Ivy couldn’t explain it, and Shelly would never understand. She’d given so much to her husband and daughters—sometimes, they sucked the oxygen out of her. She needed time to breathe on her own.
Maybe that’s silly. But there it was.
“Can I help you unpack?” Ivy asked, shifting the conversation.
“It won’t take long,” Shelly replied with a flick of her shoulder. “But you can help me squeeze my clothes into the closet.” She picked up some hanging garments from the stack. “I’m looking for an old armoire; I need more hanging space.”
“Antique Times might have something,” Ivy said, relieved that Shelly let go of the marriage topic. “Nan and Arthur are always getting in new pieces.”
Shelly grinned back at her. “New old pieces, you mean.”
Ivy folded a stack of hanging clothes over her arm and followed Shelly into the bedroom. They managed to stuff what Shelly had brought into the narrow closet, although she still had a lot left at the inn. Ivy had given her a new set of sheets and a duvet that Shelly had admired at a local home goods shop, along with fluffy white towels. Together they changed the linens, and Shelly arranged pillows Ivy had made on the bed.
“Wow, what a difference already,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I love your artistic pillows.”
Ivy had painted palm trees and beach scenes on pillows for the new gift shop they’d set up in a corner of the inn’s parlor. “They’re selling well. I’m even taking special orders.”
“Look at you go,” Shelly said. “Poppy told me you got a commission for a beach painting, too.”
She had, and she’d been thrilled about it, even though she was a little nervous about making sure the client liked it. “Maybe I have a future as an artist after all.”
Her parents had sold several of her paintings at the art show they’d hosted on the grounds of the Seabreeze Inn. The extra income was welcome, though she barely had time to paint between running the inn and giving art lessons to guests. The pillows were quick and easy for her, yet she missed having the time to contemplate and finish more serious pieces.
The summer tourist season was underway, and filling guestrooms was the highest priority. Businesses in Summer Beach that catered to visitors earned most of their income in the summer. Fortunately, reservations at the inn were steady, and Poppy’s online ads were filling rooms during the week, too.
“I’ve got to rush back,” Ivy said. “We’re expecting a lot of new guests for the weekend.”
“I’ll come in after I take a nap,” Shelly said, stifling a yawn. “I’ve been so tired ever since we got back. But I promise I’ll get back in my groove.”
“We’ve got this now.” Ivy tilted her chin, still smarting from Shelly’s earlier comments. “Poppy is there, and after her classes, Sunny shows guests to their rooms.”
Shelly heaved a sigh. “Don’t be a child. I’m not abandoning you.”
“Says the younger sister.”
“Can we stop this?” Shelly flung her arms around Ivy. “Now you know what all that sisterly advice you dish out feels like.”
“Okay,” Ivy said begrudgingly. Shelly was probably right; Ivy had a lot on her mind. “Relax and get unpacked. And I could use your help this weekend.”
“You got it.” Shelly slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Maybe I just need another cup of coffee. I can’t let you have all the fun.”
Ivy managed a grin. “See, I knew you were missing the inn already. Just remember what you said when I ask you to work on the lower level with me.”
“Oh, no,” Shelly said, wagging a finger. “You’re the one who knocked the hole in the kitchen wall and opened up that mess.”
“With your help,” Ivy said, her mood lifting. She poked her sister. “Seriously, we have to put that space to good use.”
“Any ideas?”
“We could create meeting space down there,” Ivy said. “Maybe we could attract small corporate getaways in the off-season. They could hold strategy sessions or host private gatherings.”
Shelly grinned. “Sure, like an old speakeasy. Or a casino night fundraiser. That would be cool. Maybe the Ericksons used that level for secret parties during Prohibition.”
They talked a little more, and Shelly promised she’d see her soon.
As Ivy strolled back to the inn, she thought about options for the space that had been sealed for decades. Ivy turned a corner in the beachside neighborhood, and the Seabreeze Inn loomed ahead past the village. The grand Spanish Revival-style house had revealed the former owner’s passion for secrecy. Now, Ivy was fairly certain they’d discovered all they were going to find—from priceless paintings to important jewels of historical significance.
She had turned all those beautiful items over to the FBI to be returned to former owners. All she had gained was publicity for the inn, which had helped, but it wasn’t the millions some visitors imagined she’d profited.
If only Amelia Erickson had tucked away a little cash, too.
Peering at the roofline, Ivy thought how she could use a smidgen of that now. The high winds last week had dislodged a few more tiles on the roof. Her brother Forrest, who was a contractor, had patched the roof. Eventually she’d have to replace it. On a house of this size, a new roof would be quite expensive. She had to find another way to increase the income to provide maintenance to the property.
Or this summer might be their last.
Ivy was eager to use the inn’s lower level, which had been concealed for decades. This is where she and Shelly had discovered the furniture and artwork Amelia Erickson had stashed when she had feared a West Coast invasion during the Second World War. In the 1940s, an enemy submarine had run aground on the coastline, so it wasn’t such a far-fetched concern.
After a brisk walk from Shelly’s bungalow, Ivy turned into the property and hurried past stately palm trees that stood like sentinels on guard. She strode along the stone path where Shelly had planted purple and pink petunias along a border of white alyssum. On this sunny day, butterflies flitted among pink hibiscus and lavender bushes.
Her sister had put her horticulture degree to good use in bringing the neglected grounds back to life. This year, Shelly had added rambling white roses and pink bougainvillea.
Ivy hoped Shelly would continue to keep it up now that she was married and planning to start a family. Her sister meant well, but Ivy knew how much time it took to be a wife and mother.
She hoped Mitch hadn’t changed his mind about starting a family. It wasn’t anything Shelly had said, but Ivy sensed that something wasn’t quite right—beyond her sister not feeling well.
When Ivy walked into the inn, Poppy met her at the front door.
“Aunt Ivy, I have a confession to make,” Poppy said, looking remorseful. “I’ve done something awful.”
“I’m sure it isn’t that bad.” Her niece was so thoughtful and efficient, Ivy couldn’t imagine Poppy purposefully doing anything even remotely worth confessing.
“You know that antique glass platter of Amelia’s that you like so much?”
Immediately, Ivy knew where this was going. “The one that was chipped? I saw a crack in that just the other day. I probably did it while I was doing the dishes.”