A wave of excitement swept through Ivy when her brother unveiled the rendering for their new project at the kitchen counter. Forrest had included a sign that read, “The Amelia Erickson Library and Art Museum.”
“I never imagined the project would look like that,” she said, easing onto a stool in her paint-splattered jeans and sneakers. Earlier today, she’d been finishing a seascape painting for a client in her studio. “It’s truly stunning.”
Forrest gestured toward the plans. “Your former owner had tremendous foresight. Very impressive for a small beach town.”
“But is it too much now?” Ivy drew in her lower lip, trying to imagine how the new structure would look in the village of Summer Beach.
Her husband tapped the image. “That’s why the city needed this rendering,” Bennett replied. “Residents will have the opportunity to voice concerns if they have any. It’s better to get their buy-in and approval before the final plans are approved. That’s the way Boz manages the process for the city.”
Ivy sensed some concern on his part. After all, Bennett was the mayor of Summer Beach. “Is there a chance this won’t be approved?”
“There’s always that risk, but in this case, I think it’s minimal,” he replied.
Ivy folded back the sleeves of her shirt and studied the drawing on the countertop. This image of what the new library and art museum would look like was based on the architectural plans the inn’s former owner had commissioned decades ago. Several months ago, Lea Martin, Amelia’s long-lost great-niece from Germany, had generously funded this cultural center in Amelia’s memory.
“It’s beautiful and quite grand,” she said. “I love it, but do you think it will look out of place now?”
Forrest shifted on his stool. “The white stucco and red-tiled roof of the Spanish Colonial Revival and Mediterranean styles will complement the inn. When the Ericksons built your place, Las Brisas del Mar, they were probably envisioning the entire town in that style.”
“Much of it is,” she said. From the beach bungalows that dotted the Summer Beach shoreline to the estates on the ridgetop, many were built like that.
Yet her brother wasn’t answering her question. Before they fully committed to the updated plans, she had to be sure this project was in the best interest of their beach town.
Ivy considered the sketch. “We all know the inn stands apart from everything around it. I want the library and museum to fit its surroundings.”
Bennett looked at her with a trace of amusement. “You think it’s too pretentious now?”
“Seeing it drawn like this looks different from the blueprints. I worry that this is too fancy for Summer Beach kids in shorts and sandals. It might be intimidating.”
“Or inspiring,” Bennett added.
Ivy could understand his point. “But where’s the fun and whimsy that would draw people inside? Like Libby’s creative bookmobile does.”
Bennett and Forrest stared at her, not quite grasping what she meant.
She tried again. “Let’s share this sketch with the community and listen to feedback. I don’t want Bennett to take the heat for a project I’m leading. I’m the mayor’s wife now, and people can be critical.”
Bennett put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “Trust the process. We’ll have a council meeting open to the public for questions and suggestions, and we’ll ask the paper to print it to reach even more residents.”
Ivy thought of her neighbor, who could be cranky about change. “Then there’s Darla to think about. She has a clear view of that land.”
“Tell her it will raise her property value,” Forrest said, grinning.
Initially, Ivy’s neighbor had been receptive toward the project, but she’d complained about the construction noise at the inn, and now, the inconvenience of the library project, despite the eventual convenience of having a library within walking distance.
Still thinking about Amelia’s vision and her habit of hiding items in the house, Ivy gazed at the drawing. An odd feeling flitted through her, as if she were missing a crucial piece.
The accomplished art collector had suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, but before that, when the Second World War spread across Europe, Amelia had rescued important art and artifacts from Germany with the help of her father, who had overseen a museum there. She’d also helped resettle artists and innovators who’d managed to flee Europe.
Ivy and her sister had discovered art items and more that Amelia had hidden in the house for preservation.
That was a story that should be preserved.
How could she honor Amelia’s personal accomplishments, besides realizing her vision for the library and museum? This rendering was perfect.
Maybe too perfect.
That’s it, she thought, before blurting out, “This lacks Amelia’s appreciation of creativity.”
Frowning, Forrest leaned in. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s a museum, so it needs art that has an authentic vision.” She snapped her fingers. Suddenly she knew. “Like Gaudí in Barcelona.”
“Who?” Forrest asked.
“A celebrated architect who lived in Spain. Antoni Gaudí created whimsical designs that furthered the Catalan Modernism and Art Nouveau trends in the first part of the twentieth century. Have you ever seen photos of the Parc Güell? The mosaics are magnificent, as if sprouted from nature. So creative and joyful, a pure explosion of exuberant colors.”
While her reference sparked a small light in Bennett’s eyes, her nephew’s stare was blank.
“Look it up,” she said, growing excited. “Gaudí’s work has always captured my imagination. Maybe we can hire a contemporary artist to create fanciful accents. I know there are some in Southern California. I just don’t know who they are.”
Yet, that is.
Still, the two men didn’t share her vision. Bennett and Forrest might be trying to understand her artist’s soul, but they weren’t there yet.
“I’ll show you some examples later,” she added.
Forrest nodded to appease her. “In the meantime, we need to survey the land to determine the topography and confirm easements and property lines.”
Ivy recalled the day they’d christened the site for the library and art museum. “When you look at the topography, will you also look at what’s below the surface? I’m thinking about what my shovel hit when we had the kick-off celebration. It seemed like old concrete. Or maybe it was metal.”
“The survey will identify any issues that might affect construction,” Forrest said. “There’s a natural rise in elevation on that land. What you hit might have been an old drainage pipe or a large rock. We find all sorts of things when we begin excavation for construction. Finding old relics, fossils, or graves will slow down the process.”
“How will we know what’s down there?” Ivy asked.
“You won’t, not until we begin the excavation.”
She wondered if they should wait that long to find something that might hamper the project schedule.
Just then, the kitchen door burst open, and Shelly stepped inside, holding a toddler on her hip. Her wavy, sun-bleached chestnut hair was windblown, and little blond-haired Daisy clutched a picture book. They both wore sundresses with sandals.
Ivy greeted her sister and niece with hugs. “Is that a new story from the bookmobile?”
Shelly smoothed her daughter’s fine hair. “We were playing on the beach when Libby parked her bookmobile nearby. Daisy squeals every time she sees that magical vehicle, so we had to visit.”
Ivy sent a pointed look at Bennett and Forrest, but the proof was lost on them.
Shelly nodded toward the plans. “How is the new project going?”
“I didn’t realize how many details there’d be, but it’s coming together,” Ivy replied. “Thanks to our amazingly talented brother.”
Daisy’s eyes widened at the rendering. She cooed with delight and pointed at it.
Bennett laughed. “There’s your first resident approval.”
“That will be an incredible building,” Shelly said.
Bennett leaned in. “Too much?”
Shelly made a face. “I think too much is just about right. Don’t let people scare you. Although Summer Beach could use something quirky, like Laguna Beach’s artistic influences.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Ivy said.
Bennett grinned. “Okay, I know that look on your face, sweetheart.”
“Well, it is an art museum.” She tapped the rendering as ideas whirred through her mind. She would figure it out.
Shelly gestured toward the plans. “This was Amelia’s vision for the town. So I’m all in. Do you know if something else was built there before?”
“Not that we know of,” Ivy replied. “Forrest thinks I hit an old drainage pipe.”
He nodded in agreement. “Something like that. The Gutierrez family bought the property to build a family compound, but their situation changed before they could develop it.”
“Maybe you should check out that old pipe,” Shelly said, raising her brow pointedly at her brother.
Forrest shook his head. “We’ll address that after we break ground. No sense having men and equipment out there at this point. That would be a waste of time and money.”
Bennett nodded along with him. “That makes sense. Besides, people often dump debris on vacant land.”
“But we all know what Amelia was like,” Ivy said. “What if she buried something there?”
“Sweetheart,” Bennett said, covering her hand with his. “Let your brother handle the construction. He knows his business best, just as you know yours.”
So surprised was Ivy at his words that she was momentarily speechless, searching for the right reply. She met her sister’s questioning gaze, reading her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken.
But before she could think of a comment or retort, Bennett cleared his throat and turned to Shelly, swiftly changing the subject as if he were in a city council meeting, not in the kitchen with family. “Are you and Mitch ready for the wine harvest party tomorrow?”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Shelly replied slowly, tearing her gaze from her sister. “How about you two?”
Ivy was a little perturbed at her husband, but she also knew he and Forrest were only doing what they thought was right. And maybe they were, but the thought of something buried on the property still bothered her. Even if it was just an old piece of concrete.
Because what if it wasn’t?
Ivy shifted her attention to the conversation about the weekend’s plans. Fortunately, the high season was over, so Poppy and Sunny had agreed to look after the inn while they were away for the weekend.
Emilie and Tristan Boivin owned a winery and vineyard in the nearby mountains. The French couple was celebrating the grape harvest season with an event they called the crush. She and Bennett had been looking forward to it.
“We’re going to have such fun this weekend,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling. “Ivy, will I see you at the book club meeting later tonight? It’s at Ginger’s cottage this time.”
Ginger Delavie was a local legend who lived in a beach house everyone called the Coral Cottage. Ivy was friends with her granddaughters.
“I can give you a ride.” When Shelly arched an eyebrow, Ivy knew exactly what her sister was thinking. And she was all in on it. She hadn’t come this far with transforming a rambling old beach house into an inn without taking a few outlandish risks.
A plan was already forming in her mind as Forrest and Bennett excused themselves to return to work.
As soon as they left the kitchen, she confirmed her suspicion with Shelly. They agreed to include their niece, Poppy.
After the sun set, Ivy changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black knit turtleneck. She quickly loaded shovels into the trunk of her 1957 cherry-red Chevy convertible, wincing as the metal scraped. She closed the trunk, trying to be quiet and feeling a little guilty, as if preparing for a heist.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Bennett appeared on the balcony above her, silhouetted against the light spilling from their apartment above the garage. “Are you headed to your book club meeting?”
She smiled up at him, smoothing over her awkwardness. “Almost. I’m waiting for Poppy.”
Grinning, he held up a book. “Don’t forget this.” He jogged down the steps, holding the novel the book club members had been reading. “Looks like you’ve barely cracked the spine.”
“I listened to the audiobook on my errands and walks.” She had been so busy with the end of the season activities at the inn, she had barely kept up with the book club.
She took the book from him, feeling the weight of her scheme settle between them. “Thanks, honey.”
Bennett kissed her forehead. “Have fun. Call me if the wine flows too freely. Wouldn’t want Chief Clarkson to pull you over.”
“Don’t worry. I’m the designated driver.” She kissed him.
Poppy hurried toward them with a book tucked under her arm. Fortunately, she remembered hers.
Bennett opened the door for Ivy, and she slid behind the wheel to start the car. The engine turned over with its familiar rumble. She pulled away from the inn, watching her husband wave in her rearview mirror.
Poppy glanced back in the mirror. “Did he suspect anything?”
“No, and he still doesn’t understand why this is so important.”
Guilt pricked at her, but not enough to turn back. Bennett had agreed with her brother and taken his side over hers. Even when she brought it up again this afternoon, he’d told her to let Forrest check out the site and do his job.
He’d also seemed irritated, which wasn’t like him, and she wondered if the call he’d taken earlier had something to do with that. Just city business, he’d said.
Their weekend getaway couldn’t come at a better time. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with slightly frayed emotional edges.
Poppy turned to her. “This is exciting, but are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Aunt Ivy?”
“If Amelia buried something there, I want to know before bulldozers and backhoes turn the site into a construction zone and damage whatever might be underneath by accident. It would be too easy to forget and lose an important piece of history or Amelia’s story.”
This history mattered to her, as she felt a connection with the woman whose passion for art she shared. But it was more than that. During the war, Amelia Erickson had risked her life to give shelter to people and transport historical and cultural artifacts to safety.
What more might she have accomplished had Alzheimer’s not robbed her of her memory?
Only uncovered during the recent renovation, the plans for a library and art museum had revealed one of Amelia’s intentions for Summer Beach. Ivy was determined to see the project through now.
They drove to Shelly’s bungalow, where she emerged wearing a similar pair of dark jeans and a black hoodie like she’d dressed for a mission. Mitch stood in the doorway, holding Daisy on his hip. His spiky, sun-bleached hair shone under the porchlight.
“Back by ten, babe,” Shelly said, sliding into the backseat.
Instead of turning toward their friend’s cottage down the beach, Ivy drove the short distance to the vacant lot slated for the future library and art museum.
Streetlights flickered on, casting pools of amber light across empty sidewalks. The lot sat across from a row of boutiques, now closed.
No traffic. Minimal lighting. Perfect conditions for covert excavation.
Ivy parked on a side street across from the lot, and they hurried to get the shovels.
“This still feels a little wrong,” Poppy said, pulling a flashlight from a toolbox.
Ivy handed her a shovel. “It’s our project. We have every right to be here.”
Poppy hefted the tool. “Then why are we creeping around like we’re about to rob it?”
“Because men like to mansplain,” Shelly said, picking up another shovel. “Sometimes it’s easier to do a job yourself than try to convince another person of its importance.”
As she shut the trunk, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a young, slender man on the street in a dark faded hoodie and jeans. She didn’t recognize him, and he hurried away.
She waited until he was gone before crossing the street.
The lot smelled of dry grass with a whiff of eucalyptus from the trees lining the street. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, then fell silent.
Poppy switched on the flashlight. The beam swept across the vacant lot, illuminating a sign that read, “Future Home of The Amelia Erickson Library and Art Museum.”
Beyond that lay the raised area near a volunteer palm tree where Ivy had hit something hard.
The trio walked across the lot to the spot she remembered.
“Here goes.” The earth resisted as Ivy’s shovel bit in.
“Keep the light low,” Shelly whispered to Poppy. “We don’t want it visible from the street.”
“Then how are we supposed to see?” Poppy angled the beam downward, creating a small circle of illumination.
“Carefully.” Ivy scooped out the soil she’d loosened during their ceremonial groundbreaking. She and Shelly worked their shovels against the rest of the hard-packed earth.
“Let’s try another section,” Ivy said, repositioning her shovel.
After a few minutes, Ivy rested her arms on top of the shovel, catching her breath. “This is ridiculous to be out here like this,” she said, realizing the folly of the situation. “We have every right to investigate this property in the daylight, regardless of what Forrest and Bennett think.”
“Then why are we sneaking around like crooks?” Poppy asked.
“Because we want to find the treasure first,” Shelly said, her eyes glimmering in the light.
Ivy dug her shovel into the ground again. “And if we wait for the excavation crew and they find something, the whole project stops. Do you know what construction loan interest runs per day?”
“More than I want to think about,” Poppy replied. “Want to switch off with me?”
Just then, Ivy’s shovel struck something solid. The vibration traveled up the handle and into her wrists. “Found it.”
Shelly knelt immediately, brushing away loose soil so they could all see. “It’s not a pipe. Feel that; it’s flat.”
Ivy crouched beside her, tracing the top of whatever lay beneath them. The surface felt smooth, deliberately finished.
“I think it’s metal.” Ivy pressed harder, trying to gauge the size. The object extended beyond the small pit they’d created.
Poppy shifted the flashlight, leaning closer. “What do you think it is?”
A deep voice boomed behind them. “Good evening, ladies.”
Poppy dropped her flashlight, spinning a wild beam across their faces.
Ivy’s heart pounded. Caught in a blinding beam of light, she froze.
Chief Clark Clarkson stood behind them holding a brighter flashlight. His patrol car sat at the curb with the lights off.
“Clark.” Ivy straightened too quickly and nearly lost her balance. Her shovel clattered against the buried object. She held up her hand, shielding her eyes against the brightness. “We were just…” She wasn’t sure how to explain this.
“Digging up this property in the dark. I can see that. Mind telling me why?”
Shelly stood, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Ivy hit something with her shovel. Our brother thinks it’s an old drainage line under here, but we don’t.”
Clark nodded slowly, mentally assembling the puzzle before him. “And given Amelia Erickson’s track record, you wanted to check before the construction crew tears through here, am I right?”
“That’s about right,” Ivy said.
Clark lowered the flashlight and inclined his head. “Smart thinking but terrible execution. Why do it at night?”
Poppy recovered her flashlight. “We didn’t want to attract attention.”
“You attracted the attention of a very concerned neighbor who called in suspicious activity.” Clark’s gaze drifted toward the residential street, where curtains glowed in several windows. “Three people with shovels and a flashlight after dark raises questions.”
Shelly’s eyes widened. “Did someone think we were out here burying a body? That would have been spooky. Imagine, a real murder mystery right here in Summer Beach.”
“Darla,” Ivy muttered, throwing a look at Shelly to be quiet.
Clark’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t confirm it. “Whoever it was had a right to call. You want to dig? Do it in daylight. You’re the mayor’s wife, and you control this property. No one’s going to stop you from investigating the land at a reasonable hour.”
“We acted on impulse,” Ivy said, trying to ignore the guilty twinges in her chest.
“And you just happened to have shovels in your car.” Clark crouched beside their excavation.
He ran a beam of light along the exposed edge of the buried object. After a moment, he straightened. “Could be anything. Could be nothing. But if it turns out to be significant, you’ll want documentation with photographs and proper handling. You’ve been in similar situations at the inn, so you know what to do.”
“We wouldn’t be here except for Ben—” Ivy cut herself off, feeling a little embarrassed. Clark had a reasonable point, and she sounded like a teenager shifting blame. Not her finest moment.
He met Ivy’s gaze. “That’s between you two. Just continue whatever you’re doing in daylight. And give me a call before you start, so I know not to respond to any more concerned citizen reports.”
Ivy nodded, understanding his point of view. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
Shelly put a hand on her hip. “Go easy on Ives. She was only thinking about our mansplaining brother and his partner in crime.”
Clark motioned for them to follow him. “Like I said, if Amelia Erickson buried something here, it’s waited this long. It can wait until daylight.”
Hastily, Shelly and Ivy shoved dirt back into the hole, tamped it down, and scraped dry leaves over it all.
Clark walked them back to Ivy’s car, waiting as they placed the shovels in the trunk. Ivy started the engine, breaking the quiet night.
“Drive safely,” Clark said. “And ladies? Next time you plan a covert operation, consider that Darla watches this area like it’s her personal domain. She’ll see you, even if you dress in dark clothes like a bunch of bandits.”
Ivy managed a weak smile. “So noted.”
Clark stood beside his patrol car, waiting until they left.
As Ivy pulled away, Poppy broke the silence. “What now?”
Ivy glanced at Shelly in the rearview mirror. “We come back after the weekend.”
Her sister leaned forward. “But we’re so close. How about in the morning?”
“We have guests,” Ivy said. “That means breakfast, the morning walk, and yoga classes.”
“Don’t forget the early check-in family,” Poppy added. “We can’t all disappear without explanation and leave Sunny in charge.”
Ivy checked the time. “We might as well go to the book club now.”
Shelly and Poppy muttered their agreement, so she turned toward Ginger’s cottage, the Chevy’s headlights cutting through the darkness. “Let’s circle back next week on a slow day. Sunny can watch the inn when it’s quiet.”
“And if we don’t find anything?” Poppy asked.
“Then Forrest and Bennett get to say, ‘I told you so,’ and we move on.” Ivy pulled up outside the cottage, where laughter spilled from open windows. “But if there is something...”
Shelly opened her door. “Then we’ll have found it first.”
“Don’t forget the books,” Ivy said.
She wondered how they would manage the next few days thinking about what Amelia Erickson might have buried beneath the future library.
Would Clark mention this to Bennett? She might have to let her husband in on this operation after all. Their actions might have been foiled tonight, but soon enough they’d find out what had been buried there.
Tonight, the book club meeting was more about planning for the upcoming holiday season in Summer Beach than discussing the book they’d read, although they did that, too.
After the meeting, Ivy piled into the car with Shelly and Poppy. She would drop off Shelly before returning to the inn.
As they passed Java Beach, Shelly sat up and pointed. “Oh, my gosh, what happened? The outdoor chairs have been thrown all over the place. Ivy, pull over. I’ve got to call Mitch.”
Poppy looked out. “And look at the building. We should call the chief, too. Maybe it’s a robbery.”
Ivy pulled to a stop, gaping at the side of the building. Far from graffiti or urban folk art, angry slashes of black spray paint were hastily rendered and deeply disturbing. Last year, Mitch hired a local artist to paint a charming vintage beach scene on the side of the building.
Mitch answered, and Shelly put him on speakerphone. “Mitch, something happened at Java Beach.” Quickly, she told him what they saw.
Keys jangled in the background, and Mitch’s voice was stern. “Call the police. Stay away, and don’t go in there. I’ll come to you in a few minutes.”
“What about Daisy?”
“She’s coming with me. We’re already out the door, so get out of there.”
Poppy had already dialed the police. When the dispatcher came on the phone, she gave them the address and told them what happened.
Her heart pounding, Ivy started the car, pulled across the street and parked farther away. She turned off the lights. Interrupting a robbery, if that’s what it was, could be dangerous.
While they waited, Java Beach remained dark and silent, with no discernible movement inside.
Shelly rubbed her forehead. “Who would destroy such a beautiful painting?”
“Someone angry with an obvious grudge,” Ivy said, watching the area for any movement. “Has Mitch mentioned anyone giving him trouble? Customers or former employees?”
Shelly shook her head. “Most people love Mitch.”
In the rearview mirror, Ivy saw a police car pull up in front of Java Beach. Two young officers got out to walk around and inspect the property. Chief Clarkson arrived and joined them.
Ivy watched them circle the building, shaking their heads.
Mitch pulled up behind them in the Jeep, his lights off. With Daisy in his arms, he raced toward her. “Take her and stay here. I’ll talk to Clark.”
“It doesn’t look like they found anything,” Shelly said, taking Daisy, who watched the unusual activities with wide eyes. She ran her little hands over the red leather seats, cooing at the bright color.
Mitch gazed at the spray-painted destruction on the wall with dismay. Grim faced, he said, “I need to see if they gained entry.”
Shelly pressed Daisy to her heart. “You’re such a good girl. Stay quiet for me.”
The toddler seemed to understand and looked around with curiosity, watching while her father spoke to the police officers. They went inside and emerged again shortly afterward.
Mitch gave them an all-clear signal with a wave.
Shelly let out a breath. “Oh, thank goodness it wasn’t worse.”
“Clark’s a great guy but seeing him twice in one night on police business is a little much,” Ivy said.
“I can’t tell Mitch what we did earlier now,” Shelly said, chewing her lip. “He won’t be in the mood to understand.” She blinked as Mitch strode to the car.
“Nothing was disturbed inside,” he said, blowing out a breath. “The chief says it’s probably random vandalism, but I’m not so sure. Tomorrow, they’ll check to see if anyone saw anything. Jen and George have cameras on the hardware store, so maybe those recorded something. There’s nothing we can do tonight, babe.”
“I’m so relieved,” Shelly said, smoothing her hand over Daisy’s back. “Can we leave now?”
“I’ve got to finalize the report, but you can all go. I’ll meet you at home. We have a big day tomorrow.”
