Coral Cottage

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next morning, Marina had just dressed in her wrinkled outfit from yesterday when she heard a tap on the door. When she opened the door, she found a pink canvas beach bag with a note attached.

For Marina. From Ivy, Shelly, and Poppy at the Seabreeze Inn. Call us for breakfast delivery or join us in the dining room.

A freshly laundered, cornflower-blue cotton sundress, matching flip flops, and a white sun visor peeked from the bag. And leaning next to the doorway was a pair of crutches.

“How thoughtful,” Marina said, pressing her hand against her heart. This kindness went a long way toward restoring her faith in humanity after the dreadful events of yesterday.

Immediately, she removed her city clothes, grateful to have a fresh change of clothing. She pulled her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slid her feet into the flip-flops, pondering her next move. Literally. Her ankle was swollen and tender to the touch. And it was a lovely shade of purple.

She mused over her choices. She could cloister herself in her room and cry until her grandmother returned. Or she could drag herself to the beach and hide under a sun visor and dark sunglasses.

Finally, she could brave the new world order and present her newly single, damaged self to other guests in the dining room.

Option A sounded pretty appealing. She kicked off the flip-flops and flopped back onto the bed, where a dull, throbbing headache greeted her.

Marina groaned. She knew what that meant. As a morning news anchor, she’d become addicted to coffee. Not just any coffee, but dark, blast-awake brews that snapped her to attention. Without it, withdrawal headaches set in fairly quickly. That was the last thing she needed now.

Throttling herself into action, she stretched for the wayward flip-flops, hopped across the floor, and opened the door again. Testing the crutches, she positioned them under her arms and swung herself forward in an awkward movement. Fortunately, the last person who’d used these was as short as she was.

Above her, a dog barked, a door slammed, and footsteps clomped down the stairs.

A male voice called out. “Need some help?”

“I need a new ankle.” She raised her swollen foot.

A man about her age with a thick head of messy morning hair and a wrinkled T-shirt came into view. “Ouch. Sprained or broken?”

“How would I know? I’m not a doctor.” This guy was a little too happy at this hour of the morning. She winced. Her headache had just passed from the dull phase to the pounding stage. She’d slept later than usual, and now she really needed that jolt of java.

He stared at her in amusement, his blue eyes a little too bright for the morning. “You got me there. Need a hand with anything?”

“Nope. I got this.” She couldn’t quite place his accent, which was an odd combination of a soft drawl and clipped words as if he’d lived in different areas. An urban-rural combination, she decided, what some would call citified. Working in broadcast news, she noticed these subtle things. Gritting her teeth, she set off again.

“The name’s Jack,” he said. “Heard you arrive last night and saw the police. Were you in an accident?”

Did emotional wreckage count? Measuring the distance ahead, she grimaced. “Okay, Jack. Would you open that door for me?” And please stop chattering.

She navigated the ramp to the house, thankful for the access.

Standing with the door open and a grin that reached eyes too blue to be trusted, Jack looked at her that way people have when they’re trying to place you. Morning news viewers often recognized her, but when she was off the screen and in casual clothes, it was more difficult for them to place her. “You seem awfully familiar. Have you spent much time in New York or Chicago?”

“Nope. San Francisco.”

Jack shook his head. “That’s not it.”

“I can’t imagine.” With misery, it registered with Marina that he might have also seen that television clip on the late show. She maneuvered through the door.

“It will come to me,” he said, following her inside. “Where do you want to go?”

Why on earth did he care? “I need coffee.”

“The dining room is this way. Or you could go to Java Beach, that’s where all the locals hang out.”

“Not likely this morning, Jack,” she said, indicating her swollen ankle. “But you should go.”

“Might do that,” he said with the same unflappable smile.

Jack sauntered through the wide hall, and Marina swung along behind him. She turned her attention to the stately old beach house, admiring the high ceilings and vintage chandeliers.

Her ankle was throbbing, and she knew her arms and shoulder would also be sore after this. She’d once sustained an excruciating sprain in high school in Claremont, a small university town on the outskirts of sprawling Los Angeles. She’d been on the gymnastics team, and she’d come down hard after losing her balance on the beam.

“Here you are.” Jack paused at the entry to a grand dining room. “And good luck with that injury. Hope to see you around.”

In the wainscoted dining room that included a vintage beach mural in fresh shades of blue and turquoise, the woman Marina had met last night waved to her and hurried toward her. Ivy Bay. Why did that name seem so familiar? She was about the same height as Marina, with bright green eyes. And she looked—happy. Marina glanced around. Everyone seemed in good spirits. Crestfallen, she realized she was the only one who wasn’t, even though she certainly had good reason.

“Good morning,” Ivy said pleasantly. “Glad you joined us for breakfast, but we could have brought a tray to you.”

“I needed to get out,” Marina said. “And thank you for your care package. You’re Ivy, right?”

“That’s right.” She pulled out a chair for Marina. “My sister Shelly and I run the inn, along with our niece, Poppy. Shelly is in charge of yoga classes and the grounds, while I’m on indoor duty, art classes, and morning beach walks.”

“Count me out of all activities for now,” Marina said, easing into a marine-blue, slipcovered chair.

“I’ll put those by the chair for you,” Ivy said, taking the crutches. “Right here, so you can still reach them. Would you like some coffee?”

“You’re an angel. I’d love that.” Glancing around her surroundings, Marina noted more details—a habit from her years in journalism. Vintage crystal chandeliers, a richly veined marble fireplace, wooden parquet floors, and fine European antiques. Contemporary paintings of the ocean and beach graced the walls.

When Ivy returned, Marina asked, “Are any of these your paintings?”

“The seascapes are mine, and I’ve hung a few others around the house.” Ivy slid a tray onto the table. “I brought blueberry and cranberry muffins, yogurt, and strawberries. I can make eggs any way you want, and we have steel-cut oatmeal, too.”

“These muffins look delicious.” Marina sipped her coveted coffee, and then she broke off a piece of the cranberry muffin. Heavenly. The muffin burst with fruit, and it was topped with cinnamon crumbles, dusted with sparkling sugar crystals, and baked to perfection. Someone knew what they were doing in the kitchen. Yesterday, she had stopped only once on the way for greasy fast food, which tasted of rancid oil, so she hadn’t finished it. Now, she was starving.

“We get our baked goods from Java Beach,” Ivy said. “Mitch has the best coffee and bakery in Summer Beach.”

“Sounds like a popular place.” That’s where Jack was going. Marina cupped her hands around the generous mug and sipped her coffee. Glancing down at her dress, she said, “I’ll buy some clothes in town and return this outfit to you.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” Ivy said. “People leave all sorts of things here—including crutches. Some of our international guests buy new clothes on vacation, and since they have luggage weight limits, they leave what they no longer want here. We collect clothing for a shelter in San Diego.”

“I appreciate it,” Marina said. “And this is such a beautiful old home. When I was younger, we used to call this the haunted mansion, but I don’t know if that was true or we were just trying to scare ourselves. I’m curious if you have ever seen any.”

“Not really.” Ivy laughed a little, though her eyes darted to one side.

Uh-huh. Definitely haunted. Marina had interviewed enough people to know how to read body language.

Behind her, a slender woman in yoga clothes with a messy top knot paused. “Did someone see another ghost?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” Ivy said, slicing the air with a hand. “Marina, this is my trouble-making sister, Shelly.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s a friendly ghost,” Shelly said, making a face at Ivy. “I think it’s the former owner checking in. My sister refuses to acknowledge that Amelia Erickson is still in residence here at her beloved Las Brisas del Mar. We changed the name, but I don’t think Amelia minds.”

When Ivy rolled her eyes in a good-natured manner, Marina immediately picked up on the sisterly bond.

Glancing at the crutches and Marina’s ankle, Shelly’s face softened with empathy. “You must be the one who came in late last night. Have you had anyone look at your injury?”

Marina shook her head. “I should probably go to an urgent care facility.”

“We know a doctor who can drop by to look at it,” Shelly said. “He’s tended to other guests. We can call and see if he’s available this morning.”

Marina agreed. She studied the two women, who both seemed friendly and at ease. Marina wondered if living in Summer Beach had that effect on everyone.

“I’ll put in a call for Dr. Russ,” Shelly said, excusing herself.

Idly, Marina wondered what it would be like to have a business at the beach like this. Not that she could afford that with the twins’ college tuition. Even though Marina had earned a good salary, the cost of living in San Francisco and taking care of those she loved always stretched her budget. She figured she had about six months of savings to see her through, so she’d have to call her agent immediately.

Marina remembered other calls she had to make. “I left without a cell phone charger. Silly, I know. I’ll have to buy one right away, but do you have one I can use to charge my phone now?”

“We have a box of extra chargers. Poppy can take care of that for you.” Ivy waved to a lanky young woman with long blond hair, who crossed to the table. Ivy introduced her and added, “Would you find a charger that will work with her phone?”

“Sure,” Poppy said. “Mind if I take it?”

“Not at all, thanks.”

After Poppy left, Ivy leaned forward with interest. “You said you remember this house. Are you from Summer Beach? You look so familiar.”

Marina smiled despite a fleeting thought about the late-night show. “My grandmother, Ginger Delavie, lives here. My sisters and I used to spend our summer vacations at her beach cottage.”

Marina hesitated, recalling that last blissful summer vacation at Ginger’s cottage, when she had practically lived on the beach, and her parents were still as much in love as they’d been in high school.

Before the accident.

During her first year at college, Marina’s plans came to an abrupt halt when a freak traffic accident claimed the lives of her youthful parents. Ginger moved in to look after the younger sisters and encouraged Marina to return to school. Marina studied during the day and worked evenings in a cafe, where she met Stan. After they married, Ginger returned to Summer Beach with Brooke and Kai. Marina and Brooke were only two years apart, but Kai had been the surprise. At seven years younger than Brooke, she had always been the carefree sprite of the family. Their parents had so loved the water that it inspired all their names.

“Did you ever surf?” Ivy asked, resting her chin in her hand.

“As often as I could.” Marina snapped her fingers. “Of course. We surfed together one summer, didn’t we?”

“And you made the most incredible s’mores over the fire.” Ivy laughed and patted her plump middle section. “I looked a lot different then.”

“You had blond hair, right?” As Ivy chuckled and nodded, Marina took another gulp of coffee. “Back then, I think we were all spritzing on Sun In to get blond streaks and slathering on the tanning oil.” That was her last carefree summer before college. “It’s so good to see you again. Have you lived here all these years?”

“Oh, no. I left to go to school in Boston and stayed. After my husband passed away, I returned.” A wistful smile crossed Ivy’s face. “After he died, I discovered that he’d just emptied our retirement to buy this place. It was complicated, though, and the old grand dame needed a lot of work.”

“Looks like you’ve done a lot here.”

“My family helped me a lot. Shelly moved in from New York, and our brothers helped us renovate. We converted the house to an inn and managed to make a go of it last year. The house has had quite a history, too.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Marina said, touching Ivy’s hand. Even eighteen years later, she still missed Stan and her parents. If not for Ginger, she and her sisters would have been adrift.

“I appreciate that,” Ivy said. “He died suddenly, and I don’t know what I would have done without Shelly and Poppy. I never dreamed I would return to Summer Beach, but I’m so glad I did. Are you married?”

“Not now. I was widowed when I was pregnant, but my twins are in college now.” She didn’t mention Grady; she’d wasted enough time on him. As much as that stung, she was more worried about her finances and finding another job. Time to move on, Ginger would say.

“I also have two daughters,” Ivy said. “We’ll have to continue this talk later. We have so much in common.”

“I’d like that. I remember we had such fun that summer.” Marina tried the yogurt, which was also delicious. “Do you remember lounging around the beach bonfire, listening to a surfer guy play the guitar?”

“Do I ever.” Ivy chuckled. “That surfer is now the mayor. Bennett Dylan. A wildfire swept across the ridgetop last year, and several locals moved in while their homes were being rebuilt. Bennett is living in the old chauffeur’s apartment above the garage.”

“No kidding?” Marina shook her head. “Guess we all grew up.”

“And what do you do now?” Ivy asked.

“I’ve been a news anchor on a station in San Francisco.” Marina hesitated. “I’m in the process of finding another position right now. Until then, I thought I’d check in on my grandmother.”

Ivy smiled. “Ginger is a sweetheart. And very interesting.”

“That she is,” Marina said, wondering if she could reach her on board the ship. Not that this was an emergency. If Marina put the situation in perspective, it was merely an inconvenience—on her part, not her grandmother’s. Why should she disturb Ginger? Still, it would be nice to know when Ginger was returning.

Ginger traveled often. She was fiercely independent and frequently left on holidays or work assignments on short notice. Even at her age, she was still in demand. Marina knew little about what her grandmother did, other than Ginger was a skilled statistician.

Just numbers, darling. Nothing as glamorous as what you do. No one is ever interested in what I do at cocktail parties.

Maybe that’s why Ginger loved to tell stories. Yet, Ginger was brilliant in math. She loved finding and explaining patterns, and she’d helped them all with their homework. If a kid from a farm in Oklahoma can be good in math, so can you. Marina had learned fractions at the age of five by helping Ginger bake cookies—she was that good.

“Would you like a refill on that coffee?” Ivy asked.

“I’d love one,” Marina replied. As she finished her breakfast, the two women caught up. Marina was fascinated with Ivy’s story of the valuable artifacts found concealed in the basement and throughout the house. Marina loved listening to people, which was one reason she’d made a good reporter—a job she enjoyed more than being a news anchor, but she’d needed the salary increase for the twins.

As they spoke and laughed over shared memories, Marina touched Ivy’s arm. “I’m so glad we’ve reconnected. It’s nice to find a friend here.” She saw kindness and strength in Ivy’s eyes.

“I think we’re going to be very good friends again,” Ivy said, smiling. “You’re going to like living here.”

“I wish I could, but I have to find another job soon.”

“Maybe you’ll find something to do here. Lots of people telecommute or run businesses from home these days.”

That was something Marina hadn’t considered, and it was intriguing.

A little while later, Poppy appeared holding Marina’s phone, her eyebrows arched in concern. “I found a charger that you can keep, but while I was helping another guest, a lot of messages poured through. It’s been dinging all the way here.” She handed Marina the phone and charger.

Marina sucked in a breath. She saw Heather’s number on the screen, as well as messages from Ethan and Brooke and Kai. Marina’s heart quickened. What on earth had happened? “I have to return these calls right away. Is there a place here…?” She glanced around.

“In the library,” Poppy said. “It’s private. Here, I’ll help you.”

Marina struggled to her feet and awkwardly made her way to the library. Ivy rushed behind with a glass of water for her, and Poppy plugged in the charger and the phone.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Ivy said, giving Marina a quick hug. She and Poppy closed the door.

What could have happened? Marina pressed a hand to her heart and called her daughter first. Heather answered on the first ring.

“Mom, where are you?” Heather’s words tumbled out. “I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Aunt Brooke called the police, and the landlord let them into the apartment. You weren’t there, and I’ve been so worried, and—”

“Calm down. I’m in Summer Beach. I came down to see Ginger. I’m sorry to worry you, but I didn’t have a charger for my phone. What’s wrong?”

Heather paused. “So…you haven’t been on social media?”

“No, why? Should I check?” Marina shuddered, wondering if the news clip had gone viral.

Heather cried out, “No, Mom, don’t. Please, just don’t. It’s awful.”