rayne. Confidentiality. You breathe a word of this conversation to anyone, even Kelsey, especially Kelsey, any possibility of my reading your work is toast.”
“I understand.”
“Like burnt crisp and tossed out with yesterday’s trash.”
“I’m getting all sorts of warm fuzzy feelings over here.” Had those words, intended for the space between her ears, really slipped through the phone?
A pause, much too long for anyone’s comfort, was followed by laughter, this time more genuine than she’d ever heard from a sober producer. “I think we might get along just fine.”
Perhaps they would.
“I’ll do my best for you,” Harper said. “I just don’t want to work with Evan.”
“We’ll steer clear of him.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Something nostalgic,” Sissie explained. “Sweet but clever. And fresh for a new generation. Something that will make audiences laugh and cry with a bit of mystery stirring the pot.”
“Like a romantic comedy?”
“Romance, yes, and perhaps some comedy. Honestly, Harper, I’m looking for something unique and profound without all the special effects and CGI. A great story from a great writer who actually cares about the audience.”
A great writer? She almost asked Sissie to repeat the words, just to clarify, but she held her tongue. And the wheels in her head, dormant since she’d left California, began to turn.
From what I’ve heard about the woman, it’s probably quite a story.
All of Via Belle’s books were compelling stories. Worthy of a movie. Perhaps Harper could even write a mash-up using two or three of them.
Harper ran her fingers through her hair. “I might have an idea.”
“I was hoping you’d say that but with a bit more confidence.”
“I definitely have an idea for you, although I’m still working out the details.”
“We can deal with details.”
“What if my concept is inspired by a novel?” she asked.
“I’d consider that as long as we can option the book, and you pour yourself into the story when you adapt it. Can you send me your draft script about Miles?”
“It’s not even close to being done.”
“Clearly,” Sissie said. “But Kelsey says you can write, and while you’re chewing on that new concept, I want to read what you’ve managed to put on paper.”
“I’ll overnight you the first half tomorrow.” After staying up all night to edit.
“Very good. And I have to tell you, so you don’t get too excited, that I’m having a similar conversation with a half dozen writers. I’m just exploring my options and trying to get funding, of course. No money, no movie.”
Much-welcomed honesty to keep her aspirations in check. “Thanks for telling me.”
She and Sissie Sloan would indeed get along.
“Audiences want to be entertained and inspired, Harper. And they want to be surprised. Let’s see what you can give them.”
She would give them everything she had.