Well, I lied. I’m going to ask two things of you. The second is that you deliver the enclosed letter to Mitch Ripley, and if at all possible, befriend him. Listen to him, if you can get him to talk. He could use someone like you in his life, even if he doesn’t know it. Or want it. He lives next door. Don’t let his crankiness put you off. He’s not a bad sort. Just broken, like most of us, except his sharpest edges have yet to dull.
Now you take care of yourself. Have a happy life. Whatever that entails. You deserve it. And like you always said to me, remember what brings you peace and embrace that.
With great affection,
Arlington
She wiped at her eyes. She didn’t feel deserving. But Arlington hadn’t known the truth about her.
For that, she was glad. As for the rest…she couldn’t refuse his requests. Regardless of the fact that he’d given her this house. Or that he’d passed on.
Which meant she was going to see her cranky neighbor, whether she wanted to or not.
ChapterEight
She found the letter for Mitch in with the rest of the paperwork. It was in a standard white envelope, with Mitch’s name written across the front in Arlington’s hand. The idea of going to see Mitch held zero appeal, but for Arlington, she’d have walked across broken glass.
She changed out of the comfortable leggings and T-shirt she was in, exchanging them for rolled-up jeans and a cute turquoise tee with embroidered multicolored flowers. She ran a brush through her hair, which still looked a little frizzy to her, since she’d let it dry naturally. A high ponytail fixed most of that.
She added a little makeup, not much, just enough to look presentable. Then put on flipflops, kissed Archie goodbye with a promise she’d be back very soon, and went out the front door.
The letter was in one of her back pockets, her phone in the other. She stood outside trying to see if there was a way through the border of trees and shrubs. She went closer, walked a few feet, and found something that looked like it had been a path but had become overgrown with disuse.
Was this how Arlington had gone to visit Mitch? Or had Mitch come to him? Or both? Mitch didn’t strike her as the kind of neighbor who’d visit. Or, truthfully, the kind of neighbor you’d want to visit, but here she was.
Only because of Arlington. That couldn’t be overlooked. This wasn’t any kind of social call. This was a moral obligation.
She could probably still cut through the path, but if Mitch saw her, would he just assume she was trespassing? She’d never get close enough to him to even give him the letter if he started yelling at her.
And she wouldnotbe sticking around for that.
With a sigh, she walked down the long driveway to the end of the road, then over to Mitch’s property, and down his long driveway to his house.
It was a nice place. The yard and landscaping were well-tended. There were even some flowers in some of the beds.
The medium blue composite siding was accented with white trim and black shutters. Much like every other home in Hideaway Bay, there were multiple balconies and decks to take in the great views.
This house only had a three-car garage, however. Slightly forward of the main house was the guest house Joyce had mentioned, done in the same exterior treatment. It had a balcony on the riverside, and in the front, a single-car garage.
Harper wondered if Joyce was allowed to use that to store her vehicle, or if Mitch kept another one of his cars in there. He probably had at least one exotic foreign sports car, one SUV, and some kind of luxury sedan. Possibly a golf cart as well. That seemed to be the standard setup based on what she’d seen in the neighborhood so far.
Her steps slowed as she drew nearer to the house. Her own reluctance. She silently rehearsed what she was going to say, trying to put the most important bits first to explain why she was here.
Then she realized Joyce would probably answer the door, not Mitch. Harper smiled. She was stressing about nothing.
She rang the bell when she reached the door, no longer worried. She’d just give the letter to Joyce and be on her way. Easy-peasy.
Handing the letter off wouldn’t do much toward befriending Mitch, but Arlington had no way of knowing the kind of guy Mitch had apparently turned into after he’d died. If Arlington knew that, he wouldn’t have made such a request in the first place.
“Who is it?”
The voice came from above her. She was standing at the covered front entry, so she backed up and found Mitch on the second-floor balcony, scowling down at her, hands firmly planted on the railing.
His frown deepened when he saw her. “Joyce isn’t here. And I’m trying to write.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I wasn’t looking for her—”
“Then what do you want?”
