“The Summer Beach house was the first clue,” she said, pouring out her words. “Jeremy was fastidious in covering up details, after all, computer security was his specialty. But I’m glad I know now.”
She gritted her teeth. Inwardly, she blanched at her own words. Glad. What a meek term. What she really felt inside was like a volcano erupting, spewing molten lava of anger in every direction. Her dreams had been like that ever since she’d found out about the house. No more hiding behind words like glad, or nice, or remembering him with kindness.
“Correction.” Fuming, Ivy squared her shoulders. “Actually, I’m furious. In having an affair, my husband compromised my trust, my faith in him, and my health. Jeremy denied me proper closure and left questions that will probably never be answered, including who she was, and were there any others?”
“You have every right to be upset.” Bennett didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His hand remained on her shoulder.
“Furthermore, when someone dies, why do they become a saint and suddenly blameless? Because no one wants to hear what he was really like,” she said, answering her own question. “So who do I tell? What can I do about it now?” Frustrated, she wiped hot tears from her eyes with her fingertips, but she didn’t care. Being angry felt good.
“Exactly what you’re doing. Telling me.” Bennett was patient with her, and let her get her emotions out, which took a minute or two. Spying a tissue box in the back seat of her car, he reached inside and pulled out a couple of tissues for her.
When the worst of her breakdown had passed, he said, “Write him a letter. Tell him how enraged and betrayed you feel. Write a hundred of them if you need to.”
“And do what with them?”
“Keep them, rip them up, burn them. Throw the ashes into the sea. Tell someone else how you feel. Start with your sister or mother, a friend, a therapist. Even your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.” She sniffed. “Is that what you did?”
“I don’t have a dog either.” Bennett let out a soft chuckle. “Believe me, no one is perfect, even after they die. Jackie was pretty close to perfect for me, but we’d had an argument the night before she died. She was being stubborn, and I wasn’t listening. It was a stupid disagreement about something meaningless, and I know she didn’t feel well. We were both under stress.”
“So you wrote her a letter after she died?”
“Quite a few.”
“I’ll try that.” Feeling spent, Ivy slid into the Jeep and turned back to him. “I appreciate your help today.” She paused, sure that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes swollen. “And thanks for listening to me.”
“Anytime,” he said, curving up one side of his mouth. “As mayor, I’m here to serve.” He shut her door and turned back to City Hall.
Ivy watched him go, realizing she’d read him wrong in the beginning. She was grateful for his help today—and for his advice. It felt good to have someone she could talk to in Summer Beach.
After Ivy left Bennett’s office and returned to the house, she stepped out of her shoes by the door and dropped her purse on the floor. A table by the door would be a nice addition, she thought. She’d seen something like that downstairs.
In the library, she found Poppy waiting for her. Her niece was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the library and tapping on the computer she’d brought with her. She had set up her equipment on the floor.
“Shelly let me in,” Poppy said, tucking her long blond hair behind her ears and tapping a button to lower the volume of music playing on her laptop. “I’ve already got a lot of the property information filled in on these iBnB forms.”
Ivy padded across the wooden floor to see what Poppy had done. Peering over Poppy’s shoulder, Ivy said, “I’m impressed. You’re on time and organized, which is more than I am.”
“I came in here because of all the racket in the kitchen.”
Over Poppy’s music on her laptop, Ivy could hear muffled thuds coming from the kitchen. “Before we go on, I need to check on that. I’ll be right back.”
Ivy hurried into the kitchen, which had turned into a full-scale construction zone. Mitch had finished the demolition and was framing a wide doorway in the empty space. Shelly was sweeping up debris and filling a trashcan. The scent of fresh-cut wood filled the air.
“Hey, how was your meeting?” Shelly asked.
Ivy stepped over a long board. “Chief Clarkson is sending an officer to take pictures.”
“That’s good. You did the right thing.” Shelly jerked a thumb outside. “We stacked the bricks by the side of the house. I can use them for a pathway.”
Hoisting a hammer, Mitch raised up. “What do you think?”
“Looks good,” Ivy said. She appreciated his efforts, though she figured he just wanted to hang out with Shelly any way he could. “We need that to be secure.”
“It will be,” Mitch said. “I can sheetrock around it and paint later. I made the opening wide enough for double doors so you can easily move large things through it.”
Shelly motioned to Ivy to join her. “You’ll be happy with this.” She flicked a light switch on the wall inside the door. “Mitch changed the light bulbs.”
The lower level lit up, and Ivy stared in amazement at the amount of furnishings she could see now. “More work than I thought.”
“We’ll get it done,” Shelly said. “Mitch offered to help.”
Ivy glanced at Mitch. “Shelly, can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” Shelly followed her into another room.
“The chief of police is sending an officer out to photograph the paintings. I don’t think it’s a good idea to share the paintings
