She had been married long enough before to know that every relationship had its share of challenges. But the difference between Bennett and her former husband, Jeremy, was profound.
Bennett was more than her husband, more than her lover; he was her best friend.
Tonight, they’d had a good conversation about Ivy’s latest findings, though it wasn’t over yet.
She adjusted a scarf her mother had given her as they started for the door. After sunset, spring evenings were still cool at the beach.
Before they left the restaurant, Bennett paused to talk to Hallie. “That dark chocolate and orange mousse was delicious.”
Hallie beamed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. That’s one of our specialties.”
Her husband appeared from the kitchen, still in his chef’s jacket. The two had met at theCordon Bleuin Paris and worked at the Four Seasons Hotel in Houston before moving here for a quieter life.
“Everything was incredible,” Bennett added.
He rested his fingertips lightly at the small of Ivy’s back. Not in a possessive way but reassuring and respectful. It was a subtle, intimate gesture she enjoyed.
“We’ll definitely return soon,” she said.
As they stepped outside, the cool ocean air carried the sound of jazz music from Spirits & Vine. With most shops closed, the village streets were quiet except for the restaurants.
“Want to take the beach path home?” Bennett asked, his voice low.
Ivy nodded. The inn had become their home. Although her husband still owned his ridgetop home, it was currently leased out. The small chauffeur’s apartment at the inn was their cozy home. They both liked the bustle and variety of people.
On the way, they strolled past Nailed It, where Jen was flipping the sign toClosedwhile George counted the register.
“Perfect timing,” Jen called out. “Another five minutes and you’d have missed us completely.”
“Late night?” Ivy asked.
“Lots of new building projects,” George said. “New decks, barbecues, patio furnishings. If customers are here, we stay late.”
Bennett laughed. “The price of success. See you around.”
As they continued walking, Ivy spotted Megan and Josh approaching from the direction of Spirits & Vine. The documentary filmmakers were deep in conversation but brightened when they saw Ivy and Bennett.
Megan waved them down. “How’s the renovation going?”
“We’ve found some old architectural plans for a library and art museum,” Ivy replied. “I might have some new material for your documentary soon.” Megan had been investigating and writing a screenplay about Amelia Erickson.
Megan shook her head. “This documentary is turning into a never-ending story. Whenever I think we’re close to finishing, you find something else to add. Not that I’m complaining; that only improves it. Call me when you have the full story, will you?”
Ivy promised. They said their goodnights and turned toward the deserted beach path. Ivy slipped off her shoes, and Bennett did the same. The sand was cool beneath her feet. She tucked her arm through Bennett’s.
“You were starting to tell me about Viola’s nephew,” Bennett said, returning to their dinner conversation.
“His name is Andrew,” she said, adding details about his experience on other cases Viola had mentioned. “He thinks my hunch about it being a bank account might be correct.”
Bennett raised an eyebrow. “That’s incredible.”
“But he’s asked for any documents we might have to prove intent. If funds are still there, and if we can prove intent, the city could be the beneficiary.”
“Those are some bigifs. Do you have time to devote to this?”
“If there’s even a small possibility of success, I should pursue it. I tried to call Lea to see if she might have some documents.” However, since her mother died so young, Lea grew up in another family. Ivy knew much of her original family history had been lost.
Bennett took her hand. “I’ll give you the documents I have from the trust. That was part of the discovery in the lawsuit Jeremy filed to tear down the beach house, so you have access to them.”
