Seabreeze Sunset

Chapter 1 Summer Beach, California Ivy bolted awake at a crack of thunder, her heart racing at the late summer storm’s intensity, while the sprawling old house shuddered at nature’s wrath. She sat up, bracing herself against the onslaught. A few seconds later, a jagged shard of lightning flared outside her window, illuminating her room—and a shadowy reflection in the antique vanity mirror. Blinking, Ivy drew back against her pillows, her throat constricting in alarm. Am I dreaming? Within a few seconds, another clap of thunder shook the house. Fat raindrops splashed against vintage, wavy glass panes and obscured the outside world. Unnerved, she squinted at the mirror, but the vision had vanished. Ivy snatched her robe and flung it on, and she was at her bedroom door before she remembered. Shelly is gone. Gripping the knob, Ivy leaned against the door. It had been weeks since her sister had left, heartbroken over her relationship with Mitch, the owner of Java Beach. Ivy still couldn’t believe that Shelly meant to stay in New York, even though she had texted to say her former boss had rehired her. But then, Shelly had always been more adventurous, given to quick decisions. Leaning her head against the door, Ivy breathed in the fresh scent of rain and the earthy aroma it unleashed from the surrounding gardens and warm sand on the beach. She didn’t understand her sister. Hadn’t Shelly been anxious to change her life? Hadn’t she insisted that they check out the old house Ivy had inherited in Summer Beach? Ivy had wanted nothing to do with this house at the time—except to sell it as quickly as she could. Change wasn’t easy, even when life forced change upon you. Ivy drew her robe sash around her waist and tied it. When her husband had died—now more than a year ago—he’d left this historic old beach house to her. He’d spent every penny of their retirement savings on it. Without her knowledge. Another burst of lightning, bright as the flashbulb pop of an old camera, lit the room. And again, Ivy glimpsed the shadowy silhouette, now suspended in the corner. A woman, gazing upward. Amelia? Ivy drew flat against the wall, but in an instant, the hazy figure vanished. She wagged her head. The light had to be playing tricks on her to make her imagine the former owner. Before she could collect herself again, thunder ripped open the sky, gripping the house in its angry clutch as rain pounded the terra cotta, barrel-tiled roof overhead. As thunder rumbled through the old structure, Ivy pressed her hands against the solid wood door. This house had stood for decades. Surely it would withstand nature’s latest assault. Poppy. Ivy flung open the door and rushed through the hallway to check on her niece. After Shelly left, Poppy moved back into Shelly’s room. She’d been staying in the maid’s quarters behind the house that Jamir had helped renovate before he started his pre-med summer school studies at the university. Now, one family occupied those rooms, which they called the sunset suites. The parents had two rowdy teenagers, a baby, and a nanny in tow. Poppy was happy to move into the main house for two weeks. As Ivy turned a corner in the hall, she collided with Poppy, whose eyes were round as lollipops with fright. Her niece’s honey-blond hair stuck out of a messy topknot. “Did that wake you, too?” Ivy whispered, sliding her arms around Poppy’s slender, shivering shoulders. The soft, midnight rain must have been the leading edge of the rapacious storm. “And our guests.” Poppy nodded toward a glimmer of light under a nearby door to a guestroom. “Gilda’s awake.” “Pixie must be a nervous wreck. Fairly early for them.” Gilda’s Chihuahua often suffered from anxiety. Gilda, who wrote articles for magazines, usually worked late into the night. The Ridgetop Fire had demolished her house, which would take months to rebuild. Ivy rubbed the back of her neck. She still had an odd, prickly sensation she couldn’t explain. The sound of the rain intensified, and Ivy gazed up at the ceiling. “We should watch for leaks. This is the first torrential downpour we’ve had.” Summer Beach rarely had rain in the summer, so sunshine was practically a guarantee for their guests. Yet, Ivy recalled from her childhood that late August rains weren’t unusual in Southern California. Heavy summer rain often spurred flocks of doves and ducks and other migratory birds toward Mexico for winter. Nature, like life, had its seasons. “We should have umbrellas for guests,” Poppy said. “May I spend petty cash today? I can get a few cheap ones.” “No need to skimp,” Ivy replied. “Get good quality.” Poppy knew their budget constraints, but the cost of a few umbrellas wouldn’t sink them. She glanced up again. “Considering this old structure, we’d better get buckets and towels ready.” Ivy hurried to her room to change clothes. After flinging off her short summer gown, she shimmied into a loose, cotton beach dress. With the rain, the muggy air felt damp on her neck. This weather was more like the east coast summers that she’d grown accustomed to these last few decades. Glancing from her window, she saw a light flick on in Bennett’s apartment over the garage. She exhaled a sigh of relief. Just knowing he was awake and nearby was comforting. Bennett was always up early for a run on the beach before reporting in at City Hall. She glanced at the clock. Six a.m. Guests would be up early today. As Ivy pulled her hair into a ponytail, thunder rolled across the beach, and lightning exploded almost instantaneously. Overhead, the lights blinked. Once, twice, three times. Ivy paused, holding her breath. The storm was right upon them, carrying with it even more subtropical humidity from Mexico. She slid her feet in flip-flops and grabbed a flashlight she kept by the bed. Before Shelly left, they had purchased flashlights for every guest room in case of emergencies. Poppy had created a fire-and-earthquake exit plan and laminated it to hang on the back of each door. Though she hoped guests wouldn’t need to follow the precautions, Ivy was glad they’d provided them. Hesitating, she raised her eyes to the spot near the ceiling where some sort of shadow—not that she believed in spirits—had appeared. She flipped her ponytail to one side. Merely a trick of the light. Shelly might believe in ghosts, but Ivy certainly did not. She paused, listening. The steady drip, drip, drip was not her imagination. There in the corner near the window, water splashed onto the intricate, parquet wood floor. Ivy lifted a large antique water basin from a dresser and placed it under the leak. Drops tinkled against the white porcelain festooned with delicate pink roses. “That will have to do for now,” Ivy said to herself, craning her neck toward the ceiling. Her heart sank as she stared above. Repairing a roof of this size wouldn’t be cheap. Considering that reservations for the autumn season were already slacking off, she worried about paying the overdue tax bill that Jeremy had let lapse. Unless she paid it soon, authorities would auction the house for back taxes. From her careful calculations, she’d figured she could scrape together the money, but just barely. Less the cost of a few umbrellas to keep the paying guests dry. How she missed Shelly. Her sister would have laughed and dreamed up another idea to bring in funds. And now, Ivy could hardly get through to her. Kneeling, she mopped up water splashes around the porcelain bowl with an old white towel before tucking it around the perimeter. Taking the flashlight, she padded through the upstairs hallway, checking for leaks. Most guests were still resting—or trying to. She heard an occasional murmur float from the rooms that lined the hall. Gilda cracked open her door. In one hand, she gripped the collar of a pink robe that matched her swirl of cotton-candy hair, and in the other, she held the quivering Pixie. “What a storm, huh?” “We can always use the rain,” Ivy said, trying to sound upbeat. “Going to delay construction.” “Can’t imagine it will last too long,” Ivy said. Gilda was comfortable at the inn, but she’d told Ivy she was eager to get her high-strung Chihuahua back in familiar surroundings. The fire that raced along the ridge overlooking the village of Summer Beach had damaged and destroyed many homes a few months ago. Along with Gilda, other ridgeline residents, including Bennett, Imani, and Jamir, had taken rooms at the inn. Ivy scratched Pixie behind the ears, and the little dog licked her hand. “A flashlight is in the nightstand drawer in case we lose power. Any leaks in there?” “I’ll check and let you know.” Gilda stifled a yawn. “Appreciate that.” Ivy smiled. “Try to get some rest.” Ivy descended the stairs to the first level. Poppy was in the ballroom tucking towels against the base of a door that faced the south, where the strongest winds were pummeling the side of the house. Rainwater was pooling under the arched Palladian doors. “Let me help you,” Ivy said, sinking to her knees beside Poppy. “Thanks, but I’ve got this, Aunt Ivy,” Poppy said. “Maybe check the kitchen?” Ivy hurried through the spacious ballroom where they’d hosted a celebrity-studded wedding last month. And last week she’d rented out the space for a beach-front fundraiser for the local children’s hospital one afternoon and a lavish quinceañera for a teenaged girl and dozens of her friends and family the next evening. A knot formed in Ivy’s throat. She recalled the artistic floral arrangements Shelly had created for the wedding and thought how her sister would have loved decorating those last two events. As it was, Ivy had engaged one of Imani’s acquaintances for floral designs. While the arrangements were pretty, they didn’t have the memorable panache of Shelly’s designs. Shelly had even been absent from her video channel on gardening and design. She had repurposed video footage from the inn’s garden, not that anyone but Ivy and Poppy would know. As Ivy approached the kitchen, she heard a low hum. Pushing open the door to the 1950s vintage kitchen, she saw Bennett hosing up a puddle with a wet vacuum. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Morning, Ivy. Figured you might need help. Seems water blew in under the door.” From the deep tenor of his slightly gravelly voice, Ivy could tell he’d just rolled out of bed. His voice sent a tremor through her. A biological, physiological reaction. A little dopamine on the brain, that’s all. At the sight of Bennett working in the kitchen, memories of her late husband flashed through her mind. Jeremy would never stoop to manual labor—his words, not hers. Jeremy would have stepped over the puddle in his polished Gucci loafers and told her to call a handyman. As soon as Jeremy left for the office, Ivy would simply do what was needed if she could. After a while, she’d become quite proficient. Watching Bennett, she thought how nice it was to have someone who took action without being asked. Bennett didn’t have an ego to stop him from helping. That’s why he was an effective mayor. Summer Beach was lucky to have him. So am I, she mused. “How did you know to look for this leak?” she asked, skirting the damp floor. “A real estate agent has to watch vacant properties. The property manager was good, though.” Bennett turned off the machine and swept a dry cloth across the tile floor. As he worked, Ivy could see his muscles through his thin T-shirt. He kept fit, and she liked that. Not that it should matter to her, of course. Still, she appreciated how he always thought ahead. “Is your apartment leaking?” He was staying in the old chauffeur’s quarters above the garages behind the main house. “No, that roof is sound.” “Not in my room.” He jerked his head up and leaned back, putting his hands on his thighs. “You have a leak?” “I put a big porcelain bowl under it.” “Something’s not right,” he said, rising. “We inspected this house before the transfer. Let’s have a look.” He wound the hose around the vacuum canister and rolled it to one side.