Ivy lifted the edge of a long swath of canvas, disturbing decades of dust, which took flight in the still air. She closed her eyes against the cloud, grateful for the face masks Bennett had supplied.
“Careful there,” Bennett said. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Bennett took the other edge, and together they folded back the old canvas fabric to reveal an antique dining room table with a rich wood grain. Ivy swept her flashlight over ornate carvings. With awe, she ran her fingers over an exquisitely carved ram’s head that joined the leg to the table top.
“There’s your dining room table,” Shelly announced.
Ivy shook her head. “Could be a Chippendale piece,” she said, recalling a university class she’d taken on the history of art and material culture. “Thomas Chippendale was the Shakespeare of English furniture.”
If the table were one of his make, it belonged in a museum, not in a seaside inn where coffee cups could mar the surface or vacuum cleaners could nick the legs. The wood seemed alive under her touch as if the artisan’s care was imbued in the grain.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ivy said. At least, not this close. It could be a reproduction, but it still took her breath away.
“Hey, look at this.” Mitch flashed his light on rows of bare-wood shelves that looked like they’d been hastily constructed to hold long, rolled-up rugs covered with sheets.
Ivy hurried over. Running her fingers along the rug backs, she noted the exceptional work and high knot density, which were hallmarks of quality. She flipped over a corner to reveal brilliant shades in an ornate design.
“Persian,” Ivy guessed, although she was no expert. “They’re made of wool and silk. She touched each one with reverence and imagined how the chandeliers upstairs must have once cast their glows on these works of art. That explained the darker borders on the wooden floors she’d seen in some rooms. These would be stunning in the library and music room.
“This place is a treasure trove.” Ivy’s heart pounded at the discovery. Recalling the letter from Amelia Erickson’s trustee, she wondered if the paintings the former owner was so worried about might be here.
Another thought brought shivers to Ivy. Perhaps Amelia’s spirit still inhabited the house and had influenced her decision to move in. Was that even possible? As she thought of Jeremy’s intended wrecking ball, she couldn’t help but imagine how these treasures might have been damaged in the process.
“Jeremy’s plans to raze the house could have ruined all of this,” Ivy murmured.
Bennett caught her comment. “I’m incredibly glad you found this instead.”
She swung around to face him in the light of their headgear. His hazel eyes shone like glittering embers and drew her in like a warm fire on a winter’s night. Her pulse thudded at the thought. “Do you understand the value of these pieces?”
He nodded solemnly, holding her gaze. “I’ve helped several clients value property they inherited from family estates. What they thought of as old rugs and outdated antiques fetched quite a lot at auction.”
Breaking the spell that seemed to bind them, he turned to sweep his flashlight over the crowded room. “If the rest of this is like what we’ve seen so far, this is an astounding discovery.”
“I studied art history, and I’ve never seen anything like this.” Catching her breath, Ivy flicked her flashlight and gazed around the spacious room. More roughly crafted shelves held books, and beyond that, cartons concealed more treasures. One was scrawled with the word Waterford. Another, Sèvres.
“It’s like Aladdin’s cave,” Bennett said. “Filled with artifacts.”
Ivy liked his analogy. “Was Amelia Erickson the genie?”
“A collector,” Bennett said. “She donated her art pieces during her life and upon her death to several west coast museums.”
“I wonder which museums,” Ivy said.
“Nan and Arthur at Antique Times might be able to answer that question,” Bennett said.
Slowly, Ivy spun around. “I’m overwhelmed,” she said. By what she saw, and by the nearness of him—even if a trace of fishy odor still clung to his clothes. “This was more than mere redecorating,” she added. Something had prompted the gutting and concealment of a collection of such treasures.
At once, Ivy recalled the ledger she had found and wondered if there was a connection. 1942. Not long after Pearl Harbor had been attacked. Was that an inventory of the items downstairs?
Bennett touched her arm. “It’s late. Have a fresh look in the morning.”
Ivy nodded numbly and let him guide her back up the stairs to the airy kitchen.
Once upstairs, Shelly brought out bottles of ice cold water from the antique refrigerators and passed them around. They all drank and wiped dust from their eyes.
“I’m in shock,” Ivy said. “Some of that is priceless, I’ll bet.”
Bennett glanced at Mitch. “We should keep this discovery between us.”
“Why?” Shelly said.
“Here in Summer Beach, robberies aren’t uncommon,” Bennett said, glancing at Mitch. “Especially in second homes left vacant for part of the year. There wasn’t much of value in this home that someone could steal, though police caught a couple of drifters who’d broken in a few years ago. Most of the expensive homes here have alarm systems, which I highly recommend.”
Ivy nodded, fully comprehending his meaning, although that was one more expense. She regarded the gaping hole they’d made. “We should finish the demolition and install a door with a lock until we get this sorted out.”
“That’s what I’d advise,” Bennett said.
“I can do that for you,” Mitch said. “I’m pretty handy.”
Ivy flicked a glance at Shelly. They didn’t really know Mitch, and she hoped they could trust him.
After Bennett and Mitch left, Ivy plopped onto a stool, exhausted from their effort and discovery.
Shelly joined her, a wide grin stretching across her face. “At least we don’t have to worry about how to furnish the house now. We can be up and running in a couple of weeks.”
“I need to get an appraiser in here first,” Ivy said. “I suspect some of that could be worth a lot.” Already her mind
