Ivy walked toward the cleaning supply cupboard. “Would you research online while I get supplies?”
Poppy pulled her phone from the back pocket of her white jeans. She tapped the screen a few times. “Here it is, Aunt Ivy. Actually, there seem to be several methods. One woman says to pour white vinegar and baking soda into hot water in a foil-lined pan or sink, but don’t use straight vinegar. This guy swears by lime juice and salt. And another woman says that toothpaste or detergent is good to use.”
“Whatever we choose, let’s be careful not to scratch the surface,” Ivy said. “I have an idea. Why don’t we call Arthur and Nan at Antique Times? I bet they’ll know.”
While Poppy called and spoke to Arthur, Ivy brought out a feather duster from the supply closet. Working carefully, she whisked away decades of dust from the cover of the guest book. “A literary salon,” she mused to herself. She could hardly wait to read through the guest ledger.
Ivy glanced at the kitchen clock. She didn’t have much time before guests began to arrive. Motioning to Poppy, Ivy left the small volume with reluctance and made her way into the foyer to welcome new guests. She could trust the silver cleaning to Poppy.
As Ivy approached the entryway, through the window she saw a car slow in front of the house. Just in time, she thought. Many visitors drove by the old house, but this might also be a guest.
Shifting her attention to work, Ivy sat at the front desk and checked the list of expected guests. She was grateful that summer bookings were going well, but she still needed more to pay for years of neglected maintenance.
Behind her, she heard sharp taps on the wooden stairs. Moments later, a tiny Chihuahua shot past her.
“Pixie,” Ivy called out. “Stop right there.”
Pixie’s toenails clattered across the parquet floor as she made her escape—no doubt looking for something to snatch and carry back to her lair. Pixie belonged to one of their long-term guests, Gilda, who had lost her home in the Ridgetop Fire last year.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you little thief,” Ivy said, starting after her. Just then, she spotted a new guest coming up the walkway.
“Poppy,” she cried out, cupping her hands like a megaphone. “Pixie alert. Heading toward the dining room. I have to check in a guest.”
“I’ll corner her,” Poppy called back. Her niece raced from the kitchen and rushed after the little dog, who was making a mad escape toward an open door to the veranda. “Where’s Gilda?”
“Upstairs. She probably doesn’t realize Pixie slipped out.”
Gilda often worked with her headphones on, and if the door hadn’t shut properly, Pixie could push it open. Yesterday, she’d made off with a guest’s silk scarf, and Ivy had spied her dragging it up the stairs like a prize. Fortunately, the woman hadn’t noticed it missing, though Ivy insisted on having it dry cleaned. Louise at the Laundry Basket had tended to it right away.
The front door opened, and a young woman stepped inside. She was an attractive thirty-something in jeans and boots, though her hair was a little disheveled as if she’d been traveling all day. She dropped a bag beside the desk with a thud and heaved a sigh.
“Welcome to the Seabreeze Inn,” Ivy said brightly, striding back to the desk. “Checking in?”
The woman ran a hand over her hair and assumed an attitude. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Well, yes,” Ivy replied, reining in a comment. Traveling was tiring, and this wasn’t the only weary guest who’d ever arrived suffering jet lag or travel challenges with an attitude to match. “Your name, please?”
The woman hesitated, glancing around. She seemed taken in by the grand architecture before regaining her attitude. “Geena Bellamy. And I need a porter.”
“I’ll be happy to help you with your bags,” Ivy said. “We don’t have porters at our little inn—despite the grand entryway. You’ll find Summer Beach is pretty relaxed.”
Geena frowned. “I’m not here to relax.”
Ivy quickly shifted course. “If you’re here on business and need to print anything, we have a printer in the library.”
“Got her,” Poppy called out as she swooped past them with Pixie in her arms.
With a degree of horror, Geena watched Poppy climb the stairs. “You allow dogs here?”
“We do,” Ivy replied.
“I’m allergic to dogs,” Geena said pointedly.
“Not to worry. Your room is at the other end of the hall. I hope you’ll have a productive stay.” Ivy understood how severe pet dander allergies could be. She hoped the woman wouldn’t have issues.
“I do, too.”
Ivy detected more than a trace of animosity in the woman’s voice.
“Am I checked in yet?” She rubbed her eyes. “My allergies must be starting already.”
“The fresh ocean air might help that.” Ivy handed her the key. “Shall I show you to your room now?”
“I can find it by myself. And carry my own baggage. I mean, what else is new?” She picked up her bag. “I’ve heard about this old house. Mind if I have a look around?”
“Not at all,” Ivy said as Geena started for the stairs. That wasn’t an unusual request; many architecture aficionados came to appreciate Julia Morgan’s design. Others had read about the treasures discovered here.
“Excuse me,” Ivy called out before Geena reached the stairway. Although she was unpleasant, she was still a guest. “We have a wine and tea gathering with appetizers this afternoon in the library. Maybe you’d like to stop by to unwind.”
“I don’t need to unwind, and I don’t like crowds.” Geena continued up the stairs.
“It’s usually a small group…”
Geena ignored her, and Ivy turned back to her desk. At least she’d tried.
Poppy stepped around the corner. “Some people just want to be miserable.”
“You heard all that?”
“Enough.” Poppy swung her silky blond hair over a shoulder. “Don’t let her rain on your day, Aunt Ivy. She’ll be gone soon enough. That’s what you always say.”
Ivy didn’t have much time to worry, though. Another group of guests was arriving. Sometime later, after Ivy had finished checking in all the guests for the evening, Shelly breezed in.
“Better late than never,” Shelly said brightly.
Ivy looked up from her paperwork at the guest desk. “Glad you could make it, seeing how it’s almost time for our afternoon gathering.”
Shelly smirked. “Lighten up, Ives. I’m here. What do you need help with?”
Ivy hadn’t been able to get the literary guest registry out of her mind. Quickly, she told Shelly about what she and Poppy had found.
Ivy led her to the kitchen and showed her the guest book. She swiped the feather duster over it again and opened the book. “Look at all these names. And the books they were reading.” Ivy was entranced. “Doesn’t that speak to you?”
Shelly shrugged. “I don’t see what’s so exciting about that. I’m still waiting to find the stash of gold.”
Ivy smiled at that. “What do you think about continuing Amelia’s literary society? We could start a book club.”