Seabreeze Harvest (Summer Beach #12)

Chapter 1

Awave of excitement swept through Ivy when her brother unveiled the rendering for their new project at the kitchen counter. Forrest had included a sign that read, “The Amelia Erickson Library and Art Museum.”

“I never imagined the project would look like that,” she said, easing onto a stool in her paint-splattered jeans and sneakers. Earlier today, she’d been finishing a seascape painting for a client in her studio. “It’s truly stunning.”

Forrest gestured toward the plans. “Your former owner had tremendous foresight. Very impressive for a small beach town.”

“But is it too much now?” Ivy drew in her lower lip, trying to imagine how the new structure would look in the village of Summer Beach.

Her husband tapped the image. “That’s why the city needed this rendering,” Bennett replied.

“Residents will have the opportunity to voice concerns if they have any. It’s better to get their buy-in and approval before the final plans are approved.

That’s the way Boz manages the process for the city. ”

Ivy sensed some concern on his part. After all, Bennett was the mayor of Summer Beach. “Is there a chance this won’t be approved?”

“There’s always that risk, but in this case, I think it’s minimal,” he replied.

Ivy folded back the sleeves of her shirt and studied the drawing on the countertop.

This image of what the new library and art museum would look like was based on the architectural plans the inn’s former owner had commissioned decades ago.

Several months ago, Lea Martin, Amelia’s long-lost great-niece from Germany, had generously funded this cultural center in Amelia’s memory.

“It’s beautiful and quite grand,” she said. “I love it, but do you think it will look out of place now?”

Forrest shifted on his stool. “The white stucco and red-tiled roof of the Spanish Colonial Revival and Mediterranean styles will complement the inn. When the Ericksons built your place, Las Brisas del Mar, they were probably envisioning the entire town in that style.”

“Much of it is,” she said. From the beach bungalows that dotted the Summer Beach shoreline to the estates on the ridgetop, many were built like that.

Yet her brother wasn’t answering her question. Before they fully committed to the updated plans, she had to be sure this project was in the best interest of their beach town.

Ivy considered the sketch. “We all know the inn stands apart from everything around it. I want the library and museum to fit its surroundings.”

Bennett looked at her with a trace of amusement. “You think it’s too pretentious now?”

“Seeing it drawn like this looks different from the blueprints. I worry that this is too fancy for Summer Beach kids in shorts and sandals. It might be intimidating.”

“Or inspiring,” Bennett added.

Ivy could understand his point. “But where’s the fun and whimsy that would draw people inside? Like Libby’s creative bookmobile does.”

Bennett and Forrest stared at her, not quite grasping what she meant.

She tried again. “Let’s share this sketch with the community and listen to feedback. I don’t want Bennett to take the heat for a project I’m leading. I’m the mayor’s wife now, and people can be critical.”

Bennett put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “Trust the process. We’ll have a council meeting open to the public for questions and suggestions, and we’ll ask the paper to print it to reach even more residents.”

Ivy thought of her neighbor, who could be cranky about change. “Then there’s Darla to think about. She has a clear view of that land.”

“Tell her it will raise her property value,” Forrest said, grinning.

Initially, Ivy’s neighbor had been receptive toward the project, but she’d complained about the construction noise at the inn, and now, the inconvenience of the library project, despite the eventual convenience of having a library within walking distance.

Still thinking about Amelia’s vision and her habit of hiding items in the house, Ivy gazed at the drawing. An odd feeling flitted through her, as if she were missing a crucial piece.

The accomplished art collector had suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, but before that, when the Second World War spread across Europe, Amelia had rescued important art and artifacts from Germany with the help of her father, who had overseen a museum there.

She’d also helped resettle artists and innovators who’d managed to flee Europe.

Ivy and her sister had discovered art items and more that Amelia had hidden in the house for preservation.

That was a story that should be preserved.

How could she honor Amelia’s personal accomplishments, besides realizing her vision for the library and museum? This rendering was perfect.

Maybe too perfect.

That’s it, she thought, before blurting out, “This lacks Amelia’s appreciation of creativity.”

Frowning, Forrest leaned in. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a museum, so it needs art that has an authentic vision.” She snapped her fingers. Suddenly she knew. “Like Gaudí in Barcelona.”

“Who?” Forrest asked.

“A celebrated architect who lived in Spain. Antoni Gaudí created whimsical designs that furthered the Catalan Modernism and Art Nouveau trends in the first part of the twentieth century. Have you ever seen photos of the Parc Güell? The mosaics are magnificent, as if sprouted from nature. So creative and joyful, a pure explosion of exuberant colors.”

While her reference sparked a small light in Bennett’s eyes, her nephew’s stare was blank.

“Look it up,” she said, growing excited. “Gaudí’s work has always captured my imagination. Maybe we can hire a contemporary artist to create fanciful accents. I know there are some in Southern California. I just don’t know who they are.”

Yet, that is.

Still, the two men didn’t share her vision. Bennett and Forrest might be trying to understand her artist’s soul, but they weren’t there yet.

“I’ll show you some examples later,” she added.

Forrest nodded to appease her. “In the meantime, we need to survey the land to determine the topography and confirm easements and property lines.”

Ivy recalled the day they’d christened the site for the library and art museum. “When you look at the topography, will you also look at what’s below the surface? I’m thinking about what my shovel hit when we had the kick-off celebration. It seemed like old concrete. Or maybe it was metal.”

“The survey will identify any issues that might affect construction,” Forrest said.

“There’s a natural rise in elevation on that land.

What you hit might have been an old drainage pipe or a large rock.

We find all sorts of things when we begin excavation for construction.

Finding old relics, fossils, or graves will slow down the process. ”

“How will we know what’s down there?” Ivy asked.

“You won’t, not until we begin the excavation.”

She wondered if they should wait that long to find something that might hamper the project schedule.

Just then, the kitchen door burst open, and Shelly stepped inside, holding a toddler on her hip. Her wavy, sun-bleached chestnut hair was windblown, and little blond-haired Daisy clutched a picture book. They both wore sundresses with sandals.

Ivy greeted her sister and niece with hugs. “Is that a new story from the bookmobile?”

Shelly smoothed her daughter’s fine hair. “We were playing on the beach when Libby parked her bookmobile nearby. Daisy squeals every time she sees that magical vehicle, so we had to visit.”

Ivy sent a pointed look at Bennett and Forrest, but the proof was lost on them.

Shelly nodded toward the plans. “How is the new project going?”

“I didn’t realize how many details there’d be, but it’s coming together,” Ivy replied. “Thanks to our amazingly talented brother.”

Daisy’s eyes widened at the rendering. She cooed with delight and pointed at it.

Bennett laughed. “There’s your first resident approval.”

“That will be an incredible building,” Shelly said.

Bennett leaned in. “Too much?”

Shelly made a face. “I think too much is just about right. Don’t let people scare you. Although Summer Beach could use something quirky, like Laguna Beach’s artistic influences.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Ivy said.

Bennett grinned. “Okay, I know that look on your face, sweetheart.”

“Well, it is an art museum.” She tapped the rendering as ideas whirred through her mind. She would figure it out.

Shelly gestured toward the plans. “This was Amelia’s vision for the town. So I’m all in. Do you know if something else was built there before?”

“Not that we know of,” Ivy replied. “Forrest thinks I hit an old drainage pipe.”

He nodded in agreement. “Something like that. The Gutierrez family bought the property to build a family compound, but their situation changed before they could develop it.”

“Maybe you should check out that old pipe,” Shelly said, raising her brow pointedly at her brother.

Forrest shook his head. “We’ll address that after we break ground. No sense having men and equipment out there at this point. That would be a waste of time and money.”

Bennett nodded along with him. “That makes sense. Besides, people often dump debris on vacant land.”

“But we all know what Amelia was like,” Ivy said. “What if she buried something there?”

“Sweetheart,” Bennett said, covering her hand with his. “Let your brother handle the construction. He knows his business best, just as you know yours.”

So surprised was Ivy at his words that she was momentarily speechless, searching for the right reply. She met her sister’s questioning gaze, reading her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken.

But before she could think of a comment or retort, Bennett cleared his throat and turned to Shelly, swiftly changing the subject as if he were in a city council meeting, not in the kitchen with family. “Are you and Mitch ready for the wine harvest party tomorrow?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Shelly replied slowly, tearing her gaze from her sister. “How about you two?”