Chapter 1 #3
Shelly’s eyebrows shot up. “She was probably fishing for a story. When I asked if she’d ever seen anything odd, she admitted that it was only gossip because the house had been uninhabited for so long. No worries, I’ve got your back, Ives.”
Ivy shuddered. “Don’t start with all your woo-woo talk.” Her sister loved to tease her about the ghost of Amelia Erickson, the former owner.
Not that she believed in ghosts, as such.
After all, a strange feeling here or there didn’t qualify as a ghost.
Still, it might be only a matter of time before a guest heard or felt something strange.
Ivy bristled. Not that anyone had, of course.
That she knew of, anyway.
A smile tugged at Shelly’s lips. “There could be an old private cemetery on the grounds. If you hit something hard, let me know. Or if you unearth any bones.”
A chill touched Ivy’s neck. “Oh, my gosh, stop it, Shells.”
“Well, we did make a major find on the vacant lot. I’m just saying, there might be more under the surface than we know about.”
Her sister had a point. The discovery of the World War II bunker last year on the vacant lot earmarked for the new library had turned into quite the production.
Since then, a team of historians and students had descended on Summer Beach, carefully cataloging every artifact from that hidden underground space.
The town had been buzzing with excitement for months.
Their brother Forrest and his son Reed had worked with the architect to bring the old plans they’d found up to current building codes, and to create a lowered space for a viewing platform into the bunker. It was too dangerous for people to go into, so this was a clever solution.
Shelly stood and stretched. “You know, if you’d angled the shovel as I showed you, it wouldn’t be so difficult.”
Wincing, Ivy flexed her hands. “I’m trying. We just need to get this work done.”
“Hey, we should take a break. I want to check on Daisy.”
“Go ahead, I’ll keep going.” When Shelly arched an eyebrow, Ivy added, “Look, I know you’re the garden guru. But I’ve got this.”
Ivy blew a wisp of hair from her face and kept going.
Still, clearing away the old to make room for new growth was satisfying. She thought about Shelly’s vision for the gardens with its romantic pathways winding between lush plantings.
She’d love to paint that scene.
Daisy had moved on and was now investigating something near the greenhouse. “Mommy, I see more bugs.”
“Wonderful,” Shelly said, scooping the little girl into her arms. “Don’t touch bugs unless I say you can.”
“Some bite me,” Daisy said, looking solemn. “Like the ants.”
Just then, Poppy emerged from around the side of the inn, her blond hair catching the sunlight. “How’s the work going?”
“Slowly,” Ivy said. “And painfully, in my case.”
“It’s going well,” Shelly added. “We’re at least three minutes ahead of schedule.”
Poppy laughed. “I hate to interrupt the progress, but we have a new guest who wants to speak to you. She checked in about twenty minutes ago. She’s…different.”
“And?” Ivy recognized that tone. Poppy had detected something.
“She’s interesting.” Poppy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nice enough, but she said something weird when I asked what brought her to Summer Beach.”
“What was that?” Shelly tucked Daisy onto her hip.
“A psychic told her she needed to visit.” Poppy shrugged. “Supposedly, she’s meant to find something here.”
Shelly’s eyes lit up. “I knew it. It must be a cemetery. I bet her ancestors are buried here.”
Looking anxious, Poppy clasped her hands. “Please tell me you didn’t dig up a body. That would be a public relations nightmare.”
“Enough about the cemetery.” Ivy shot a look at Shelly, and as she did, she felt a prickling sensation around the back of her neck.
“Oh, come on,” Shelly said, nudging her. “Aren’t you even a little curious about this story?”
“Not at all,” Ivy said. “But I’ll be happy to talk with her after I clean up.”
“Her name is Kiko Nakamura, and she’s getting settled in her room,” Poppy said. “She’s interested in the history of the inn, so I left some of Amelia’s old photo albums out in the parlor for her to look at. You have some time.”
A chill seized her now, so Ivy shrugged it off and told herself she was being ridiculous. Summer Beach attracted all kinds of visitors, from beachgoers to history buffs and architecture enthusiasts. There was nothing strange about someone curious about the inn’s history.
“I’m sure Kiko just needed a break,” Ivy said.
Shelly winked at her. “Maybe. Or maybe...”
“No more woo-woo, Shells.”
Daisy turned to her mother, her small hands full of flower petals. “Mommy, what’s woo-woo?” she asked with a serious expression.
“It’s magic,” Shelly replied. “Feelings that give you happy goosebumps. Not everyone believes in magic, though.” She cast a sorrowful look at Ivy.
Daisy turned toward the greenhouse and threw up the petals. “I like woo-woo, Mommy.”
“We all do,” Shelly said, before adding in a whisper, “Except for Auntie Ivy sometimes.” She licked her thumb to wipe dirt from Daisy’s cheek. “Would you bring me a basket from the greenhouse? We can put flowers in it, and I’ll show you which one to pick.”
“Okay, my friend can help.”
As Daisy scampered off, Ivy looked after her. “Who is her friend?”
“It’s an imaginary friend,” Shelly replied. “I had one when I was little. Mom said you did, too. Or maybe, it’s Amelia, playing with her.”
There it was again. That weird prickly feeling. If there was one thing Ivy had learned about Amelia Erickson, it was that this accomplished woman had more chapters in her life than a bestseller.
Who knows? She’d had such zest for life; maybe she was still going in some form.
Ivy shook her head, dispelling the thought. She turned to Shelly. “You didn’t tell her about Amelia, did you?”
“No, I wouldn’t want to scare Daisy. Her friend is only in her imagination. We read to her every night, so now she makes up stories of her own.”
“I guess that’s pretty normal.” Ivy shook off the feeling. “Maybe she’ll write children’s books someday.”
Ivy turned back to the garden bed. They had work to do. Gardens to restore and a greenhouse to revive.
She estimated the distance she should be from the next shrub to get underneath the main root ball before choosing a spot to start.
“Careful,” Shelly said, watching her. “There might be a dead body down there.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
Ivy drove the shovel into the soil with more force than necessary. As the shovel hit a solid obstacle with a thunk , she frowned.
“I’ve struck something.” She knelt, then sucked in a breath while Shelly hurried to her side.
Squatting by the hole, the two sisters peered in.
“Looks like weathered bronze,” Ivy said. She brushed dirt aside and read the sign. “Las Brisas del Mar Convalescent Home.”
“Oh, my gosh.” Shelly let out a long breath.
“I’ll bet this dates from the 1940s,” Ivy said. “That’s when Amelia Erickson allowed this house to be used as a rehabilitation center for recovering service members wounded in the war.”
Shelly nodded and said, “This old house has been through a lot. But just look at her now.”
Ivy glanced back at the structure, now more than a hundred years old and looking better than ever.
“Imagine turning your beautiful home into a recovery and rehabilitation center,” she said thoughtfully.
Shelly chewed her lip. “How many people would volunteer to do that today?”
“If it came to that, I imagine we would, though I hope we never have to,” Ivy replied. “But after what the Ericksons went through in Germany before arriving here, it makes sense. They offered shelter to people who managed to escape, and they were determined to preserve important works of art.”
Shelly stared at the old sign. “I believe that being in nature helps people heal. The gardens were fresh and beautiful then and probably a comfort to those recuperating here.”
“All the more reason to breathe new life into these old grounds,” Ivy said.
Shelly lifted the old sign from the dirt with care. “I’ll clean this up so we can display it in Poppy’s history collection.”
“While you do that, I’ll take a break and speak to our new guest.” Ivy peeled off her gloves and laid them over the handle of the shovel. She glanced at the greenhouse. “Is Daisy okay in there?”
Shelly looked up, squinting into the sun. “She’s been quiet. That usually means she’s doing something interesting.”
Ivy frowned. “Is there anything that might hurt her in there?”
“Just my vegetable and herb seedlings. The tools are in the shed. I don’t think she’d eat the potting soil, but if she did, it’s organic.” Shelly grinned and knelt by another patch of weeds.
“I’ll peek in on her.”
Ivy pressed her hands into her lower back and started for the house. The smell of sun-warmed soil and sea air followed her across the lawn.
The greenhouse sat at the far edge of the old garden, its clouded, sand-etched glass reflecting the sun. One of the panes near the door was cracked, and another was missing entirely, patched decades ago with what looked like a square of tin. Other panes looked dangerously loose.
Though somewhat neglected, the Victorian structure had a certain dignity.
As Ivy drew closer, she heard Daisy’s sing-song voice through the open doorway. She smiled and slowed her step.
“I’ll pick out all the yellow flowers,” Daisy said.
Through the open door, Ivy could see her niece sitting cross-legged on the cracked tile floor, a pile of petals arranged in front of her.
“…and you can take the pink ones…”
Ivy stopped. Daisy hadn’t seen her yet. Was this her imaginary friend?
Or could it be the almost shimmering energy that Ivy sometimes felt?
She stepped inside the greenhouse. The air was warmer and more humid in here, and it smelled of rich earth and fresh plants.
But Daisy wasn’t alone.