Seabreeze Garden (Summer Beach #13)

Chapter 1

“ D o you think we can finish this new landscaping before the Spring Fling?” Ivy asked, angling her shovel under an old, gnarled cedar shrub far past its prime. She put her weight into it, but the stubborn shrub barely budged.

Shelly leaned back on her heels, adjusting her straw hat against the sun. Beside her sat a mound of weeds she’d pulled from a flower bed. She’d taken care not to dislodge the blooming ranunculus.

“That depends on our progress,” Shelly replied. “I don’t like to cut corners.”

Pressure built in Ivy’s chest. She’d volunteered the Seabreeze Inn for the first-ever Spring Fling, a home tour showing off the best gardens in town.

The tour would start here, and visitors would return at the end of the day for an awards ceremony on the patio.

All for a good cause, she reminded herself.

This was Summer Beach’s latest attempt to boost tourism.

“I thought this work would go faster,” Ivy said, her back aching from the strain.

“Nature requires patience, Ives. Like the ranunculus.”

Shelly picked up a flower bursting with double petals in a blaze of pink.

She gazed at it, transfixed. “People see a flower, but they don’t think about its history.

Ranunculus is part of the buttercup family, originally from Asia Minor.

In the 1920s, a flower cultivator arrived in North San Diego County with a handful of seeds and a dream.

At that time, the simple-petaled flower bloomed mostly in red or yellow.

But through patience, a young neighbor named Edwin Frazee embarked on a long process of culling and cultivating, transforming the flower into what you see in my hand. ”

“Shelly—” Ivy started, but her sister was so enamored, she didn’t hear her.

“This is a Giant Tecolote ranunculus,” Shelly said, examining the flower. “Frazee devoted six decades of his life to lifting a simple flower into the upper echelons of multi-petaled beauty, now grown in more than a dozen shades. Just imagine. Like I said, nature requires patience, Ivy.”

“We don’t have sixty years, or even sixty days.” Ivy rested a hand on the shovel, concerned that Shelly didn’t feel the same sense of urgency, which is why she was helping her sister. Ivy opened her mouth to redirect the conversation, but Shelly was on a roll.

“Or I could tell you about the Ecke family in nearby Encinitas and how long it took Paul junior to graft and cultivate the poinsettia into the potted Christmas plant it is today. It was discovered in the mountains of Mexico, named after first U.S. ambassador to Mexico, Poinsett, and bred?—”

Ivy snapped her fingers as Shelly seemed lost in a haze of floral history and lore. “Can we focus, please?”

Shelly looked surprised. “I thought I was.”

Ivy quickly changed the subject. “Mom called a couple of times but didn’t leave a message. Have you heard from her or Dad?”

“Not for a while.”

Ivy frowned. “That’s not like them.”

Their parents had been sailing around the world for some time now, stopping to see friends and family along the way. They’d visited with their older sister, Honey, and her husband in Sydney. They’d also flown home for special events, like Shelly’s marriage and the birth of her first child, Daisy.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that she didn’t leave a message?” Ivy had tried to call her mother back, but the call went straight to voicemail, which was full.

Shelly yanked out a clutch of offending weeds. “They’re probably having fun with friends. You know how they are. They’re living their best lives, which is what we should be doing, not worrying about them.”

Ivy frowned. “Maybe something happened, and Mom doesn’t want to leave bad news in a message. Why else wouldn’t she?”

“Oh, my gosh, don’t think like that,” Shelly said, her voice rising. “Maybe they’re visiting friends in Cape Town. Or they’ve left port and sailed off. Just chill and smell the flowers. We’ll hear from them soon.”

“I hope you’re right.” Their parents were impulsive, so who knew where they were now.

Her father had said they had a little time before they crossed to St. Helena, then sailed to Brazil, and on to the Caribbean before the hurricane season arrived.

She hoped they’d make it. Trying to outrun a hurricane wasn’t her idea of a good time.

But then, maybe for them it was.

Carlotta and Sterling Bay had worked all their lives, traveling the world for their import business. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know their way around high seas and foreign countries.

Now retired, they were fulfilling a lifelong dream of circumnavigating the globe. But they were in their early seventies, so yes, Ivy worried about them. Even if they did act half their age.

Fortunately, they weren’t pushing themselves. This voyage had turned into a leisurely trip, with frequent ports of call and a schedule planned around favorable weather patterns. As her mother once told her, life is not a race, but a journey to be enjoyed.

Shelly stopped and glanced around. A little alarmed, she called out, “Daisy, where are you?”

“I can see her,” Ivy said, keeping the toddler in view. They kept a steady eye on her because the property was beachfront and had a large pool.

Shelly let out a sigh. “Whew.”

Nearby, Shelly’s daughter crouched near a clump of birds of paradise and twin ponytail palms, singing to herself.

She wore little denim jeans trimmed with lace and knee patches Shelly had stitched on, and a paint-splattered top Ivy had made.

Her curly blond hair was caught up in a messy bun like her mother often wore, only Shelly’s was a rich chestnut shade.

Daisy reminded Ivy of her girls, Misty and Sunny, when they were her age. Now they were grown, with Misty pursuing her acting career and Sunny working at the inn.

Ivy flexed her fingers, then gripped the shovel and jabbed at the roots. Even with gloves, she could feel the sting of new blisters forming. Her hands more accustomed to paintbrushes than yard work.

She didn’t mind helping her sister, she only wished she was more effective. After all, Shelly had been there for her since they’d arrived in Summer Beach a few years ago. She hadn’t flinched when Ivy suggested keeping the old beach house her late husband left her.

Not that he’d ever intended her to have it. But that was another story. Ivy preferred not to think about Jeremy’s infidelity on such a beautiful day.

Besides, she was married to Bennett now, and life was going well. She certainly couldn’t complain about that.

She reminded herself of that when the daily problems of life cropped up.

With Shelly’s help and others, Ivy had transformed the tired old house into the Seabreeze Inn. With the renovations they’d completed last year, the historical property finally matched her original vision.

Except that now, the landscaping looked worse by comparison. Shelly had improvised with a shabby chic approach to landscaping and profusions of seasonal flowers that drew attention from other issues.

But now, the grass was patchy, older plants were struggling, and the floated glass in the old Victorian-style greenhouse needed repair. A couple of years ago, Shelly had planted fast-growing passion fruit vines on trellises to hide the worst view of the greenhouse.

Shelly had already improved the wooden structure behind it that she used for her gardening supplies.

Ivy rested again, rolling her shoulders. She called out to her sister, “When are we starting on the greenhouse?”

“Soon,” Shelly said. “That’s the focal piece of this portion of the grounds. I want to let the original structure shine because this is part of Summer Beach’s history. And it will be gorgeous when it’s finished.”

Ivy couldn’t argue about that. In studying the home’s history, they’d discovered the original architect, Julia Morgan, had ordered this greenhouse from the Lord & Burnham Company in New York.

It was a smaller version of the pair she’d installed at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, which she’d designed for William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper magnate.

Julia had overseen the installation of this steel-framed greenhouse on a foundation with stone masonry walls she designed to withstand the salt air and occasional strong winds.

“I love that old greenhouse,” Shelly said. “Guests will be enchanted by it once it’s restored. We could even host intimate weddings or private dinners in there. Plus, guests will love the photo opportunities.”

Shelly moved to another spot, and Daisy wandered toward them. Ivy joined Shelly and began tackling another shrub so they could talk as they worked.

“That’s an interesting thought,” Ivy said, loosening the hard-packed soil. “I wish we’d had funds left over for it.”

The main house’s historical preservation budget hadn’t extended to the surrounding gardens and landscape structures, and the current landscape budget would stretch only so far.

“I appreciate your helping with the physical labor,” Shelly said. “I know this isn’t your area of expertise.”

“We’ve managed to figure out a lot around here,” Ivy said, recalling the house’s rough condition when they’d arrived here. “Remember when I punched through the kitchen wall? Or when you learned plumbing?”

Shelly chuckled. “Having modern plumbing is such a luxury.”

Ivy circled back to the issue that was plaguing her. “Shells, I don’t think we’ll have time to do everything you want before the Spring Fling. You need to prioritize your projects.”

Shelly pulled another weed. “Look, I know people are excited about the Spring Fling. Mitch overheard Ken and others talking about it at Java Beach.”

“Who’s Ken?” Ivy asked, a little irritated.

“A new semi-regular who’s returned to Summer Beach. I haven’t met him, but Mitch says he’s known for his unusual garden, although he couldn’t tell me much about it.”

Shelly straightened her back. “I never thought the event would be this popular. Is there any way we could push back the date for the Spring Fling? I want this place to look its best.”