1
Ipromise you’ll be interested in this, Nan had told her, refusing to say anything else until Ivy arrived. She wondered what Nan had put aside for her at Antique Times in the village. Likely, it had to do with the renovation of the Seabreeze Inn. She’d been searching for vintage fixtures and parts for replacements.
Ivy walked toward the stucco façade ablaze with flaming pink bougainvillea flowers fluttering over the doorway. Once inside, the scent of lavender potpourri emanated from a crystal bowl warmed under a Victorian lamp.
Her friend looked up from the glass countertop she was cleaning.
“Hi, Nan. What treasures did you find for me?”
Nan hurried to greet her, her red curls fairly bobbing with excitement. “I have it right here.” She opened an old scrapbook and pointed to a yellowed article. “Read that.”
Ivy inclined her head. “But I thought you might have crystal doorknobs or light fixtures for me.”
“Trust me, this is what you really want to see,” Nan replied, tapping the article.
Her husband emerged from the office and greeted her. With his English accent and proclivity for Hawaiian shirts, Arthur was a delightful addition to Summer Beach. He gestured to the snipped column. “Go on, read it.”
“Just a moment.” Ivy couldn’t imagine why they were staring at her with such rounded eyes. She brought her orange butterfly-print reading glasses from her straw tote and peered at the old article.
In an instant, she realized why they’d called her.
Her chest tightened, and she could hardly believe what she was reading. “Why have I never heard anything about this?” She looked up at the proprietors of the shop.
“Well, it was a long time ago,” Nan replied. “That article is from early 1939.”
“A century-ish ago now,” Arthur added, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “It was another time, yet in many ways, not so very different from our own. People don’t change much.”
Nan clasped her hands. “They still love to read.”
Ivy tucked her hair behind an ear and reread the short piece. “This reports that Amelia Erickson had plans to build a library here. What exactly did that mean?” Mildly frustrated, Ivy blew out a puff of air.
Why hadn’t the journalist been more specific? Ideally, Ivy needed a location, plans, and a large bag of gold coins hidden under a mattress.
Arthur flipped through the old file of articles he and his wife had collected in their research on Summer Beach. “Amelia Erickson was quite civic-minded. Remember how she spoke of purchasing the defunct Seabreeze Shores Airfield?” He tapped an article. “It’s right here. She planned to dedicate that land for a community park.”
“And now it is,” Ivy said. Not long ago, the residents of Summer Beach came together for that effort. “Does she mention a library in that piece?”
Arthur shook his smoothly shaven head. “Sadly, no.”
A strange sense of energy sizzled through Ivy. She shivered slightly, even though it was a warm spring day in the small beach town. Yet, this feeling was also familiar, especially when she stumbled on one of Amelia Erickson’s unfinished projects. The woman’s presence still infused the old inn once known as Las Brisas del Mar, which had been her beach home. Everyone felt it, including her sister Shelly, their niece Poppy, and her daughters Sunny and Misty.
Occasionally, even guests.
Still, Ivy wasn’t ready to admit that publicly, as that would brand the Seabreeze Inn as haunted. She had worked too hard to revive the old property her late husband intended for his mistress for people to fear visiting.
Nan touched Ivy’s hand. “We thought you might like to know. Maybe you can sway the mayor with this information.”
Ivy smiled at the idea. “I wish it worked like that, but my husband is committed to doing what’s best for Summer Beach. That includes fiscal responsibility.”
Arthur chuckled. “Indeed he does. I remember when Bennett blocked your application to turn the old house into a bed-and-breakfast.”
Nan joined him in laughter. “It took a natural disaster to convince him that time. The two of you might never have fallen in love if he hadn’t been forced to relocate to the inn after the fire.”
“It was something like that,” Ivy said, smiling. “I hope funding a new library doesn’t take another disaster.”
“Faulty wiring destroyed the old one,” Arthur said, shaking his head.
That occurred late last year. Ivy had taken it upon herself to return the community’s support of the inn by welcoming former library patrons to its public spaces. Meanwhile, she had been lobbying the city for a replacement library.
