Shelly gestured toward the plans. “This was Amelia’svision for the town. So I’m all in. Do you know if something else was built there before?”
“Not that we know of,” Ivy replied. “Forrest thinks I hit an old drainage pipe.”
He nodded in agreement. “Something like that. The Gutierrez family bought the property to build a family compound, but their situation changed before they could develop it.”
“Maybe you should check out that old pipe,” Shelly said, raising her brow pointedly at her brother.
Forrest shook his head. “We’ll address that after we break ground. No sense having men and equipment out there at this point. That would be a waste of time and money.”
Bennett nodded along with him. “That makes sense. Besides, people often dump debris on vacant land.”
“But we all know what Amelia was like,” Ivy said. “What if she buried something there?”
“Sweetheart,” Bennett said, covering her hand with his. “Let your brother handle the construction. He knows his business best, just as you know yours.”
So surprised was Ivy at his words that she was momentarily speechless, searching for the right reply. She met her sister’s questioning gaze, reading her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken.
But before she could think of a comment or retort, Bennett cleared his throat and turned to Shelly, swiftly changing the subject as if he were in a city council meeting, not in the kitchen with family. “Are you and Mitch ready for the wine harvest party tomorrow?”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Shelly replied slowly, tearing her gaze from her sister. “How about you two?”
Ivy was a little perturbed at her husband, but she also knew he and Forrest were only doing what they thought was right. And maybe they were, but the thought of something buried on the property still bothered her. Even if it was just an old piece of concrete.
Because what if it wasn’t?
Ivy shifted her attention to the conversation about the weekend’s plans. Fortunately, the high season was over, so Poppy and Sunny had agreed to look after the inn while they were away for the weekend.
Emilie and Tristan Boivin owned a winery and vineyard in the nearby mountains. The French couple was celebrating the grape harvest season with an event they called the crush. She and Bennett had been looking forward to it.
“We’re going to have such fun this weekend,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling. “Ivy, will I see you at the book club meeting later tonight? It’s at Ginger’s cottage this time.”
Ginger Delavie was a local legend who lived in a beach house everyone called the Coral Cottage. Ivy was friends with her granddaughters.
“I can give you a ride.” When Shelly arched an eyebrow, Ivy knew exactly what her sister was thinking. And she was all in on it. She hadn’t come this far with transforming a rambling old beach house into an inn without taking a few outlandish risks.
A plan was already forming in her mind as Forrest and Bennett excused themselves to return to work.
As soon as they left the kitchen, she confirmed her suspicion with Shelly. They agreed to include their niece, Poppy.
After the sun set, Ivy changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black knit turtleneck. She quickly loaded shovels intothe trunk of her 1957 cherry-red Chevy convertible, wincing as the metal scraped. She closed the trunk, trying to be quiet and feeling a little guilty, as if preparing for a heist.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Bennett appeared on the balcony above her, silhouetted against the light spilling from their apartment above the garage. “Are you headed to your book club meeting?”
She smiled up at him, smoothing over her awkwardness. “Almost. I’m waiting for Poppy.”
Grinning, he held up a book. “Don’t forget this.” He jogged down the steps, holding the novel the book club members had been reading. “Looks like you’ve barely cracked the spine.”
“I listened to the audiobook on my errands and walks.” She had been so busy with the end of the season activities at the inn, she had barely kept up with the book club.
She took the book from him, feeling the weight of her scheme settle between them. “Thanks, honey.”
Bennett kissed her forehead. “Have fun. Call me if the wine flows too freely. Wouldn’t want Chief Clarkson to pull you over.”
“Don’t worry. I’m the designated driver.” She kissed him.
Poppy hurried toward them with a book tucked under her arm. Fortunately, she remembered hers.
Bennett opened the door for Ivy, and she slid behind the wheel to start the car. The engine turned over with its familiar rumble. She pulled away from the inn, watching her husband wave in her rearview mirror.
