A pause as if Clinton needed to collect his thoughts. “I’m relieved to hear that, Olivia, but why does Dr. Farrow keep calling me?”
“Just one moment.” She pulled the skillet off the burner and flung open the back door. She couldn’t answer Clinton’s question, because she had no idea why Simon was contacting him. How could she admit that to her publisher? It was humiliating.
She lifted the receiver again. “I will speak to him right away.”
“Thank you.”
“Exactly how much did you loan Dr. Farrow?”
When he told her, she gasped. “That’s the entire advance for my next book.”
“I informed him of that very thing.”
“Why didn’t you call me earlier?”
“He said he was acting as your agent,” Clinton said. “It’s not for me to question what happens between you and your husband.”
“Unless I notify you otherwise, I will continue acting as my ownagent,” she said. “Please don’t loan him or anyone else money on my behalf.”
“I won’t.”
Clinton sounded relieved when they hung up, but Olivia didn’t move.
Why had Simon called him without consulting her first? If he needed cash, why hadn’t he simply asked her?
No one answered when she called his house, so she rapidly packed her satchel and joined Eli and the Lamb family at church.
After service, she turned her Plymouth west.
Easter might still be a week away, but it was time for her to visit Simon’s home.
26:Harper
Ingrid Lamb lived in a storybook house with Cinderella-blue shutters accenting snow-white eaves. A charming, modern Victorian surrounded by acres of golden wheat.
Harper didn’t linger on the driveway. Ingrid had invited her for coffee at nine, and it was already a quarter past.
Petunias spilled over six hanging baskets on the front porch, and as Harper neared the farmhouse, a woman lifted her watering can to wave. Ingrid wore corduroy overalls and a pastel pink shirt with graying hair tied back in a ponytail, her smile tentative.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Harper handed over a bouquet of flowers that she’d picked from Marcia’s yard, just now realizing the irony of her gift. “I suppose you already have enough of these growing on your farm.”
“One can never have enough flowers.” Ingrid buried her face in the sunset-orange petals, breathing in the delicate aroma. “Marcia always wins a prize for her tiger lilies at the fair.”
“She’s worked a bit of magic in her backyard.”
“I’ll say.” Ingrid laughed. “Did you have any trouble finding my place?”
“No, but I’m sorry about being late. I stayed up reading past midnight and then overslept.”
“Reading is always a worthy endeavor. Can I ask what story kept you so engaged?”
“Moonflower Lake.”
Ingrid’s smile flatlined. “Did you finish it?”
“Not yet, but I had to force myself to close the cover. I understand why it was Via Belle’s bestselling book.” As the heroine uncovered terrible secrets about the man she thought loved her, Harper was both spellbound and terrified for the woman’s future. And she was intrigued—how was Via Belle going to pull together her signature happily ever after from the mess? Only the scheduled meeting with Ingrid this morning forced her to get some rest.
“It is pretty remarkable considering how many books she sold before that was published.” Ingrid waved her around the side of her house. “Let’s have our coffee on the back patio.”
