Even though Mitch had served time for burglary, there had been extenuating circumstances. Bennett truly believed that Mitch was dedicated to refraining from any actions that might hinder his freedom.
As for Ivy, she’d come forward with the artwork. If she had wanted to profit from it, she would never have reported the discovery.
That left Shelly. She hadn’t accompanied Ivy to report the find. At the party, he’d overheard her talking about her online articles. He could look her up online.
Bennett withdrew the media cards he’d collected. As journalists, none of them would name a source, but maybe one might have bragged about a hot tip.
And Summer Beach was a very small town.
One could overhear a lot at Java Beach.
Chapter 27
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Ivy woke before dawn to watch the sunrise bring life to the brilliant shades of Chagall, the fanciful work of Klee, and the magical artistry of Marc’s towering blue horses, among the other paintings she had propped up around her bedroom. Ivy swallowed against a lump in her throat. Knowing the artists’ stories brought up a flood of emotion.
But today, time wasn’t a commodity to be wasted. She didn’t have much more time with these masters.
She kicked off the sheets and padded around the room, viewing the canvases from different angles as the light shifted in the room. To her, painting was more than mere brush strokes on canvas, sketching more than lines on papers. Pausing before each work rejuvenated her creative wellspring.
Creating art fed her soul and brought her joy. To deny this part of her and her unique vision would be to disengage with her human experience.
Gazing at the paintings by the women artists, Ivy decided that at this time in her life—what she hoped was just the midpoint—it was more important than ever to redesign the second half of her life to her taste. The first half of her adult life had been devoted to Jeremy and her daughters, but the rest belonged to her.
Upon reflection, Ivy felt bound to honor the natural talent she’d been given and the time she’d devoted to improving her art. Sharing her journey and instructing others brought her into the world. As she surveyed the works against the rising sun, she felt it imperative to return to teaching and painting again here in Summer Beach. In the sunroom, facing the ocean.
Placing her palms together and viewing the artwork lining Amelia Erickson’s bedroom, Ivy knew the mysterious collector would be pleased these works had survived and would soon find their way home to their rightful owners. She was relieved that the journal entry revealed Amelia Erickson had been protecting these works of art, rather than coveting them for herself. Ivy knew there was more to the saga, which the heirs to the artwork would want to know. She did, too.
“I promise I’ll share your story when I find it,” Ivy whispered into the tendrils of morning light filtering into the bedroom. Downstairs, Ivy could hear her sister in the kitchen. She expelled a deep breath.
The time had come to say good-bye.
A few hours later, Ivy watched as Cecile and Ari oversaw the bittersweet removal of the paintings, including those that had kept her company the night before. Had it only been a few days since they’d discovered these works in the basement?
“That’s the end of that,” Ivy said, easing into a dusty wingback chair in the drawing room after the FBI agents and police left the house. When she patted the upholstered arm, it released a puff of dust. “Now, we have a lot of work to do here.”
She and Shelly had spent the morning arranging groupings of furniture to bring a more personal scale to the grand room—and to keep her mind off the loss of the paintings.
“I think the media attention on the paintings is just the beginning,” Shelly said, joining her. “This is a huge discovery. If you thought there was a lot of media here last night, just wait. My email has exploded today.”
Ivy was grateful to Bennett for talking to the media last night, but that hadn’t stopped her phone from buzzing. “I changed my voice mail recording this morning and turned my phone ringer off, but not before Nan called to say they have a buyer for the chandelier.”
“That was fast.”
Ivy smiled with relief. “We’ll have the money for mattresses, pillows, and other furnishings we need, if we’re frugal.”
“When have I known you to be any other way?”
Ivy let out a long sigh. “Just once in my lifetime, I’d like to know what it’s like not to worry about making ends meet.” Although Jeremy had made good money, most of it had been earmarked and spent before it made its way to the shared household account. Bespoke suits, new cars, first-class air tickets—all part of the necessary image for his work he had insisted.
“Living here, we hardly look like we’re struggling,” Shelly said, waving her hand around the room.
Ivy made a face. “Make no mistake, we’re definitely struggling to stay here and keep afloat. Don’t go all Jeremy on me.”
Shelly nodded soberly. “I really like your furniture placement, by the way.”
“Will you help me with the grand ballroom?”
“You bet,” Shelly said, stretching.
Staring at another chair, Ivy inclined her head. “Let’s try that one near the window instead of the fireplace.
As they were shifting the chair, Poppy arrived.
“Hey aunties, I came as soon as I could,” Poppy said. “I know you’re anxious to get the guestroom photos posted on the website. Then we can start the media blitz and begin renting these rooms for you.”
“Maybe we’ll have guests by the time we return from Boston,” Shelly said, her eyes widening.
“Are all the guestrooms ready?” Poppy asked.
“Almost,” Ivy said. “As I mentioned, we brought up a lot of things from downstairs to fill the rooms. No mattresses yet, but we can stuff pillows under the bedspreads to make it look
