Looking out, Ivy sucked in a breath of awe. Below was a miniature-sized Neptune pool, complete with statues, though the pool was dry. “It’s stunning,” she said, aware of Bennett’s gaze on her. “The entire place is a work of art.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it. Las Brisas is a special, beloved landmark in this town.”
After returning downstairs, they made their way to the servant’s quarters behind the house. Adjacent to that, a stable-turned-garage still housed an old Chevrolet Deluxe convertible.
Ivy wiped dust from the curved fender. “Cherry red,” she said, wondering when the car had last been driven. She could imagine careening down the coast with the wind in her hair. What a good life the owners must have enjoyed here.
“Goes with the house,” Bennett said, holding her in his gaze a little too long. “Along with the furnishings. You could call an antique dealer for a quote.”
“This is so swell,” Shelly said, grinning. “Feels like we stepped back into the 1950s.”
Ivy nodded, but what she felt was even more powerful than that. She felt a surreal draw to the house, but then, she’d always liked history. That’s what had drawn her, in part, to Boston.
They walked back through the house, and Ivy and Shelly waited on the front steps while Bennett locked up.
Feeling sad to leave, Ivy faced the ocean drawing energy from the breeze—energy she’d need to make critical decisions. She turned back, facing Bennett. “How long do you think it might take to sell?”
Bennett’s eyes darted between them. “Most people are looking for modern houses, and rarely this large. It needs a lot of work. Since it’s a historic home, new owners can’t make many exterior changes. That’s one reason interest has been low.”
“So, what does that mean in terms of time?” Shelly asked.
“In this market, you should be prepared to wait for the right buyer,” Bennett said. “A unique property like this could take a year or longer to sell. There haven’t been any serious inquires.”
That would never work, Ivy thought. “You said the historic designation is one reason why the price is lower. What are the other reasons?”
For the first time since they’d met, Bennett seemed flustered. “It’s not important. Just local gossip.”
Ivy and Shelly exchanged a look. Shelly pressed on. “What gossip?”
“About the previous owner, Mrs. Erickson,” Bennett said.
A warning chill spiraled down Ivy’s spine.
“Some say she had strange ways.” Bennett sorted through his pocketful of keys. “Some people swear they’ve seen lights flicker inside, but that’s just talk.”
Shelly burst out laughing. “Are you trying to tell us it’s haunted?”
Bennett chuckled. “Old houses often seem to have resident spirits. Nothing to it, though.”
“Did the former owner die here?” Ivy asked.
“No, Mrs. Erickson closed Las Brisas when Pearl Harbor was bombed during the Second World War,” Bennett explained. “The entire west coast was on high alert. She and her husband had fled Europe when the First World War erupted, and they feared another attack.”
“That was 1941,” Ivy said. “Has anyone actually lived here since then?”
“Mrs. Erickson’s husband died shortly after that,” Bennett said, taking a step closer to her. “So Mrs. Erickson reopened it to house troops that were passing through the harbor. There was a shortage of lodging then. After the war, she returned to Europe for health reasons. The house was kept up, and older neighbors tell me she would visit from time to time, but less often as she grew older.”
“Did she have children?” Ivy asked.
“None. However, after her death, the estate remained open. She had a young niece who had disappeared during the war, and she’d always prayed she would be found. Finally, the time expired, and the niece was presumed dead. That’s when your husband bought it from her estate, which then donated the proceeds to charity. Claire brokered that deal.”
Ivy shaded her eyes. Bennett was standing so close that the fine hairs on her arms prickled, and she stepped back, unnerved by her attraction to him.
Bennett pocketed the house keys and fished out his car keys. “Now, if you’ll come back to my office, we can renew the listing and review the plan to sell it. Won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
Ivy glanced back at the dowdy grand dame. She should let Bennett redouble his efforts to sell the house that had plagued her for months and was threatening her financial future.
Yet, after seeing the house, Ivy felt a peculiar kinship with it. Las Brisas seemed to beckon her into its past. And as large as it was, it felt like a real home. The teddy bear in the rocking chair, the solid stoves in the kitchen, the exquisite pool. The love that had once been lavished on this home was evident. She felt strangely conflicted.
Bennett seemed anxious to leave. “Would you like to wrap up the listing agreement today?”
“Not today,” Ivy finally said, drawing a hand over her face. How many bedrooms were there in the house? She added the servants’ quarters in the rear and did some quick mental math calculations, even as she could feel Shelly’s concerned eyes on her.
“Thanks for showing us the house,” Shelly said to Bennett.
He jingled his keys with impatience. “I can arrange professional painting, cleaning, and landscaping for you. After the house is staged with new furnishings, it will have a better chance of attracting the right buyer.”
As Ivy contemplated the house, a breeze whistled through the palm trees, drawing her in with a swish of their skirts and a promise to share their secrets. Just beyond, pelicans soared against a clear, cerulean sky while waves roared to the beach and rushed out again. Amidst it all, Las Brisas had stood guard for a hundred years. She wondered what had transpired within these walls. And why did she feel so attracted to the majestic old home?
When she didn’t respond, Bennett said, “What would you like me to do?”
“Nothing.” Despite her desire
