Chapter 16
Frankie had slept like a dream. The mattress in her room probably cost more than her car. Whatever the price, it was worth every penny. After reluctantly getting out of bed, she brought her laptop downstairs with her to make coffee, doing her best to be quiet. She had no idea when Harper would get up and there was no reason for her not to sleep in. It was very possible she hadn’t yet adjusted to the difference in time zones. Eight a.m. in Florida was five a.m. in California.
Frankie opened cabinets until she found the coffee and the filters, then got a pot brewing. She admired the cabinetry and countertop. The whole house was impeccably well-designed. And now it belonged to her sister.
Frankie wasn’t jealous. Harper deserved it. She’d had a rougher go of things in life. And being a personal assistant to a bunch of celebrities sounded, at least to Frankie, like a lot of thankless, icky grunt work.
She’d seen The Devil Wears Prada. Who hadn’t? In her mind, Harper probably worked for a bunch of women like Miranda Priestly. Cold, demanding, insufferable types with big egos and more money than they knew what to do with.
Poor Harper. At least Arlington had done something nice for her. In a big way.
Frankie took her laptop outside to sit and enjoy the morning while the coffee maker did its thing. She’d planned on logging on and doing some preliminary work on the children’s book she was illustrating, but the morning was just too beautiful to ignore.
Instead of work, she sat and admired the view. She could work later. And she would. She wanted to get the project done ahead of time to impress the publisher. Getting more work from them would be incredible. She really could use the money.
Her job paid all right, and the benefits were decent, but life was expensive. Her divorce had nearly bankrupted her but there was no way she could have stayed with Tom. He’d been repeatedly unfaithful, which was bad enough, but then he’d started to take his frustrations with his work out on her.
He’d never hit her. That wasn’t the problem. It was the yelling and the cutting remarks that chiseled away at her peace and confidence. She hated the feeling of walking on eggshells in her own home. Of never knowing what might set him off. Her job came with plenty of its own stresses. Her home needed to be a safe place. A sanctuary.
Like this place.
She thought about getting up to see if the coffee was done but it could wait another minute or two. Some kind of white sea bird flew by, coasting on the warm currents of air that drifted past. This place was heaven. If she were Harper, she’d do everything she could to stay right here. There was no way California was better than this.
Of course, she didn’t really know how Harper felt about this house and her life in California. Frankie wished things were different. That they were closer. They were certainly working on changing that and their relationship improved every day. They’d spent most of their lives apart. Not because of choices they’d made, but because of choices made for them.
In their best interests.
A muscle in her jaw twitched. She’d come to hate that phrase. It was a panacea for so many ills, but in truth it cured none of them. It was a phrase that suited the decision-maker much more than the person who’d had the decision made for them.
Such was the life of a child in foster care.
She had fantastic parents, but she wondered about how different her and Harper’s lives might have been if they’d grown up together. Her parents had never been given the opportunity to adopt Harper. They’d been looking for a younger child and that’s all they’d been offered.
Frankie didn’t like to dwell on what might have been, though. She much preferred to focus on the future. To work on what could be instead of lamenting the past. She firmly believed most people deserved a second chance. Or they at least deserved a shot at one.
How they used that second chance was up to them.
She’d given Tom more chances than any man deserved. He’d squandered them all. She’d learned her lesson with that man. And yet, she held fast to the belief that people could change. If they wanted to.
She still hadn’t shared her big news with Harper. Today had to be that day. Harper needed to know what Frankie had discovered.
But not until they’d had coffee.
Frankie reluctantly got up and went inside. No sign of Harper yet, and the bedroom door was closed. How was Archie not whining to go out? The dog must have a bladder like a horse. Or he’d peed on the floor, but that didn’t seem like Archie’s style.
Frankie fixed her coffee with sugar and creamer, although the sugar was the fake stuff and the creamer Harper had bought was some oat milk concoction. Frankie grimaced and used them anyway, since there was nothing else.
Oat milk creamer. Frankie thought that was a sign Harper had been in California too long.
As she turned to go back outside, Harper emerged through the slider from her bedroom, looking half-asleep and still in her nightshirt. Archie trotted out and went straight to his food.
“Morning,” Frankie said softly. “Rough night?”
Harper scratched her head and yawned. “Did the barking not wake you up?”
“Barking?”
“Ugh, yes. Let me get some coffee in me first.”
“It’s made,” Frankie said with a smile. “Come outside when you’re ready.”
“Will do.”
Frankie returned to the deck. Harper appeared a few minutes later with coffee in one hand and a square, lidded glass container in the other. Archie slipped past her and went straight to a sunny spot.
“Oatmeal bars,” Harper said in explanation of the container. “Made by Joyce next door.”
“That was nice. Who’s Joyce again? She wasn’t at the book club, right?”
“No.” Harper sat beside Frankie on the couch. “She’s Mitch’s housekeeper. She brought them over to make up for his behavior, but after last night I suppose we’re even.” She shot Archie a look. “That dog.”
Frankie squinted at her sister. “I need a lot more information to understand what you just said. Mitch is your next-door neighbor?”
“Right. And Joyce is his housekeeper.” Harper yawned, then drank some of her coffee.
“I got that part. What did he do that needed making up for? And what happened last night? Does this have something to do with the barking I didn’t hear?”
Harper had the container of oatmeal bars on her lap. She held up a finger, then took another long drink of her coffee. She closed her eyes as she swallowed. “Okay. I needed that. Still need more, but that’s a start.”
“Take your time. We have all day.”
Harper slanted her eyes at her sister. “You’re not going to believe this, but Mitch next door is Mitchell Ripley.”
Frankie blinked in utter amazement. “The Mitchell Ripley? Author of the Blackstone Detective Agency? And The Hourglass Chronicles? That Mitchell Ripley.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my stars. What’s he like? Is he nice? Is he as handsome in real life as he is in pictures? You have met him, right? I can’t believe you live next door to the best author in the world.”
“Slow your roll, Frankie. The man is kind of…not nice at all. He’s a big grump and a real meanie.”
“A meanie?” Frankie lifted her brows. “What are you, nine?”
“I’m just telling you he’s not some great guy. He’s been nothing but cranky every time I’ve talked to him. He was staring at me through the trees on the property line when I first got here. Questioning who I was and what I was doing on this property.”
Frankie laughed. “He was staring, was he? Were you wearing those denim cutoffs you had on yesterday?”
“I…don’t remember. That’s not the point.”
“Well, I can see him being curious about a stranger. This is a pretty exclusive area. Maybe he’s the captain of the neighborhood watch.”
Harper’s lips pursed in obvious disdain. “I doubt that. When I went to deliver a letter to him, he was rude and dismissive.”
“A fan letter?” Frankie teased.
“No, you dope, a letter from Arlington.” Harper inhaled more coffee like it was the only thing keeping her going. “Apparently the two of them were friends and Arlington left it for me to take to Mitch. Don’t ask me why.”
“Why?”
Harper grunted. “Arlington wants me to befriend Mitch. It was one of his last wishes.”
“You can’t ignore a death-bed request.”
“It’s not exactly a death-bed request, but I get what you’re saying.”
“So what happened last night?”
“I couldn’t sleep and once Archie saw I was up, he decided he needed to go out. So I took him, but he ended up bolting after a racoon, which he treed in Mitch’s backyard. Mitch came out on his deck and told me I was trespassing.”
Frankie looked her sister up and down. “Were you in your nightgown?”
Harper groaned. “Yes.”
Frankie wiggled her finger up and down in Harper’s direction. “This same nightgown?”
“Yes. Why?” Harper glanced down, paused, and groaned louder. “For crying out loud.”
Frankie laughed. The nightshirt said, I’mAwesome In Bed, in big, bold letters; underneath, in much smaller print, it read, I can sleep for hours. “I’m sure you made a big impression on him.”
“He already hates me. But I take consolation in the fact that apparently he hates everyone. Joyce said he never recovered from his wife’s death, and then when Arlington died, Mitch really went into a funk.”
Frankie nodded sympathetically. “Grief affects everyone differently. I bet his writing is a real comfort to him. You know, a place he can escape to. His own world.”
“Maybe.” Harper didn’t sound convinced. She pried the lid off the oatmeal bars and held the container out to Frankie.
Frankie took one. Harper returned the container to her lap and took one for herself. She bit into it and made a happy sound.
Frankie tried hers. It was very good. There was a layer of jam sandwiched between a kind of shortbread on the bottom and a crumbly oatmeal streusel on the top. “I hope I get to meet Joyce so I can tell her how good these are.”
“They are crazy good,” Harper answered through a second mouthful.
“You know why that is?”
Harper shook her head.
Frankie grinned. “Because they’re made with actual sugar and not that fake crap in the kitchen.”
Harper smirked. “You clearly don’t know what life in L.A. is like.”
“Nor do I want to,” Frankie said. “This right here is all I need.”
Harper nodded, her gaze turning toward the water. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?”
“How are you going to befriend Mitch if he hates everyone?”
Harper took another bite of her oatmeal bar and chewed. “I have no idea. But you know what we should do today?”
Frankie shrugged. “I was going to work, unless you make me a better offer.”
Harper grinned. “I can do that.”