Chapter 4
I nside the inn, the music room had come alive, and Ivy was pleased at the turnout. Most of their guests were there, except for Gilda and her dog Pixie, who lived on the premises.
“Hi, Mom,” Sunny said, her strawberry blond hair framing her face. “A lady just asked for you.”
“Thanks. I think I know who that is.” Ivy glanced around. “The appetizer table looks nice this evening. That’s a new setup, isn’t it?”
Sunny beamed. “I thought I’d try something new.”
“I love it. Glad you took the initiative.”
Every afternoon, Sunny and Poppy oversaw the set-up of the event.
Her youngest daughter had taken her father’s death especially hard, acting out her anger and frustration, but she was coming around and growing up now.
She still had her moments, but Ivy was proud of her, and her eldest, Misty, who had returned to Los Angeles after the holidays to rehearse for a new theater role.
Today, sunlight from the curved windows above the open French doors threw long golden shapes across the Persian rug-covered parquet floor.
Wines from their friend’s vineyard were prominently featured on an antique table, and Poppy was serving guests.
A selection of teas and a cheese board with grapes and sliced apples looked inviting.
The high school student who’d been practicing Vivaldi earlier while she was dressing was playing it beautifully now.
Ivy smiled as Bennett tucked a few bills into the young woman’s tip jar.
She made her way toward Poppy. A group from Seattle stood near the wine table talking, and she greeted them as she passed. A young couple from Denver who’d been surfing all day compared their sunburns while debating which local taco stand was better.
“I want to try fish tacos,” the woman said. “Where should we go?”
“Start with Rosa’s,” Ivy said with a smile. “Every place in Summer Beach is good. They’re just a little different.”
Poppy lifted a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Would you and Bennett like some wine, Aunt Ivy?”
“Better make that two sparkling waters,” she replied. “I have work to do tonight.”
Inspiration was more like it.
She glanced at Bennett, who was talking to Imani, a good friend and semi-retired attorney who now ran a flower stand and kept them out of trouble.
“Wait until you see what I’m planning for Blossom’s,” Imani said. “The Spring Fling will be a huge weekend for my business. Residents are going all out on landscaping for the grand prize.”
“Which includes bragging rights and a plaque,” Bennett said. “I heard Ken’s garden with its koi pond will be the front-runner.”
Imani laughed. “Not if Carol Reston can help it. Still, her participation is driving ticket sales.”
Ivy smiled to herself. Friendly competition was fine, but the Grammy Award-winning singer would be hard to beat with her budget. Still, entrants would be judged on their expertise as well as the overall presentation, so a small house stood just as much of a chance of winning.
While Ivy waited, Poppy prepared two sparkling waters with lime in the exquisite vintage crystal glasses they’d discovered in the house. As she did, Shelly’s husband brought a platter of cookies into the gathering.
Mitch set them down with a flourish. “Sea salt and brown butter, and my version of the classic chocolate chip cookie, courtesy of Java Beach.”
The Seattle group and the Denver couple pounced on them, and the cookies disappeared quickly. The guys gave him a thumbs up as they gobbled the cookies.
“Those didn’t last long,” Ivy said, smiling.
Mitch grinned and ran a hand through his spiky hair. “It’s good to know they’re appreciated. I’ll wait a few minutes to bring out the next batch.”
“Good idea.”
Just then, Ivy spied Kiko at the entrance. She wore a simple white cotton dress, her dark hair brushing her shoulders. She looked rested, the tension Ivy had detected now drained from her face.
Or at least hidden. Ivy wondered what her story was, though it was none of her business as an innkeeper. Still, Kiko was different.
Ivy made her way toward her guest and gave her one of her glasses of sparkling water. “Glad you could make it. We have wine and light appetizers, too.”
Kiko thanked her. “This is a lovely way to meet other guests.”
They talked about her drive from the Bay Area, her stop at the Hearst Castle, and the stretch of coast she’d taken south.
Ivy asked about her work, and Kiko told her she worked as a graphic designer in San Francisco.
In what little free time she had, she loved visiting museums and learning about history and design.
“Then you’re definitely in the right place,” Ivy said. “This house is steeped in history.”
“The architectural details alone are extraordinary,” Kiko said, glancing around. “Whoever designed this house understood classic California style.”
“That was the same architect who designed the Hearst Castle you just visited,” Ivy said. “This was originally a beach house built for Amelia Erickson and her husband Gustav in the early 20th century. They collected art, among other things.”
“This is quite a grand beach house.”
“We just restored it last year. It was a lot of work.”
“I can imagine.” Kiko’s expression shifted. “My grandmother spoke often about the woman who owned this house. She admired her a great deal. She once said the older woman was so brilliant that sometimes she seemed occupied in another dimension.”
Ivy wondered if that might have been the beginning of Amelia’s Alzheimer’s disease, pre-diagnosis.
Instead, she said, “We’ve collected some of Amelia’s personal items. Mostly correspondence and photos. I could show you more, if you’d like.”
“I would, very much.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on the kitchen.”
The Denver couple wandered toward Kiko, and Bennett engaged them all in a conversation, asking about their plans and steering the talk toward the best restaurants and sunset spots along the coast.
Ivy threaded her way through the room and took a shortcut across the patio to the kitchen.
There, Poppy was refilling appetizers with her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she worked. She held up a finger, finished the call.
Poppy looked up and smiled. “Andrew offered to come down to help with the Spring Fling logistics on the day of the event. He said he grew up around fundraisers, so he offered to pitch in.”
Ivy studied her niece’s face. Poppy’s tone was careful, but her eyes gave her away. “That’s awfully nice of him.”
“It is. He’s been wanting to visit anyway.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Don’t do the face, Aunt Ivy.”
“I’m not doing a face.”
“You’re reading more into my friendship with Andrew than there is. We live three hours apart, and we’re both busy.”
Ivy picked up the tray. “I think Andrew helping is a great idea. We need it. Bennett told me the committee is worried we’re behind. I need to come up with a new solution tonight and share it with them as soon as possible.” She couldn’t let this wait.
Poppy’s brightness dimmed. “They went around you to Bennett?”
“He’s the mayor, sweetheart. And he’s right. I need to present a new plan and get this project back on track.”
Poppy put her phone in her pocket. “I didn’t realize we were that far behind. I can help you after the reception, and we’ll work through it. I’ll bring my laptop.”
“Perfect. I’ll take these back.” Ivy picked up the tray. “You know, you don’t have to pretend you’re not excited about Andrew coming for the Spring Fling. Does he happen to have a nice friend for Sunny?”
Poppy raised her hands. “She can manage fine without me.”
Ivy grinned and carried the tray back into the music room.
Bennett had moved to the window with his wine, talking to an older woman who’d been reading on the terrace all afternoon. He had a gift for drawing people into conversation and listening to their concerns. It was what made him good at his job and part of what had attracted her.
She set the tray down and looked around for Kiko. Maybe she’d left for dinner in town. But Ivy had another idea. She stepped into the hallway.
Ivy found her in the parlor again, seated at the table with Amelia’s photo albums that Poppy had pulled out for her to look at. One lay open in front of her, and she held her phone close to the page.
She was photographing something.
Ivy watched for a moment. There was nothing wrong with that. The albums were available for guests and historians to view. Kiko had a personal connection to the history. Her interest made sense.
But the focus in her posture told Ivy this wasn’t casual browsing. She was documenting something specific.
Ivy crossed the room. As she approached, Kiko looked up, and in the half second before she smiled, Ivy caught her unguarded expression.
This was more than mere interest. This was personal.
“Finding anything interesting?” Ivy asked lightly.
Kiko closed the album gently, keeping her finger between the pages. “This collection is remarkable.”
“Shelly and I keep saying we’ll have them digitized. We just haven’t gotten to it. Maybe I’ll have Sunny or Poppy do that someday.”
Piano music drifted in from the music room, and they both turned toward it.
“We still have the original piano,” Ivy said. “Amelia was known for hosting musicians and artists.”
“My grandmother remembered the music,” Kiko said thoughtfully.
Ivy gestured toward the photo album. “Those are interesting photos. This house was under the command of the U.S. Navy during the war in the Pacific region. The Army and Navy acquired and repurposed many properties. The Ericksons volunteered this property for use due to its proximity to military bases. Recovering officers were housed here.”
“I think that was common then,” Kiko said.
Ivy nodded, adding more context. “Many properties in California were acquired or leased to convert into hospitals and convalescent facilities for wounded marines and sailors. The military leased the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park and the El Mirador Hotel in Palm Springs. The Adamson House in Malibu was another personal home that was used in the war effort. The Coast Guard used its bathhouse to guard the area.”
“Fascinating,” Kiko said, a faraway look in her eyes.
“My grandmother told me that from 1943 to the end of 1945, Las Brisas del Mar was a U.S. Naval Convalescent Hospital. It offered rehabilitation for those officers wounded and shell-shocked, providing a peaceful environment for recovery. They used the pool for physical therapy.”
Ivy realized her guest had also done her research. “San Diego was a huge military hub that transformed into a virtual fortress for several years. The Hotel Del Coronado, south of here, was used for military housing, as were the Handlery and Grand Colonial hotels.”
“My grandmother, Hana, told me there was always music,” Kiko said, smiling wistfully. “The officer in command believed music was restorative, along with the flower gardens and sea breezes. She mentioned that the owner, Amelia, stayed and volunteered during that time. She often played the piano.”
Ivy hadn’t known that, and she appreciated that personal detail.
“Amelia took initiative,” Ivy said, thinking about how she’d spirited important works of art and artifacts from Europe for safekeeping. “This fills in some holes in the story we know. Did Hana mention others who were here then?”
“She spoke of a young officer who was particularly kind to her. She said he loved the gardens and the greenhouse, and thought being in nature helped him recover.”
As Kiko’s voice trailed off, Ivy thought of Amelia, who had opened her home to interned nurses and the wounded, and who believed art, music, and nature were vitally important.
Yet another wave of gratitude for the woman she’d never met washed over her. If caring for Amelia’s home brought forth more inspiring stories like Kiko’s, it was worth it.
The music ended, and applause echoed through the hall. Kiko excused herself to go to dinner in the village. After she left, Ivy touched the album, wondering which photos Kiko had taken shots of.
She tried to find the pages where Kiko’s finger had been, opening the album to another era like a portal to the past.
These pages held black-and-white photos of medical staff in the ballroom caring for patients. Another one pictured several men on the terrace near the pool wearing hospital robes. A row of staff stood behind them.
Ivy studied the faces. She recognized Amelia in some photos, though most were of patients. Some smiling, some not. A few were in wheelchairs or on crutches. Another young man with his arm in a sling, looking away from the camera.
Ivy closed the album. She had work to do tonight. Piecing together the past wouldn’t solve the problem that loomed before her.
Bennett appeared in the doorway to the parlor.
“Ready to go work on the plan?”
“Poppy will meet me at our place to help figure this out. If you want to leave now, I’ll meet you there shortly. Sunny is going out, so we can make a quick dinner.”
“I’ll make something for us.” Bennett inclined his head. “I passed Kiko in the hallway, and she looked a little shaken. Is there a problem?”
“I don’t think so. She was going through the old album and photographing it. Maybe she was thinking of her grandmother’s experiences.”
After Ivy quickly filled him in, Bennett considered this with a thoughtful expression. “That may be, but you don’t think she’s here only for her grandmother’s memory, do you?”
Her husband knew her well. “No. I don’t think she is.”