Ivy eyed the grand chandelier in the foyer and jotted a note on her little pad.
They strolled through the downstairs rooms that comprised the public spaces: the dining room, the library, the drawing room.
“We’ll create a library for the guests,” Ivy said, smoothing her hand over handsome built-in bookcases in dark, carved wood. “We can contact local writing groups and host author’s book signings here, or in the salon.”
“I’ll check in with libraries and local bookstores,” Shelly added.
With their footsteps echoing in the nearly empty rooms, they continued to another room that still had a piano in it.
“Music room?” Shelly opened the wooden keyboard cover on the grand piano and ran her fingers across the ivory keys. An off-key melody filled the room. “Must have been beautiful in its day.”
Ivy winced from the sound. “Still can be. Needs tuning.” She scribbled a note on another page, imagining guests mingling and listening to a pianist in the evening. “Maybe a local music teacher would send students who want to practice. Until we can afford a regular pianist, that is.”
“I should brush up on my old songs.”
“You still play?”
“Not in years. Ezzra wasn’t wild about my practicing. The keyboard I wanted was fairly expensive, and New York apartments are too small anyway.” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall.
“Playing the piano makes you happy.” Ivy detected a note of sadness in her sister’s voice. What kind of man made a woman give up her hobbies? Ezzra was worse than she’d imagined. “You’ll practice here whenever you want.” If Shelly could play again, Ivy could paint. With that, she started for the kitchen. Shelly followed her, humming a tune.
“This would house an army of cooks and caterers,” Shelly said, glancing around the spacious kitchen.
“I’m sure it did.” Ivy gazed around. Long tables, or prep stations, ran down the center of the room. To one side, an adjoining butler’s pantry linked the kitchen to the large, wainscoted formal dining room. She stepped into the pantry. “This is where the staff must have organized the dishes, stemware, and silverware.”
Shelly opened a cabinet. “Look what’s still here.”
Ivy peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, vintage china and crystal filled the cupboard. She took out a plate and wiped off a layer of dust. A gold rim framed a delicate floral pattern. She turned it over to see the markings on the back. “Looks like these are from France.”
“Fancy,” Shelly said, surveying the collection of teacups, soup bowls, and serving dishes. She opened other cupboard doors and whistled. “There’s more. Looks like Jeremy didn’t touch a thing when he bought the place.” She tugged on a cabinet door. “Locked. Wonder what’s in here?”
“Maybe the silver?” Ivy stared at Shelly.
Ivy ran her hand over the inlaid wood. “We have to figure out how to open this. I wouldn’t want to damage it.”
“Bennett might have extra keys,” Shelly suggested.
“Better to call a locksmith.” The less she had to do with Bennett, the better. She jotted another note on her notepad.
“I’ll call Bennett,” Shelly said. “Locksmiths cost money.”
“As long as I’m not around.”
Shelly shook her head. “Whatever happened was a long time ago. He doesn’t even remember you.”
“Exactly.” Ivy jabbed the pen in the air. “Let’s check out the plumbing.” She strode back into the kitchen and turned on the faucets over one of the large sinks. The pipes rumbled to life, and soon water spurted from the tap. Within seconds, the water ran clear.
Shelly did the same to another one. “This one looks good, too.”
“The estate’s property manager did a decent job of keeping up the plumbing.” For that, Ivy was grateful. Plumbing and electrical would be her greatest expenses, she suspected. “Hope that goes for the toilets and tubs, too.” She glanced around. Two vintage turquoise refrigerators flanked a tiled counter. “Think those still work?”
“They built appliances to last back then,” Shelly said.
Ivy tried to shove one, but it barely budged. “Heavy, too. Help me with this one?”
Ivy and Shelly shoved a refrigerator from the wall. Ivy knelt to plug it in. As she stood up, brushing cobwebs from her hands, the refrigerator made a loud whirring noise. She stumbled back.
“Sounds like the fridge is getting ready for lift-off,” Shelly said, inspecting the hulking appliance.
“As long as it works.” Ivy opened the door, and a musty smell wafted out. “If it does, I need a truckload of baking soda, too.”
“Think it’s safe to leave it on?”
“We’ll watch it. Now, let’s go upstairs and choose our bedrooms.”
Shelly grinned. “Race you.” She charged up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, while Ivy took her time, admiring the wooden steps that had hand-painted tile risers in between each step. The attention to detail in the house was impressive.
When Ivy was halfway up the staircase, a melodic doorbell chime sounded in the hallway, though it sounded a bit garbled. “Wait up, Shelly. I think we have company.”
Ivy hurried down to the front door and opened it.
Bennett stood on the steps with their luggage. Blinking, he took in Ivy’s new style. Then, raising his eyebrows, he swirled his hand around by his head. “Hi. You have…something…in your hair.”
“I do?” She touched her hair, remembering the cobwebs. “Oh no, are there any spiders?”
“Spiders? I don’t see any,” he said.
Ivy began shaking her hands. “Please check. I was behind the refrigerator.” Her breathing quickened, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. “Hurry! I hate spiders more than anything else in the world.” And of all people to see her like this…
“Well, okay,” Bennett said, cautiously taking a step toward her. “I’m not too fond of them myself.”
“Oh, come on. Just look, will you?” Ivy shook her head and fluffed her hair. “Do you see anything?” She bent lower so he could get a better look.
Gingerly, Bennett lifted strand after strand, peeling off stray webs. “You’ve got a lot of cobwebs in your hair.”
Ivy shivered. “Please get it all out,” she pleaded. She couldn’t believe this was
