In other photos, a Christmas tree towered in the ballroom, and fancy ornaments dripped from its boughs. Stockings hung across the fireplace, and a trio of carved reindeer with ribbons stood by the sofa. A mantle cover was draped above the fireplace with figurines nestled in the folds, and large bows anchored the corners.
Everyone wore eveningwear—tuxedos and long dresses with embellished capes, hats, and gloves. Stacks of gifts crowded a table next to the tree. In another photo, a group of singers stood by the tree, captured in mid-song.
Even in old black-and-white photos, the effect was magical.
“I wish we could do something like this,” Ivy said wistfully. As she turned another page, she sucked in a breath. “This photo was taken in the garage.”
“Those are the reindeer from that other photo.” Shelly tapped the page. “That looks like a young Amelia with a housekeeper in a uniform. And a lot of ribbons and wooden crates.”
“But why there?” Ivy leaned in. “There’s something behind her.”
“Maybe they kept the decorations in the garage. Or they’d just been delivered.”
“There was nothing in the garage except for some old tools and paint.” Ivy opened a drawer and retrieved a magnifying glass. Holding it over the photo, she said, “I’ll bet that’s where they stored everything.” She tapped the image. “Look, that doorway is open, and there are boxes stacked inside. You can just see them.”
“There’s no door on the back wall in the garage.”
“No,” Ivy said slowly. “But there is a tall cabinet on that wall where the property manager’s handyman kept supplies. I organized that cabinet not long ago.” She stared at Shelly, trying to jog her memory.
Shelly’s eyes grew wide. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“You bet,” Ivy said. “Let’s go.”
The two sisters closed the album and headed toward the garage. As they walked through the kitchen, Ivy noticed that Nick had disappeared. His clean plate sat in the dishrack. Ivy didn’t think she’d ever had a guest wash their dishes before. She made a note to have a chat with him. Not that she didn’t appreciate it, but it wasn’t necessary.
Ivy opened the old garage door and hurried past Amelia Erickson’s vintage, cherry-red Chevrolet convertible that had come with the house. Bennett had restored it for her, and she loved cruising around the beach town in it.
“Help me move this,” Ivy said. She stopped in front of the old wooden cabinet.
Shelly rubbed her arms and shivered. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Ivy nodded. “No telling what we’re getting ourselves into this time.”
She placed her hands against the cabinet. This magnificent old beach house had sheltered its occupants and their secrets for a century. Each discovery that she and Shelly made had illuminated part of Ivy’s heart. The discovery of the paintings inspired Ivy to take up her art again. Finding the attic encouraged her to share new discoveries about the history of the inn. This Christmas might yield yet another treasure, but a strange feeling came over her. Would it bring her family together or deepen rifts?
Ivy shuddered. What prompted that thought? Surely they’d find nothing but moth-eaten decorations—if anything.
Shelly frowned at the tall cabinet. “Old Christmas ornaments. That’s all we’re going to find, right?”
“Right.” Ivy braced herself. “Ready on three. One, two, three.” With Shelly beside her, they leaned into the solid wooden piece.
The old wooden piece creaked, but it didn’t budge.
Chapter 4
Bennett pulled his SUV into his designated parking space at City Hall. Not that it had been his idea, but if he didn’t park there, Nan would be disappointed. As the receptionist, Nan tended to details and welcomed everyone to Summer Beach.
The hand-painted sign sporting palm trees and a surfboard stood at a jaunty angle in front of the space Nan had chosen for him. It had been his birthday surprise, so he’d had little choice but to accept it, though he preferred a more egalitarian approach to parking. The lot was plenty large enough for everyone.
In Summer Beach, people were more concerned about the weather at the beach than finding a parking place at City Hall. He grinned and tucked his cotton polo shirt into his khaki pants and slipped on a windbreaker—his standard winter uniform. The December air was crisp and growing colder, thought the sun was still warm on his shoulders.
At least he’d talked Nan into putting the sign near the entry of the lot instead of by the door. “I run miles on the beach, so I think I can make it to the front door,” he’d told her, good-naturedly. “Let’s keep those spaces for visitors.”
Bennett stepped out of his vehicle and strolled into the airy, mid-century modern building perched on a cliff overlooking the beach and ocean beyond. At the welcome desk, a sign proclaimed, Life is better in Summer Beach.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Nan said from atop a ladder, where she was hanging silver garlands beneath clerestory windows. Her red curls framed plump cheeks, and she had a bright smile on her face.
“Why don’t you let me do that?” Bennett was concerned for her. Nan was energetic for her age, but he didn’t want any broken bones on his watch.
“That’s what Arthur always says, but I like to keep fit.” She climbed down. “Just finished, but thanks.”
Bennett was relieved. “Any calls this morning?”
“Darla phoned. She called to tell you about a vagrant next door at the Seabreeze Inn. She called Chief Clarkson, too.”
Bennett furrowed his brow. “I didn’t notice anyone like that this morning. I’ll check in with Ivy.”
Darla was their resident busybody. When Ivy had converted the old beach house to an inn, Darla was so incensed she filed a lawsuit against her. In the end, Ivy had eased her neighbor’s concerns, but Darla was always on watch. Every morning Darla stopped by Java Beach to see Mitch. The coffee shop was a hotbed for local news, and Darla was usually at the center of it.
Bennett greeted Boz, the head of the Planning Department, on his way to his office. Even though his hair was silver, Boz had a fit, muscular physique—the result of a lifetime spent on the beach. “How are the plans for our Holiday Boat Parade?”
“Attendance will be pretty good this year,” Boz said. “Tyler and Celia are underwriting the entire affair, so anyone who wants to participate can.”
Tyler had retired at a young age, having sold his tech company in San Francisco before he turned forty. He and his wife Celia supported several local efforts, including the school music program.
“They beat out Carol Reston and her husband?” Bennett shook his head. That wouldn’t go over with Carol, who was a Grammy-award winning singer. Carol liked the spotlight.
Boz shrugged. “They offered first.”
“We’re going to hear about that, but she can find another way to contribute. They already do so much for the children’s center.” Inside his office, Bennett shrugged off his jacket and picked up the phone to make that call. Ivy answered, sounding breathless.
“Everything okay there?”
“You must mean Darla.”