Chapter 21
T he morning of the Spring Fling dawned bright and warm. Outside, the last wisps of the marine layer had burned off early, revealing a sky so blue it looked like one of Ivy’s paintings. She stood in the foyer wearing a floral dress she’d bought for the occasion.
The gardens looked lush and layered. In a word, spectacular. Of course. This was Shelly’s vision, brought to life.
A striking entrance led up the wide stone steps to the entry on the terrace level.
Shelly’s floral arrangements took over the space, culminating on the round entry table inside the foyer.
The multilevel cascading arrangement of roses, peonies, ranunculus, and trailing greenery spilled from vintage vessels.
Ivy had already checked the greenhouse this morning. Inside, Shelly had staged a living display of orchids, herbs, heirloom vegetables, and flowers at every stage of growth. The old potting bench was clean but left natural, its scars and stains part of the property’s story.
Poppy had set up the photo station just outside the greenhouse, with the inn’s logo and a Spring Fling banner framing a bench. She’d tested the camera angles for photos and social posts yesterday.
“What do you think of the final look?” Shelly asked, appearing beside Ivy in a sundress and her straw hat. But her hat had a ribbon tied around it today, and her boots were clean.
“Like a dream,” Ivy said.
Shelly squeezed her hand. “Our dream. I couldn’t have done this without you, Ives. Or the kids, or Sage, or anyone. But mostly you.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ll make me ruin my mascara, and the event hasn’t even started.”
By nine-thirty, the inn was buzzing. Sunny had set up the ticket sales and check-in table in the foyer, which was heady with fragrance.
Ivy was proud of all her daughter had done, despite her busy week at school. She’d printed programs, organized name badges for committee members and sponsors, and helped Poppy.
Ivy’s niece seemed everywhere at once, shooting content, coordinating with Briar on social media posts, and managing the day’s volunteer schedule.
The garden club teens had arrived early to do a final walk-through with Shelly and stood along the path looking proud and slightly nervous for a group photo.
“You did this,” Shelly told them, standing in front of the group. “This is your work, and it’s stunning. I’m proud of all of you.”
Thorn raised his hand. “Can we put that on our resumes?”
“You can slap it on a billboard in Times Square.” Shelly clapped. “Now go enjoy the day. You’ve earned it.”
A few teens lingered, ready to greet guests for their short shifts, but most were itching to see the other gardens on the tour. Ivy remembered that feeling of wanting to soak up every bit of inspiration.
Shelly nudged Ivy. “It’s time. People are arriving.”
“Here we go.” Ivy smiled and held out her hands. “Welcome to the Seabreeze Inn, your first stop on the Spring Fling garden tour.”
The first visitors picked up their maps and programs and set off on the self-guided tour through Summer Beach. The route wound through the village and up to the ridgetop, with each participating home marked on the map.
The inn was the first and last stop. Visitors would begin here, walk the grounds if they wished, then continue to the other homes before returning for the afternoon reception and awards ceremony.
“Mom, Andrew is here for Poppy,” Sunny called from the front desk.
Ivy looked up to see Andrew walking through the front door. He carried a bouquet of sunflowers wrapped with the yellow burlap and ribbon that Imani had bought yesterday. He wore a tweed blazer over jeans and loafers.
Poppy saw him, and her face transformed with happiness. “You came after all. I didn’t think you could.”
“Told you I would.” He handed her the flowers and kissed her cheek. “Where do you need me?”
Ivy stepped in before Poppy could assign herself to the desk for the rest of the day. “Andrew, would you mind taking over the check-in table with Poppy for a little while? Then Briar and Sunny can take over for a shift.”
“Aunt Ivy, are you sure? I have the whole schedule mapped out.”
“Schedules can be changed. Sunny and Jamir, or a garden club member, can handle the desk after your shift. Then you can show Andrew around. Just come back for the reception.”
“We’ll be back sooner than that.”
Jamir wanted to visit with Sunny, and he’d also promised his mother that he’d fill in for her at Blossoms while she went on the tour later in the afternoon.
Andrew took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ve run charity galas for law firms in L.A. I think we can manage a check-in table for a while.”
Poppy hesitated, then smiled. “Thanks, Aunt Ivy. I’ll move some shifts around.”
As the young couple took their places, Ivy caught Bennett’s eye across the foyer. He stood near the front door in a pressed shirt and khakis, greeting arrivals and shaking hands. He gave her a wink.
When the foyer quieted, Ivy slipped outside with Bennett. Her vintage red Chevy convertible’s top was down, and a breeze ruffled her hair as they wound up the ridgetop road to Carol Reston’s estate.
Bennett glanced at her as he drove. “Sure was good of Carol and Hal to open their exterior grounds to the public for the garden tour.”
“It was, and that has really driven ticket sales. Everyone wants a peek inside a Grammy Award winner’s estate.”
Carol and Hal’s home, Shangri-La, was already the talk of the tour. Once past the gated entry and guards, Ivy saw they had invested even more into the modern landscaping theme, which featured dramatic sculptural elements and a cascading water feature on a terraced hillside.
Hal called out to them. “Well, if it isn’t the mayor, gracing us with his presence. Glad you stopped by. Carol, look who’s here.”
The red-haired singer swirled around, her floral caftan rippling in the breeze. She wore a straw hat with a pink scarf wrapped around the brim.
“I’m so glad you could slip away from the inn to see what we’ve added. Isn’t the waterfall fabulous? We love to sit out here in the evening to listen to it and watch the sunset.”
They chatted for a few minutes before Carol and Hal were pulled away by other guests.
“We’ll see you at the reception,” Carol said before they left.
Ivy and Bennett continued walking around the expansive grounds. Guest cottages and outdoor pavilions were tucked between palm trees that had been swept into natural arches by sea breezes.
Native succulents and ornamental grasses surrounded the pool, which was shaped like a grand piano. A large fire pit anchored a conversation area with an astounding panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and the village of Summer Beach below.
“It’s awfully impressive,” Bennett said.
“It’s a beautiful, professional design,” Ivy added, outside of earshot of their hosts. “It was created to host large parties and be photographed for Architectural Digest . Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just the way they live.”
“Spoken like an artist.”
She laughed. “Spoken like someone who’s been digging in the dirt for weeks.”
They drove to the other homes on the tour and walked through each one, chatting with the owners. It was important that she and Bennett express their appreciation to each owner for volunteering and for the work they’d put in. It meant a lot to the community.
After seeing the last home’s garden, Bennett checked it off the list. “Only two more to go. Shall we stop at the Sandvik’s house, and then Ken’s?”
“That’s a good plan.” Ivy spotted the white gazebo beyond a hedge of white heirloom roses, the ocean glinting beyond. Everything here felt established, as the garden had belonged to this family for many years.
Outside the Sandvik property, they ran into Arthur and Nan, who were comparing notes on their programs.
“Wonderful turnout,” Arthur said, falling into step beside Ivy as they walked back toward the cars. “I think the committee can be pleased.”
“Even Clarence?” Ivy asked with a smile.
Nan spoke up. “Clarence is in Houston, where I’ve heard he’s much happier.”
Arthur adjusted his glasses and lowered his voice. “We did more work on that photograph Kiko showed us, particularly the name on the back.”
Ivy slowed her pace. “Did you discover anything about it?”
“First, the name isn’t Raul,” Nan said.
Arthur pulled a small magnifying loupe from his pocket, the kind jewelers used.
“Nan and I examined it under magnification. The cursive looks rushed, and some of the letters’ loops are left open, but we’re quite certain.
The name is Basil, which is common in England. I had a couple of mates with the name.”
Ivy traded a look with Bennett. “That changes things.”
Nan nodded enthusiastically, while Arthur went on. “The name is somewhat uncommon in the States. Does it sound familiar to you?”
“Oh,” Ivy cried, remembering where she’d heard it. Basil was the name Hana had given her orchid in her sketchbook.
Ivy’s mind raced. She thought of the carved initials on the potting bench. H.K. and the second set she could only partly read, but the first letter was likely a B.
Everything was starting to match.
“It might be something,” she said, containing the urge to scream over the new clue. “Thank you, Arthur, and Nan. That’s very helpful.”
They looked pleased with their detective work and excused themselves to join a friend, who was debating the merits of drip irrigation with another local.
Bennett touched Ivy’s arm. “What was that about?”
“I’ll tell you later. But we need to see Ken’s garden. Now.”
They drove to Ken’s property, the last stop on the tour before returning to the inn for the reception. Cars lined the quiet street, and visitors moved along the flagstone path in hushed clusters.
If Carol’s garden played to the crowd, Ken’s whispered to the soul.
The raked gravel flowed like water around moss-covered stones.
The koi pond reflected the sky, its surface broken only by the movement of fish beneath.
The arched wooden bridge connected two sections of the garden, and on the far side, sculpted black pines framed a stone lantern that looked as though it had been standing there for centuries.
Ken’s landscape specialist, Takeo, sat on a bench near the tea house, his weathered hands folded in his lap, watching the visitors with the quiet satisfaction of a man who’d spent a lifetime caring for this place. When he saw Bennett, he inclined his head.
Kiko was there, too. She stood near the pond with Ken, their shoulders close together. Ken was pointing out something in the water, and Kiko was laughing. When she saw Ivy, she waved them over.
Ken greeted them warmly. “Thank you for including us on the tour. The turnout has been incredible.”
“Isn’t it magnificent?” Kiko said.
“It really is.” Ivy let her gaze linger on the garden, seeing it differently now. Every element had been thoughtfully placed. None of it was just for show. This was a garden built on love.
“My grandfather built it to honor the woman he’d loved and lost during the war,” Ken explained.
“Did your father remember his mother?” Ivy asked softly.
Ken hesitated. “Unfortunately, he was so young that he had no memory.”
Ivy considered this. Here was a man honoring the woman he’d lost and raising their child in her memory.
She sighed at the story. Ken was tending a garden for his grandmother, whom he had never known.
“Your beautiful garden speaks for itself,” Ivy said. Then, on impulse, she added, “Ken, would you mind if I used your restroom? It’s been a long morning.”
“Please. It’s through the side door, and down the hall on the right.”
She walked through the entrance and into Ken’s home. It was simply furnished with clean lines and natural materials. Wood floors, linen curtains, a few pieces of Japanese pottery on floating shelves. Peaceful and comfortable, without being fussy.
She found the restroom and used it. She started back in one direction but realized she’d made a wrong turn. In front of her was a room with the door partly ajar, through which she could see a wall lined with framed photographs.
She slowed, knowing she shouldn’t go snooping around, but she was curious. She opened the door.
They were family photos. There was Ken, as a boy, grinning in the garden with a shovel too big for him.
In another, a man she assumed was his father in surgical scrubs with a patient at the hospital, both looking pleased.
Then, Ken’s father, as a young man, kneeling in the garden beside an older man.
And then she stopped.
She peered at a photograph in a dark wood frame.
It was smaller than the others. The photo showed a young man in military uniform, lean and fair-skinned, squinting into the camera with a half-smile.
He stood with his arm in a sling beside the sign Ivy and Shelly had dug up, with the greenhouse in the background.
Ivy pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was suddenly pounding.
She knew that face.
She’d seen it in her own photo albums. She’d seen it on Kiko’s phone, zoomed in and cropped from a group photo on the terrace.
At the bottom of the photo was faint lettering. Ivy fumbled for her phone in her pocket. She quickly snapped a few photos.
She stood frozen in the room, her pulse thudding in her ears. She enlarged the photo and caught her breath.