“Maybe sooner than we think.” Ivy tapped the historical volume she held. “This is the key.”
Poppy’s eyes grew wide. “What’s that?”
“Shelly and I were poking around and found some furniture on a lower level. I just need to verify what is original, and what might be…on loan.”
“Wow, what incredible luck. Shelly wouldn’t let me go down there.”
“We wanted it to be a surprise.” Ivy felt a little bad about not bringing Poppy into the secret, but she’d promised the chief to keep it quiet.
“Do you need help bringing things up?” Poppy pushed to her knees.
Ivy hugged her. “I’d love your help.”
“I’ll call my brothers. They have friends, too. Get a bunch of strong guys, and bam, the job is done.”
Shelly sauntered in. “Bam, what’s done?”
“Bringing up things from downstairs,” Ivy said. She held up the historical book. “I met the president of the Summer Beach Historical Society at City Hall. This volume is chock full of old photos that can help us separate the original furnishings from the other…later pieces.”
“Good idea,” Shelly said. “Mitch is just finishing. You should see the kitchen now.”
“And Mitch. He’s awfully hot,” Poppy said, suppressing a giggle.
“Are you interested in him?” Ivy asked. She guessed Mitch was maybe five years older than Poppy, if that.
Poppy flashed a grin at Shelly. “Wouldn’t matter if I were. He’s been checking out Shelly all day.”
“Not all day,” Shelly shot back. “He’s been working hard.”
“Every time I went in the kitchen for a glass of water,” Poppy said. “He would’ve been done in half the time if you weren’t there.”
Ivy wasn’t surprised. Guys had always been drawn to Shelly. She just hoped her sister would choose well this time around. Mitch seemed more reliable than Ezzra, but then, they didn’t really know much about him other than he owned Java Beach and a boat. “Eyes wide open this time, Shelly. Remember Ezzra.”
Her sister’s mouth gaped open. “You think I’m already replacing Ezzra?”
“I just don’t want you to make the same mistake.”
“Like you did?”
Ivy couldn’t reply. Jeremy was far from perfect.
Her anger rising, Shelly folded her arms. “So what kind of mistake might I be making?”
Ivy didn’t like where this was going, but she knew Shelly well enough to know that if her sister was becoming defensive about Mitch, then she was definitely interested in him. “Getting involved with someone emotionally unavailable or afraid of commitment.”
“Who said I’m getting involved with anyone?” Shelly threw up her hands. “When you’re ready to see the fine job that the commitment-phobic Mitch has done—for free, I might add—be my guest.” Shelly whirled around and marched from the room.
Poppy widened her eyes. “Aunt Ivy, she’s really sensitive about that issue.”
“You think?” Yet if the situation were reversed, Ivy would expect Shelly to look out for her best interests, too. As far as Ivy was concerned, that’s what family was for, like it or not.
“I have to see another client soon.” Poppy powered off her laptop. “What are you wearing to Nana’s big bash on Saturday night?”
Ivy shook her head. With so much going on, the dates had slipped past her. “I have no idea. I had planned to ask Shelly to go shopping and help me choose a new outfit, that is, once she starts speaking to me again.”
“If you want, I’ll go shopping with you.” Poppy slipped her computer into its case.
“That would be fun,” Ivy said. The next few weeks would be a blur, but the most critical task was to find out what her mother had been concealing from them. She prayed that Carlotta was in good health, but both of her parents were of an age where they needed their children to look after them more. After hearing about Mrs. Erickson’s battle with Alzheimer’s, Ivy was even more concerned about her mother’s health.
That evening after a tense supper with Shelly, Ivy tucked herself into bed early and armed herself with a notepad, sticky notes, the historical house volume, the ledger, and a glass of red wine. At last, she could relax and try to sort out this mystery.
Cool evening breezes lifted the sheer curtains at the open window, and moonlight spilled across the room like a heavenly balm for her aching muscles and fevered thoughts. All the lifting and sorting and cleaning that she’d been doing around the house had awakened every dormant muscle in her body.
She picked up her new reading glasses, which were indigo blue with cadmium-yellow, the exact shade that Monet had used for his Water-Lilies after 1916. She’d had black frames before, but she was feeling more daring. Shelly liked them, too.
As she slipped on her glasses and sipped her wine, she began to read about Las Brisas, the architect Julia Morgan, and Amelia Erickson. Studying the photos taken in the 1920s and 1930s, she recognized much of the furniture that was stored on the lower level.
She opened the ledger to the page she’d seen. January, 1942. The receipt tucked between the pages might have been for the bricks and building supplies. Deciphering the flowing cursive script, she found that the descriptions matched the furnishings downstairs, as well as those she saw in the book. Amelia might have been keeping a record of the furnishings she’d moved downstairs.
Hidden from potential invaders.
Ivy reached for a magnifying glass to look at the photos again. Peering closer, she didn’t see the paintings that she’d seen in the crates or flat files, although Amelia’s taste had been unerring.
Even though Ivy hadn’t finished exploring the treasure trove down below, she’d seen enough to know that if Mrs. Erickson had purchased the paintings Ivy had seen before WWII, she would have proudly displayed them in the most visible places in the house. The artistry was that impressive.
Unless she couldn’t.
Ivy removed her glasses, thinking about how frightened Amelia must have been. Running her hand across the old ledger, she wondered if she might find other items Amelia had tucked away in the house. Where might
