Bennett stopped by on his way to City Hall. “You were up early.” He bent to kiss her.
“Bev needs my bank statements and cash expenses. I need to gather all the documents, so I figured I should do this before Reed’s construction crew arrives. The noise level will escalate fast, making it difficult to concentrate.”
“You might have to work elsewhere,” Bennett said.
“If it gets bad enough, I’ll do that.” She kissed him goodbye before he left.
After finishing her task, she assembled the digital documents in an email to her bookkeeper.I believe this is everything, Bev. Let me know if you need anything else.
Once sent, she closed her email program, and her gaze settled on the old, torn receipt she’d tacked to her corkboard. Something about it nagged at her. She stared at the addressscrawled on the back with a fountain pen and the string of numbers underneath.
She unpinned the slip of paper, studying it again. The address didn’t match any location in Germany.Why would Amelia have had an address in Switzerland at that time?
And why didn’t she build the library and art museum in Summer Beach?
For a dreadful illness to have struck down such a vibrant, determined woman in the middle of her life was a tragedy. What else might Amelia Erickson have accomplished given more time?
Ivy shook her head, realizing that question applied to everyone on earth.Carpe diem, as her husband said just yesterday. Seize the day, every day.
What if everyone lived like that?
She typed the address into her search engine again, and once more, it brought up a business district location in Zurich. This time, Ivy clicked on the street view and zoomed in.
As the image came into view, her lips parted.
“It’s a bank,” she whispered, leaning closer to the screen.
She clicked through several links, scanning for information. The bank was still in operation. In fact, it was one of the oldest financial institutions in Switzerland and had been in business since the late 1800s.
She picked up the torn paper again, looking at the string of digits she had assumed was a telephone number.
Then she thought of the bank statements she’d just emailed to her bookkeeper. She ran her fingers over the numbers as if divining their meaning.
What if these numbers are an account number?
The possibility sent a thrill through her. The Ericksons might have had a bank account there.
It wasn’t implausible. Amelia and Gustav had traveled extensively in Europe before the war for art acquisitions. They had connections and resources.
Switzerland had been a neutral territory leading up to and during the Second World War. A quick search on the computer confirmed this. However, it also seemed that it was illegal for German citizens to have Swiss bank accounts during the war, even punishable by death.
Ivy shivered at the consequences. She wondered if that applied to those living outside of the country.
But that was a long time ago. Amelia had returned to Switzerland to live at the dementia care facility until she died. Everything would have been included in her estate.
Outside, the sudden sound of jackhammers jangled her thoughts.
Reed’s crew was right on schedule. Ivy pressed her palms to her ears as she looked through the open door. They were breaking up concrete to make repairs. The ear-splitting cacophony reverberated through the house, making the old windows shudder in their wooden frames.
“This is impossible.” But necessary. She would bet her last guest wasn’t sleeping through this racket.
She reached for her phone and tapped a quick text to Libby:Good morning! Need coffee and quiet? Meet me at Java Beach.
The reply came immediately:On my way.
Ivy also texted Poppy and Shelly before shoving her notebook into a canvas satchel and heading out. She took the beach path to avoid the construction also taking place in the front.
Once away from the inn, the noise of the jackhammers receded. Ivy exhaled with relief at the rhythmic sound of waves washing against the shore. In the distance, she saw the bookmobile parked outside of Java Beach.
