Chapter 1 #2
Ivy was a little perturbed at her husband, but she also knew he and Forrest were only doing what they thought was right. And maybe they were, but the thought of something buried on the property still bothered her. Even if it was just an old piece of concrete.
Because what if it wasn’t?
Ivy shifted her attention to the conversation about the weekend’s plans. Fortunately, the high season was over, so Poppy and Sunny had agreed to look after the inn while they were away for the weekend.
Emilie and Tristan Boivin owned a winery and vineyard in the nearby mountains. The French couple was celebrating the grape harvest season with an event they called the crush. She and Bennett had been looking forward to it.
“We’re going to have such fun this weekend,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling. “Ivy, will I see you at the book club meeting later tonight? It’s at Ginger’s cottage this time.”
Ginger Delavie was a local legend who lived in a beach house everyone called the Coral Cottage. Ivy was friends with her granddaughters.
“I can give you a ride.” When Shelly arched an eyebrow, Ivy knew exactly what her sister was thinking. And she was all in on it. She hadn’t come this far with transforming a rambling old beach house into an inn without taking a few outlandish risks.
A plan was already forming in her mind as Forrest and Bennett excused themselves to return to work.
As soon as they left the kitchen, she confirmed her suspicion with Shelly. They agreed to include their niece, Poppy.
After the sun set, Ivy changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black knit turtleneck. She quickly loaded shovels into the trunk of her 1957 cherry-red Chevy convertible, wincing as the metal scraped. She closed the trunk, trying to be quiet and feeling a little guilty, as if preparing for a heist.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Bennett appeared on the balcony above her, silhouetted against the light spilling from their apartment above the garage. “Are you headed to your book club meeting?”
She smiled up at him, smoothing over her awkwardness. “Almost. I’m waiting for Poppy.”
Grinning, he held up a book. “Don’t forget this.” He jogged down the steps, holding the novel the book club members had been reading. “Looks like you’ve barely cracked the spine.”
“I listened to the audiobook on my errands and walks.” She had been so busy with the end of the season activities at the inn, she had barely kept up with the book club.
She took the book from him, feeling the weight of her scheme settle between them. “Thanks, honey.”
Bennett kissed her forehead. “Have fun. Call me if the wine flows too freely. Wouldn’t want Chief Clarkson to pull you over.”
“Don’t worry. I’m the designated driver.” She kissed him.
Poppy hurried toward them with a book tucked under her arm. Fortunately, she remembered hers.
Bennett opened the door for Ivy, and she slid behind the wheel to start the car. The engine turned over with its familiar rumble. She pulled away from the inn, watching her husband wave in her rearview mirror.
Poppy glanced back in the mirror. “Did he suspect anything?”
“No, and he still doesn’t understand why this is so important.”
Guilt pricked at her, but not enough to turn back. Bennett had agreed with her brother and taken his side over hers. Even when she brought it up again this afternoon, he’d told her to let Forrest check out the site and do his job.
He’d also seemed irritated, which wasn’t like him, and she wondered if the call he’d taken earlier had something to do with that. Just city business, he’d said.
Their weekend getaway couldn’t come at a better time. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with slightly frayed emotional edges.
Poppy turned to her. “This is exciting, but are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Aunt Ivy?”
“If Amelia buried something there, I want to know before bulldozers and backhoes turn the site into a construction zone and damage whatever might be underneath by accident. It would be too easy to forget and lose an important piece of history or Amelia’s story.”
This history mattered to her, as she felt a connection with the woman whose passion for art she shared. But it was more than that. During the war, Amelia Erickson had risked her life to give shelter to people and transport historical and cultural artifacts to safety.
What more might she have accomplished had Alzheimer’s not robbed her of her memory?
Only uncovered during the recent renovation, the plans for a library and art museum had revealed one of Amelia’s intentions for Summer Beach. Ivy was determined to see the project through now.
They drove to Shelly’s bungalow, where she emerged wearing a similar pair of dark jeans and a black hoodie like she’d dressed for a mission. Mitch stood in the doorway, holding Daisy on his hip. His spiky, sun-bleached hair shone under the porchlight.
“Back by ten, babe,” Shelly said, sliding into the backseat.
Instead of turning toward their friend’s cottage down the beach, Ivy drove the short distance to the vacant lot slated for the future library and art museum.
Streetlights flickered on, casting pools of amber light across empty sidewalks. The lot sat across from a row of boutiques, now closed.
No traffic. Minimal lighting. Perfect conditions for covert excavation.
Ivy parked on a side street across from the lot, and they hurried to get the shovels.
“This still feels a little wrong,” Poppy said, pulling a flashlight from a toolbox.
Ivy handed her a shovel. “It’s our project. We have every right to be here.”
Poppy hefted the tool. “Then why are we creeping around like we’re about to rob it?”
“Because men like to mansplain,” Shelly said, picking up another shovel. “Sometimes it’s easier to do a job yourself than try to convince another person of its importance.”
As she shut the trunk, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a young, slender man on the street in a dark faded hoodie and jeans. She didn’t recognize him, and he hurried away.
She waited until he was gone before crossing the street.
The lot smelled of dry grass with a whiff of eucalyptus from the trees lining the street. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, then fell silent.
Poppy switched on the flashlight. The beam swept across the vacant lot, illuminating a sign that read, “Future Home of The Amelia Erickson Library and Art Museum.”
Beyond that lay the raised area near a volunteer palm tree where Ivy had hit something hard.
The trio walked across the lot to the spot she remembered.
“Here goes.” The earth resisted as Ivy’s shovel bit in.
“Keep the light low,” Shelly whispered to Poppy. “We don’t want it visible from the street.”
“Then how are we supposed to see?” Poppy angled the beam downward, creating a small circle of illumination.
“Carefully.” Ivy scooped out the soil she’d loosened during their ceremonial groundbreaking. She and Shelly worked their shovels against the rest of the hard-packed earth.
“Let’s try another section,” Ivy said, repositioning her shovel.
After a few minutes, Ivy rested her arms on top of the shovel, catching her breath. “This is ridiculous to be out here like this,” she said, realizing the folly of the situation. “We have every right to investigate this property in the daylight, regardless of what Forrest and Bennett think.”
“Then why are we sneaking around like crooks?” Poppy asked.
“Because we want to find the treasure first,” Shelly said, her eyes glimmering in the light.
Ivy dug her shovel into the ground again. “And if we wait for the excavation crew and they find something, the whole project stops. Do you know what construction loan interest runs per day?”
“More than I want to think about,” Poppy replied. “Want to switch off with me?”
Just then, Ivy’s shovel struck something solid. The vibration traveled up the handle and into her wrists. “Found it.”
Shelly knelt immediately, brushing away loose soil so they could all see. “It’s not a pipe. Feel that; it’s flat.”
Ivy crouched beside her, tracing the top of whatever lay beneath them. The surface felt smooth, deliberately finished.
“I think it’s metal.” Ivy pressed harder, trying to gauge the size. The object extended beyond the small pit they’d created.
Poppy shifted the flashlight, leaning closer. “What do you think it is?”
A deep voice boomed behind them. “Good evening, ladies.”
Poppy dropped her flashlight, spinning a wild beam across their faces.
Ivy’s heart pounded. Caught in a blinding beam of light, she froze.
Chief Clark Clarkson stood behind them holding a brighter flashlight. His patrol car sat at the curb with the lights off.
“Clark.” Ivy straightened too quickly and nearly lost her balance. Her shovel clattered against the buried object. She held up her hand, shielding her eyes against the brightness. “We were just…” She wasn’t sure how to explain this.
“Digging up this property in the dark. I can see that. Mind telling me why?”
Shelly stood, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Ivy hit something with her shovel. Our brother thinks it’s an old drainage line under here, but we don’t.”
Clark nodded slowly, mentally assembling the puzzle before him. “And given Amelia Erickson’s track record, you wanted to check before the construction crew tears through here, am I right?”
“That’s about right,” Ivy said.
Clark lowered the flashlight and inclined his head. “Smart thinking but terrible execution. Why do it at night?”
Poppy recovered her flashlight. “We didn’t want to attract attention.”
“You attracted the attention of a very concerned neighbor who called in suspicious activity.” Clark’s gaze drifted toward the residential street, where curtains glowed in several windows. “Three people with shovels and a flashlight after dark raises questions.”
Shelly’s eyes widened. “Did someone think we were out here burying a body? That would have been spooky. Imagine, a real murder mystery right here in Summer Beach.”
“Darla,” Ivy muttered, throwing a look at Shelly to be quiet.