“Talley, Mrs. Edward Newsome, Ruth’s cousin, is in assisted living. Do you have the address?”

Molly pulled up a contact on her phone and texted it to Ivy. “I do, as a matter of fact. Ruth asked me to call Talley after the hurricane and let her know she was fine. There you go.”

Ivy’s phone dinged with Talley’s contact information. It chimed again with the historical society’s information, including the website. “Thank you. Any information on the Maisy Adams?”

“Let me do a little digging on that one. I doubt there’s any crew left alive, but there has to be some kind of trail out there. I’m very good at squeezing information from old sources.” She turned toward the sleeping porch. “Mind if I have a look at the wreck?”

“Best view is from the back porch.” Ivy crossed the main room and opened the door. A cold breeze whistled through the screens, brushing her skin in chilly strokes. She folded her arms over her chest.

“Henry told stories about the wreck and the souls that were lost,” Molly said. “He became quite an attraction around Halloween, when local places were looking for tall yarns.”

“I remember. His eye patch made him look like a pirate.”

“He was a perennial favorite.” Molly tilted her head as she stared at the old wooden ship’s bones. “Have you seen any spirits?”

“All I’ve seen is an Irish wolfhound,” she said, more to herself. “Last week I saw the hound and followed it over the dunes and under a house. I found Libby on the verge of giving birth. I also saw it this morning.”

“Henry used to say the ship’s captain had an Irish wolfhound.”

Ivy hugged her arms around her chest. “I heard his name was Boris.”

“That’s right.” Molly climbed down the stairs and crossed the sand to the wreck. “This really is fantastic.”

Ivy followed. “Has the Liberty T. Mitchell appeared any other time than 1950?”

“Records indicate sightings in 1920, 1950, and 1980. This will mark its fourth showing. Each time it rose above the sands, the season was tumultuous.”

The wind swept more sand over the vessel’s remains as an unsettled feeling weighted the air. “You mean weather-wise?”

“No, for the locals. The Liberty T. Mitchell doesn’t bring good luck or prosperity.”

“I’d like to think it’s going to be different this year.”

“I hope you’re right, dear.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE IVY

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IVY

Monday, January 24, 2022, 6:00 p.m.

By the end of the day, Ivy had hauled the last of the clutter to the curb and dumpster. As she stepped back inside the house, her gaze wandered up the A-frame ceiling and then down along the stone fireplace. If Dalton bought the property, she’d bet he wouldn’t change it much, but another buyer brought no guarantees that the cabinets, countertops, and floors wouldn’t be replaced by slick manufactured products.