Starting at the check-in desk, she made her way through the old house and was almost vibrating as the ideas came to her. Dove had never upgraded to an online reservation and check-in system. Dove’s Nest had a website that Sarah made years ago in high school and that had been sufficient for her grandmother. Dove had still preferred that guests call to make reservations—said she could always get a vibe about them from the phone call and was able to tailor their experiences to suit them. Quiet, shy guests were treated to more privacy, and outgoing travelers were the ones Dove would deliver breakfast in the room or plan afternoon teas in the library.

She really knew how to read people. It was one of her gifts.

But any potential buyers would be expecting an online system and computerized check-in, not the paper ledger books her grandmother still kept in banker boxes in the attic dating back fifty years or more.

Moving into the den, she made a note to add a computer station with scanner and printer. Guests might want the access to check in for their travel plans and flights after their stay, and some might need to log in for business purposes.

The library she’d leave as it was…besides updating the furniture. The old sofas and chairs were worn and the fabrics faded. But she would ask Jessica for her help with that. Her friend’s parents collected antiques and old furniture for their store on Main Street, and Sarah would replace the furnishings in this room with antiques in better shape. Her intent wasn’t to modernize every room in the inn, just ensure guests were as comfortable as possible.

She ran a hand along the bookshelf, along the dusty spines of old classic novels. As a kid, this was one of her favorite rooms in the B&B. She’d read so many of these books and in later years, she’d study in the library, which was often quiet and underutilized. Her grandmother would bring her snacks, and they’d sit and chat for hours sometimes. Dove had led a fascinating life from the stories she told, but more often she listened more than talked and Sarah always had a feeling that there were things—secrets, parts of herself she kept in a special place, locked away.

She paused, seeing an old journal at the end of the shelf. The hair rose on the back of her neck, and a shiver ran through her as her thoughts manifested. Picking it up, she turned the old, weathered leather book over in her hands and recognized her grandmother’s initials embossed in the cover.

It was locked by a tarnished latch on the side, and there was no key attached or on the shelf… What should she do?