“Do I need one?”
Nan shook her head. “I’ll make sure he has time for you.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t mean to say—well, you probably remember what I said—about your husband. I could have been mistaken.” Her face reddened, nearly matching the Welcome to Summer Beach sunset poster behind her. “My husband tells me I talk too much—gossip is what he calls it.” Nan blinked back tears.
Ivy took the woman’s hand. Nan was so upset she was trembling. “It was a shock, but that’s what I needed to know.” Even after his death, Jeremy was still inflicting pain on others.
“I haven’t told anyone else that story.” Frowning, Nan gnawed on her lip. “At least, not since the Mayor told me who you were. I was shooting off my mouth again. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Ivy patted Nan’s shoulder. “You know, I could use a friend around here.”
Nan’s face brightened, and her eyebrows shot up. “I’d like that. My husband would be happy to meet you, too. I told you about our antique shop, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.” Ivy had a thought. “My house has a stunning chandelier in the foyer. It’s beautiful, but honestly, it’s overpowering for a beach inn. I was wondering if there might be a market for it here.”
“Is there ever,” Nan gushed. “I sell to a lot of interior designers who work on mighty fancy houses.” Her face flushed again. “I mean, not that yours isn’t. Oh dear, sometimes my brain isn’t connected to my mouth.”
“It’s okay.” Ivy laughed. Nan meant well, and Ivy really did want to get to know some of the local residents in Summer Beach. “Here’s my number. My sister and I are there most of the time. There’s so much work to be done before we start renting rooms.”
“As an inn?” Nan’s forehead creased with worry. “Boz told you about the zoning.”
“Relax,” Ivy said with a wink. “We’re using iBnB. No law against that, I understand.”
A smile spread across Nan’s face. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”
Ivy inclined her head. Smart. Jeremy had been the brains in their family, but look at the mess trusting him had landed her in. No, it had been a long time since anyone had given her credit for being smart, even if it was Nan, the dear woman. “I guess I am.”
She gave Nan a hug, and as she did, Bennett emerged from his office. He stopped short when he saw her, and his eyes lit with an unexpected smile.
“Mrs. Marin,” he said. “May I help you?”
The sound of his rich, gravelly voice still sent tingles through her. “You’d better call me Ivy Bay. I think that’s safer around Summer Beach. Got a minute?”
Bennett gestured for her to follow him into his office.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about last night.” He winced. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
“I know.” Ivy eased into a marine blue chair in front of a desk that looked pleasantly busy, but not chaotic. As she gathered her thoughts, she stared through an expansive window, where she could see the ocean curling toward the beach and couples walking along the shoreline. Farther out, boats maneuvered out of slips in the marina.
“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Bennett followed her line of sight. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Drawing her attention back to Bennett, Ivy caught sight of photographs behind him.
Bennett swiveled in his chair. “That was Jackie, my wife, who died ten years ago last week. And there’s my nephew, Logan, who’s like a son to me.”
The woman in the photo was laughing, her head thrown back and the sun on her face. “She was beautiful.”
“Inside and out.” Bennett touched the frame, and a corner of his mouth tugged up before he turned back to Ivy. “What can I help you with?”
“Shelly and I have been going through the furniture and boxes we found last night. So much to take in. But we found something else, and I think I have to report it to someone. The police, I guess. We found so many…you can’t imagine…”
Alarmed, Bennett leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped. “Bodies?”
“What? No, paintings.”
Bennett blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.”
Concerned, Ivy stared at him. “Have you found bodies in Summer Beach before?”
“Bodies?” Bennett ran a hand over his chin. “No, but not much surprises me anymore. Though Summer Beach isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. Back to what you were saying. Paintings?”
“Extremely fine European paintings. Do you have any idea why they might have been stored there?”
“Mrs. Erickson was a collector, so it doesn’t surprise me. Why does this alarm you?”
Ivy jiggled her foot. “The paintings—they’re exceptional. I mean, masterpieces. I looked up a few of them online and found that they’ve been missing for years.” She paused. “Since World War II.”
Studying her, Bennett pressed his fingertips together. “That’s when the house was closed up. The first time, that is. Isn’t it possible that Mrs. Erickson stored the paintings then?”
Ivy shook her head. “They could be forgeries, but my guess is that the paintings were acquired on the black market. Or at an auction.”
“Isn’t that how paintings are often sold?”
“These were reported stolen years ago.”
Bennett drew his dark eyebrows together. “That’s a lot of conjecture.”
“I majored in fine art and art history.” Ivy’s words tumbled out. “In the late 1930s, Hitler tried to censor art and deemed a lot of works degenerate—which only meant they were modern styles he didn’t approve of. Impressionism, Fauvism, and abstract art. Or they were created by people he didn’t like. Thousands of works of art—maybe twenty thousand—were confiscated. Collections were gutted and museums treated like shopping malls. Many collectors and artists lost their most treasured works of art.”
“Wait, slow down.” Bennett picked up a pen to make notes. “What happened to the art?”
“There was an auction in 1937. At the time, many artworks were sold or diverted into private collections. But the fact remains—that art was stolen from the
