Chapter 26
Harper wasn’t sure she’d heard Mitch right. Had he actually invited her into his home? It was very likely he’d said it out of courtesy, not because he’d really meant it. But she wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to get to know him better.
Arlington would be proud. “Thanks. I’d love to come in.” She stepped inside, forcing Mitch to move out of the way. “So, you were writing?”
“I was.” He looked a little bewildered, like he wasn’t sure what had just happened.
“Excellent. I’m Harper Calhoun, by the way.” She stuck her hand out. “We haven’t formally met.”
“Right. Mitch Ripley. As I guess you know.” He shook her hand, looking surprised. Harper guessed he wasn’t used to physical contact. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Coffee would be great.”
He headed up the steps without another word.
She followed him. The house was beautifully decorated in a sparse, Craftsman style. Lots of wood and clean lines, blues and greens and copper, stained-glass lamps, but all the modern amenities, too, of course.
The kitchen was surprisingly pretty. The appliances were retro-styled and done in a soft, buttery yellow enamel that brightened up the area and gave it real charm. She could imagine Joyce cooking away in here. It was a great space.
“I love your house,” Harper said. “Almost feels like a cabin in the woods. A really nice cabin with ocean views.”
He smiled briefly. “My wife’s influence. She was from Oregon and loved that kind of look.”
“She did a great job.”
“Thank you.” He got two mugs down from a cabinet and filled them with coffee, which emptied the pot. “How do you take yours?”
“I’m from California, so fake sugar and fake creamer, but I can drink it black in a pinch.”
“I have regular milk and regular sugar.”
“Black is fine.” She took a seat at the counter, even though he hadn’t offered. She’d only stay until the coffee was gone. Or Joyce returned. Or Mitch threw her out.
One of those was bound to happen soon.
He put a mug in front of her then leaned against the stove. “How did you come to be in Arlington’s house?”
“He left it to me in his will.” She shook her head. “Crazy, right? I never in a million years guessed he’d do something like that. He was an amazing human being. Too generous, maybe, but…” She shrugged and sipped the coffee. Even black, it was good. Obviously, not the cheap stuff.
Mitch stared off at nothing. “He was a great man and a good friend. One of the best people I’ve ever known.”
“I can’t imagine anyone else as the Doomsday Oracle. It was like you wrote that character specifically for him. He embodied that role. Really brought him to life. And when the Oracle—” She laughed. “Sorry, I just said I wasn’t going to fangirl all over you and yet here I am, talking about the books.”
“It’s okay.” His gaze moved to his cup. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, he looked sad. Maybe a little lost, too. “Arlington was perfect for that part. I didn’t write it for him, but I think, subconsciously, I envisioned him when I created that character.”
Since he’d kept the conversation about his books going, she dove in. “What are you working on now, if I’m allowed to ask?”
His head came up quickly. “I don’t like to talk about work in progress.”
“Right, sure, totally get that. And I do not want to stand in the way of Charlie Nightingale getting her new story.” Harper smiled. “I am so looking forward to her meeting with the ogre king.”
His brow furrowed. “The ogre king?”
Harper nodded. “In the book before the last one, it was revealed that the ogre king wanted to speak to Charlie, possibly about working for him.” Did he not remember his own books? “There were hints that he was going to hire Charlie to track down his long-lost daughter.”
Mitch stared at her blankly, then suddenly nodded and stopped leaning. “Right. The ogre king. His missing daughter.”
Amused, Harper had to ask, “Did you forget about that?”
He rubbed his forehead and went back to leaning. “I hate to admit it, but yes, I did. The last few years have been…difficult.”
She felt for him. “I can imagine. I know you lost your wife.”
He let out a soft exhale that seemed to come from deep inside him. “It’s been very hard.” He turned his head to look out the windows. “Nothing in life prepares you for death.”
“Except another death. And even then, only by degrees. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m sure she was an incredible woman.”
Mitch cut his eyes at her, his tone sharp. “You mean because she put up with me?”
Harper shook her head. “No, because of all the dedications you wrote to her in your books. You said such wonderful, heartfelt things about her. There was no way she could have been anything less than extraordinary.”
Muscles in his jaw tightened. He nodded, looking away again. “She was,” he mumbled.
Harper hadn’t expected him to get emotional. “I’m sorry if I brought up something I shouldn’t have.”
“No, it’s fine.” He sniffed, then made eye contact again before doing something even more unexpected. He smiled. “I didn’t think anyone ever read the dedications.”
She laughed softly. “I do. It’s a way of making the book last a little longer. I read everything. The author note, the acknowledgement. Whatever I can do to stretch out the read.”
“You’ve read the whole series?”
“I’ve read everything you’ve written. But the Blackstone Detective Agency is hands down one of my favorites.”
“Thank you. Always nice to know one’s work is appreciated.”
“Well, you do have your own show. You must know how loved the series is.”
“I do. But I don’t interact with many people anymore, so…”
“Right.” She sipped her coffee. He didn’t interact with many people because he chose not to, but she kept that to herself.
“Arlington mentioned you.”
That got her attention. “He did?”
Mitch nodded. “In the letter. Said you’d been a big help to him.”
She’d been curious about what was in it. Now she knew a little. “I just did what he was paying me to do.”
“Which was?”
“Nothing I can talk about.”
Mitch smiled again. “He said you’d say that. He thought you might be able to help me, but I don’t really go in for that whole therapy racket.”
“Good, because I’m not a therapist.” And she’d never claim to be, because words mattered.
“You’re not?”
“Nope.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m a good listener. A sounding board. An unbiased opinion. Sort of like if a life coach and the best friend you could imagine were combined with a side order of Catholic priest.” She grinned. “In that whatever anyone tells me stays with me. I’m a human confessional.”
He arched one brow. “Mm-hmm.”
“I am. It’s what I built my career on.”
He drained the last of his coffee.
Her cup was still half-full. “I should go. I’ve kept you from the book long enough. It was nice chatting with you. I’m just next door if you ever need anything. Sorry about Archie’s barking the other night. I don’t know what got into him. Well, there was a raccoon. Anyway, I really didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me. I was up.”
“Oh. Well, like I said, I’m just next door.” She slid off the stool, then pushed it back under the counter. “I can see myself out. I hope you write all the words.”
He breathed out some words, probably intending them to be too quiet for her to hear, but she did. “So do I.”
Just then the front door opened.
They both glanced toward the steps.
“Joyce,” Mitch said. “I’m going to my office.”
“I’ll say hi on my way out,” Harper said. Then she headed for the steps.
Joyce was still in the foyer, bags in her arms. Her eyes rounded in surprise as Harper came toward her. “What are you doing here?”
Harper smiled, taking a few bags from her. “Returning the oatmeal bar container. And chatting.”
“Chatting?” The word came out in a loud whisper, dripping with disbelief.
Harper shrugged. “Yep. Come on, I’ll help you carry these up.”
“Bless you.” Joyce trudged up the steps behind her.
Harper put the bags on the counter. Her coffee cup was still there. Mitch was not. She took the cup to the sink and emptied it.
Joyce looked around. “Where is he?”
“Office. He said he was writing.”
“About time.” Joyce rolled her lips in like she’d let something slip. “Good for him.”
“Any more bags to bring in?”
“Just a few. I can manage. Thank you.”
“Thank you for the oatmeal bars. They were great.”
“You’re welcome. Wait a moment now. How would you feel about some apple cinnamon muffins?”
“Did you make them?”
Joyce put her hands on her hips. “Well, sure.”
“In that case, I’d feel pretty good about them.”
Joyce smiled. “Let me get you a couple.”
A couple was actually four. Joyce put them in a different container and handed them over. “There you go.” She leaned in, voice low. “Did you really chat with him? Civilly?”
“We did and it was very civil.”
“Will wonders never cease. Well done, you.”
Harper just smiled. “Thanks again for the muffins. I’d better get going or my sister will think I’ve abandoned her. Come over anytime, if you just want to visit. We’re almost always home.”
“What a kind offer. I might just do that. Take care now.”
“You, too.” Harper let herself out and took the overgrown path home.
To be honest, she was as baffled as Joyce was that Mitch had talked to her. Had her apology meant that much to him? She doubted it.
Which left only one other explanation that she could think of.
There was more in Arlington’s letter than Mitch was letting on.