5
Wrinkling her nose against the stale odor, Ivy peered tentatively down the stairs to the lower level. “It smells musty.”
After the FBI had collected the precious loot of artwork, and she and Shelly and Poppy had moved furniture they could use upstairs, they hadn’t returned here often—except for the art show tours they’d held last year. Ivy planned to host another show later this summer.
“Could be mildew or mold,” Bennett replied as he flicked on the light. “You can have it checked for leaks. Who’s going first?”
“I will,” Ivy said, steeling herself against the odor. “No spirits here.”
Beside her, Poppy peered into the dimly lit stairs. “On second thought, I forgot that I need to check on a guest.” She skittered away.
Ivy hardly blamed her. Gingerly, she made her way down the stairs,
