Frankie nodded. “Very. Have you been to any of the launches?”
Azumi grinned. “We went to the launch ofLeviathan I. The kids loved it. We hope to go again when they launch Stage Two. I can show you some pictures later, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love to see them,” Harper said. “Arlington was fascinated by what Centrifuge was doing.”
Azumi nodded. “Ren got him in to see the first launch.”
“I knew he went,” Harper said. “That was nice of your husband.”
Suzanne held her glass of wine in front of her like a weapon. “You knew Arlington well then?”
“Pretty well.” Harper regretted bringing his name up now. She could already anticipate what the next questions would be.
Suzanne didn’t disappoint. “How did you meet him?”
“Through his son, who I worked with.” Vague on purpose, but not a lie.
Suzanne looked perplexed. “Are you an actress? You do look somewhat familiar.”
“No. More of a behind the scenes person.”
Suzanne took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. “Wait a moment. I know who you are.”
Frankie laughed nervously. “She’s got one of those faces. Always reminds people of someone else.”
Harper appreciated her sister’s attempt to deflect, but the train was barreling down the tracks and there was no stopping it now.
Suzanne shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I have seen you.” She gestured with her wine glass, a peculiar gleam in her eyes. “You’re the woman who was dating Ford Keating.”
ChapterFourteen
With Joyce gone for the day, Mitch took his dish of pot roast into the living room to watch some news and see what was going on in the world. A slice of bread slathered in butter, which Joyce had also baked, balanced on the edge of the wide dish.
The news wouldn’t be anything good. Never was. But he figured an adult ought to know something about current events. Especially someone who was an author. It might even provide him with a little inspiration.
He hated the news, though. It was all the-world-is-ending-and-here’s-why. Not only that, most coverage was biased. Slanted one way or the other. It was all about whatever the powers that be wanted broadcast, and whatever the men with money thought the rest of them should think.
He sat on the couch and forked up a hunk of potato, coated with the brown gravy that always accompanied Joyce’s pot roast. It was one of his favorite things that she made. Which was probably why she made it at least once a month. Somehow, it didn’t even need salt.
He pressed a few buttons on the remote and brought up a channel. Two TV-perfect news anchors sat behind a desk and spilled the latest events.
A new war had broken out in the Middle East, lawless gangs were taking over a major city, homelessness was on the rise, drugs were a problem, and the current president was embroiled in yet another scandal. Same old-same old.
He was so tired of it. So tired of all of it. The noise. The mental pollution. That’s what it was. Excess nonsense that took up space in his brain and clouded the thoughts that should be focused on his new book.
He’d read through about half of the last book and taken copious notes. It felt good. Definitely a step in the right direction. He had to make some progress on this new book soon or things would get uncomfortable with his publisher. He was sure Lucinda was tired of going to bat for him, although that was her job as his agent.
How many times had she used the dead wife excuse, he wondered. Was it still working? How many years of understanding did it buy you when your wife breathed her last in your arms? There should be a chart somewhere.
He glared at the news anchors. What did they know about real life? They both had on enough makeup for Halloween.
He ate a chunk of tender beef, then picked up the remote and tapped the button for the guide. There had to be something else on. He found an old Humphrey Bogart movie,Dead Reckoning. Mitch had always liked that one, but then, Bogart was in a class by himself. He and Arlington had often discussed Bogart’s acting. How he embodied the characters he played with so much depth. How there was no one else like him and probably never would be.
Mitch glanced toward his office where Arlington’s letter remained, unopened. He shook his head, sat back and watched the movie while he ate. He paused it to get a second helping. When he’d finished that, he paused the movie again, and took his dish and glass of water into the kitchen.
He rinsed both, put them in the dishwasher along with his fork, then looked to see what Joyce had left for, as she called it, pudding.
He found a custard pie in the fridge. Another one of his favorite things. He squinted at it suspiciously. Was she about to ask for a raise?
