20 Minutes with Arnie

Interesting story for you.

I was delivering coffee to Nancy at the Peterborough Library the other day when I noticed an older gentleman stationed at a desk in the reference section. Curled beside him on a blanket was a scruffy brown-and-white terrier, snoozing contentedly. The man himself sat hunched over a crossword puzzle, a yellow #2 pencil in hand, completely focused.

“What’s so interesting about that?” you ask. Well, here’s the thing: in front of him was a folded tent sign that read:

Arnie Price – Listener – You’ve Got 20 Minutes – Appointments Only.

To his right sat a dark wooden hourglass, maybe eight inches tall. The sand had fully run out. My curiosity was officially piqued. Being retired and in no particular rush, I decided to check it out.

Now, quick side note: I’ve been recovering from Achilles surgery and haven’t been able to run or exercise much the past six months. (Good news—I've now been cleared to run again and can manage three to four miles at a stretch.) I expect to resume (in September) my quest to run through all 234 incorporated towns in New Hampshire. Chef, one of our four rescue dogs, is thrilled. He’s been training for my return with daily rounds of ball-fetching cardio. But I digress.

I approached the table, and—presumably—Arnie didn’t look up. Just kept working the New York Times crossword, brow furrowed in concentration. He wore a brown tweed jacket, sported a full head of silver-gray hair, and peered through worn silver-framed readers perched on a nose that looked like it might have been broken once or twice. His shaggy eyebrows could’ve used a trim. The whole scene had an air of intentional stillness—like a man in his own little bubble.

On the table beside him was a laminated sign that caught my eye:

10 Rules of Arnie and Digby’s Listening Service.

I scanned them while standing right in front of him. Rule #1:“What you say is not confidential. I’m not a doctor, lawyer, or priest.” What an odd opening line. This guy actually expects people to sit down and spill their secrets?

Intrigued, I read the rest. Being newly retired, I figured—why not? Let’s give this a shot. I cleared my throat and started pulling out the chair across from him. Without looking up, he lifted his pencil, pointed to Rule #8—“All sessions must be scheduled”—and then shifted the pencil toward a clipboard holding a list of time slots. Then he went right back to the crossword.

I checked the sheet. Twenty-minute blocks with spaces for names and optional topics. Only three slots were filled for the day, and nothing for the next two hours. It was seventeen past the hour, so I wrote in my name for the next available block and left the topic blank.

“Arnie?” I said. “I’m Dave.”

He finally looked up. “I’ll be with you when it’s time,” he said, then returned to his puzzle. No handshake, no smile—just calm, unflinching eye contact.

I remembered Rule #10: “It’s okay to give Digby a treat or a pat.” I hadn’t brought a treat, but I’m always good for a pat—living with four dogs prepares you well for that. I gave Digby a scratch behind the ears. Like his owner, he didn’t seem especially fussed.

After a moment of appreciation, he returned to chewing a knotted rope with intense focus.

At twenty past the hour, Arnie lifted his head, set down his pencil, reached for a yellow notepad, flipped the hourglass, and said, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

No intro, no “how are you,” not even a comment on the weather. Just: Get on with it.

“Nice to meet you, Arnie,” I offered. “Are you a Peterborough resident?”

Without a word, he pointed his pencil toward Rule #3: “This is a listening service—not a conversation.” Ah. Right. I was beginning to realize he was very serious about the rules. And if this was a performance, he was fully committed.

So I tested him. I sat in silence.

One minute. Nothing.

Two minutes. Still nothing.

He held steady eye contact, which I’ll admit was impressive. But if I sat in silence for twenty minutes, I’d leave learning nothing. That’s when I spotted Rule #9: “I may ask questions.” Bingo.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” I said.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Do you always like to waste people’s time?”

Ouch. I looked at the hourglass. The sand was already halfway through.

“My apologies,” I said. “I’m new to this and just trying to understand what it is you’re offering here.”

His voice softened, but only slightly. “Are the rules confusing to you?”

That was the spark. “No, actually. They’re pretty clear. And well organized, I’ll give you that. What you’re doing is... unique. Eccentric, even. There’s no fee. No explanation. No clear benefit to you. But something’s going on here—I just haven’t figured out what.”

With that, I started talking. About myself. About puzzles. About my love for the Spelling Bee puzzle and how hitting “genius” level each morning gives me a weird sense of accomplishment in retirement. Arnie nodded occasionally, jotting something down, never interrupting.

Before I could finish a thought, the last grain of sand fell. Arnie set down his pad and pencil.

“That’s it for this session,” he said. “You’re welcome to sign up again. Just remember Rule #5—one session per person per week—and Rule #8, schedule in advance.”

He motioned for me to stand.

A woman in her seventies, clutching her purse like it held state secrets, was already hovering behind me. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and wasn’t interested in small talk. I gave a polite nod, leaned down to pat Digby once more, and walked away.

What an experience. Strange, simple, and oddly thought-provoking.

I get the feeling Arnie has lived quite a life—and probably has some incredible stories to tell.

If only he would.

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Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading!

Arnie Price, Digby, and the Stonegate Bridge Club are the heart of my debut mystery novel, The Listener: A Bridge Club Mystery—a cozy thriller set in small-town New Hampshire that blends dry humor, high stakes, and the unexpected power of listening.

I recently completed the manuscript and am now seeking literary representation. Over the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing a few early chapters here on the blog to give readers a taste of the story—and maybe stir up a little buzz.

If you're an agent, editor, or reader curious to learn more, I’d love to connect. In the meantime, feel free to leave a comment or share the post with fellow mystery lovers. And if you’ve ever had an imaginary 20-minute appointment with someone like Arnie, I’d love to hear what you would’ve said.

—David