“Then let’s focus on what we can do now.”
“The book club is easy enough to start, and people will see the space.” Ivy held up her hands to frame the area for a visual. “Private wine storage on that side and a grouping by the bookshelves over there. The guys can help bring out rugs and furnishings. We could have this up and running soon.”
“Except for the bowling lanes.” Shelly laughed, glancing around.
“That would be a huge undertaking,” Ivy said.
Shelly shivered. “It’s still a little spooky. Are you sure you don’t want to have a haunted house down here first?”
Ivy shook her head. However, she was starting to enjoy having a new project. As much as the old house was hers, it also belonged to the residents of Summer Beach. They had invited the community for events ranging from an art festival and holiday celebrations to egg hunts on the lawn. The Seabreeze Inn had reclaimed its place as a center of Summer Beach activity for local residents and guests alike.
A wisp of a breeze swept past her. Ivy shivered. Maybe it was a window Bennett and Mitch had opened, or maybe it was Amelia, pleased with her decision.
That is, if she believed in ghosts, which she certainly did not.
As Ivy looked around, she caught a glimpse of something on a lower bookshelf. Kneeling, she noticed a small book that had been shoved to the back and long forgotten. Reaching in, she slid it out.
“What’s that?” Shelly asked, noticing what Ivy was doing.
“A little book of some sort.” Ivy brushed dust from the leather cover. “Songs from the Golden Gate,” she read. “By Ina Coolbrith.” As she turned the brittle pages with care, she noted the date. “Published in 1895. It’s a book of poetry.”
“How cool.” Shelly glanced over her shoulder.
Ivy continued turning pages. “A lot of these poems have a California theme.”
“Imagine what it must have been like here in 1895,” Shelly said. “Open land, no highways, no traffic. Not that Summer Beach has much now.”
Ivy looked through the book and paused at a page. “Here’s one entitled ‘Sea-Shell.’” She began to read aloud.
“And love will stay, a summer’s day!
A long wave rippled up the strand…”
Ivy paused and scanned the poem. Blinking against taut emotions, she hesitated before reading more.
Bennett looked up. “That’s beautiful. I could set that to music with the guitar.”
“That’s not all of it,” Shelly said, skipping ahead and picking up a few more lines.
“And plucked a sea-shell from the sand;
And laughed—O doubting heart, have peace!
When faith of mine shall fail to thee
This fond, remembering shell will cease
To sing its love, the sea.”
Shelly paused and smiled. “Meaning that person will love the other forever.” She drew her finger down the page. “Uh-oh, I don’t think it ended well for our lovers, though. I wonder who Ina Coolbrith was and who hurt her?”
A yellowed card fluttered from the book. Ivy picked it up and read it. “Ina Donna Coolbrith. California’s first Poet Laureate.”
Mitch let out a whistle. “That’s a big deal, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Shelly said. “And how cool is it that honor was given to a woman, right?”
Ivy reinserted the card into the slim volume and gazed up at the tall, empty wooden shelves. “Shelly, how many crates of books did you say we found?”
“Two, maybe three.”
Ivy recalled what Paige had said at the bookshop. A literary salon. “That wouldn’t fill these shelves. There must have been more.”
“Why do you say that?” Shelly asked.
“Because Amelia Erickson never did anything halfway.”
5
Bennett was seated at his desk in his office at City Hall, where expansive windows looked out over the village and the beach, all the way to the marina. With his windows open to the cool breeze, he could hear the distant roar of the ocean. While the view was inspiring, he was trying to keep his mind focused on the quarterly budget.
His desk phone lit up, and Nan’s cheerful voice chirped through it from the front desk. “Call for you, Mr. Mayor. Shall I pass it through?”
He’d been working all morning and hated to lose his train of thought. “Did they say who’s calling?”
“Just a minute,” Nan said. Moments later, she came back on the line. “Her name is Diana Corbin, and she says it’s quite important. She refuses to tell me what it’s about, and believe me, I tried to wheedle it out of her.”
The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he met a lot of people. Now that his concentration had been derailed, Bennett put down his pencil. “I’m sure you did your best, Nan. Might as well put the call through now.”
He punched a blinking line. “Mayor Dylan here.”
The caller introduced herself. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met a couple of years ago at a fundraiser. How have you been?”
“Fine. Busy.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What can I help you with?” he asked cordially.
“It’s what I can do for you. I started my own company, Corbin Executive Search. I have a high-paying position that you might want to consider. I was so impressed with the work you’ve done for Summer Beach.”
“I’m flattered you thought of me, but I’m pretty happy here.”
“This isn’t too far away. Only a few hours. And it’s a prestigious position.”
Bennett chuckled. He didn’t really care about that. “So is being the mayor of Summer Beach.”
“I know you’re joking, but the pay is incredible. Don’t you want to know what you’re worth?”
Bennett leaned back in his chair. That was an intriguing question, not that he’d consider taking another position. Still, he was interested in hearing what she thought his skills might bring in the market. “I’m listening.”
Diana spoke quickly—as if he might escape any moment. “I’ll send details. What’s your email address?”
Still cautiously interested, he gave her his personal email address. It couldn’t hurt to see what was out there, he told himself before hanging up.
Nan appeared at the door to his office, her short red curls practically sizzling with curiosity. “What was that about? In case she calls again,” she quickly added.
“I met her at a community fundraiser,” he said, offering a brief explanation. Still, that wasn’t good enough for Nan.
“So, should I put her calls through again?”
Bennett hesitated. Not that he was interested, but it never hurt to listen. “I’d appreciate that.”
After wrapping up the morning’s business, Bennett left City Hall at lunch. In the village, he ducked into Get Away, a small shop plastered with travel posters. The store was next to Pages. The owner, Teresa, was a travel agent who’d lived in Summer Beach for years. She was busy with a gray-haired couple who were planning a tour of South America. Bennett recognized them from around town.