Shelly put her hands on her hips. “And just how does that make us money?”
Ivy wasn’t quite sure yet. “It’s good business to give back to the community.” She paused, recalling something her mother had once told her. “Often, you have to give before you get.”
“Oh, all right. Just stop quoting Mom. I would’ve done it anyway.” Shelly grinned. “It could be kind of cool. I went to a couple of book clubs in New York. For most of the members, it was an excuse to leave the kids at home and drink wine.”
“With that kind of experience, I could really use your input,” Ivy said, grinning. “We have to do something with the downstairs.”
“In that case, I have another great idea.” Shelly twisted her lips to one side. “We could create a haunted house for Halloween. Your book club could read one of Stephen King’s horror novels—how about The Shining?”
“About a haunted inn? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s way too close to home. Pun totally intended.”
“Oh, come on. We wouldn’t even have to clean up the place.” Shelly laughed, clearly enjoying this. “Now, that would be authentic, especially since Amelia is still in residence.”
A chill coursed along Ivy’s spine. “There’s no proof of that.”
“You believe what you want, and I’ll believe what I know.”
“Come on, Shells. We can’t afford to scare the guests.”
Shelly laughed and poked her back. “People love to be scared, Ives. You know you’d secretly like to see Amelia again. Think of all the questions you could ask her. Such as why she shoved a guest book behind a platter. Or where she hid the gold.”
Ivy shook her head. Still, Shelly had a point. She wished she would have had the opportunity to speak to Amelia Erickson. What a life the woman had lived. And what a difference she had made in the lives of others during her life—and after. Her life had truly mattered.
Shaking an unsettling feeling from her shoulders, Ivy turned to her sister. “Maybe we’ll stumble upon your gold yet, Shelly. Or something just as valuable.” She tapped her fingers. “In fact, I think the new Summer Beach Book Club might open new doors for us.”
“Oh, all right,” Shelly said. “What can it hurt?”
2
Since she and Shelly had talked about the book club, Ivy hadn’t been able to get that—or the vintage guest book—out of her mind. Still, she had to visit Nailed It in the village to buy some supplies for the old house. Like an aging grand dame, Ivy had to keep the house in cosmetic fixes—wood glue and hinges for one of the guest bathrooms, weather stripping for a door, and a silicone lubricant for sticky windows. She tucked a canvas bag under her shoulder and stepped outside on the front path.
After turning toward the village, Ivy spied her retired neighbor ahead. Darla’s royal blue hair shone like peacock feathers in the sunshine. “Hi, Darla,” she called. “Wait up, and I’ll walk with you.”
Darla turned around, her glittery visor flashing. “What’s up?”
“I know you love to read,” Ivy replied. “Shelly and I have decided to start a Summer Beach book club. Would you like to join us?”
Darla grunted. “Who else is in it?”
“You’re the first,” Ivy said. Darla could be abrasive, but Ivy knew there was a reason for that, and she tried to excuse it. Shelly might not like having Darla in the book club, but if their neighbor found out about it and she hadn’t been included, Ivy would never hear the end of it. “We thought it would be fun to gather some people who love books.”
“Could be.”
Darla always sounded cranky with her gruff voice, but Ivy knew that a warm heart lurked under her rough façade. Her relationship with Mitch as a sort of surrogate mother was proof of that. “Does that mean you’re interested in joining us?”
Darla threw her a look of exasperation. “Okay. Put me down for it. What are you reading first?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe you have some suggestions.”
“You bet I do. But I need to know which genre.” She lowered her voice as a chatty group of local women jostled past them on the sidewalk. “You don’t want your romance readers mixing with your sci-fi or horror readers. Although I read everything. Not many people do.” She jerked her head back at the ladies they’d passed.
“Oh, right,” Ivy said, taking note. “Good point.”
“We could have different clubs,” Darla said. “Could be a lot of work, though. I don’t know if I’d have the time.”
“I wouldn’t want to put too much pressure on you.” Ivy hadn’t planned on Darla taking over. “I thought we could support Pages by ordering books through the shop.” Ivy knew Paige was a regular at Java Beach with Darla’s cadre of friends. Everyone in town was fond of her. “Maybe we’ll get the whole village reading this year.”
“She’d like that,” Darla said. “There used to be a group of women who met at her shop to talk about books, but that was years ago. They’re all gone now.” She paused, shading her face from the sun. “Paige is more than a bookseller; she’s a book whisperer,” Darla added in a reverent tone. “The best I’ve ever known.”
“What does that mean?” Ivy asked.
Darla shifted from one foot to another. “Paige has an uncanny way of knowing which book a person needs to read, even before they tell her what they’re looking for. Books that really touch your soul. It’s almost spooky.”
Ivy considered that. “Sort of like a book therapist?”
“That’s it.” Suddenly self-conscious, Darla waved a hand as if to dismiss what she’d just said. “But don’t tell anyone I said that. It’s not like I believe in that kind of stuff.”
“Of course not,” Ivy said, wondering why Darla would want to keep that a secret. Nothing seemed to be a secret in Summer Beach, where Java Beach was gossip central. “But I don’t think that sounds unusual.”
“Well, to some, it is.”
Ivy seemed to have touched on a sensitive nerve with Darla. Thinking that it might have to do with her late son, she avoided the topic. “Maybe you could put together a list of book suggestions.”
She wasn’t just trying to humor Darla; she was genuinely interested in what her neighbor was reading. Her mother had once said that you could tell a lot about a person by what they read. Sometimes it was surprising.
“I’d like that,” Darla said, visibly relieved. “Paige will be happy to hear about this, too.”
“I’ll go by her shop after the hardware store,” Ivy said. Paige could give her insights into running a book club, too. She’d once been a member of a club in Boston, but that had been years ago.
After leaving Darla at the door to Java Beach, Ivy went next door to Nailed It to buy her supplies.
Once she’d filled her bag and chatted with the owners, Jen and George, Ivy continued on to Pages in the village.
At the entrance to the bookshop, the chime of small, silver-toned books suspended from a chain on the door rang like fine crystal in the quiet atmosphere. The fragrant air was redolent of home-cut roses, a salty ocean breeze, and that beloved old book aroma. Although the shop looked like it needed a few repairs—peeling paint, stained ceiling, threadbare carpet—it was a haven for magical escapes with comfy reading areas and whimsical, hand-painted signage and airy design.