He shook his head. “What’s crammed into this house is worth more than a few dollars.”

“Better karma to pass it on.”

He paused a long moment, staring down at her. “Anything sentimental so far?”

“There was an old hotel registry and an address book under the mail on the dining room table. I’ve no idea why she saved the registration book.” She made her way to the table and picked up the address book. “Maybe you’ll have better luck recognizing some of the names.”

He gently thumbed through the small black book. “I recognize a few names. Henry Anderson was a local craftsman and fisherman. He did cabinet work for Dad in the early days of his business.”

“I remember Henry. He worked in the kitchens until I was about six or seven. Nice man.” She had vague memories of Ruth dressing them for his funeral. Sitting next to Ruth on the pew in the Methodist church, she’d watched a tear trickle down her grandmother’s cheek.

“Dora Bernard Walton was a friend of my mother’s. So was Jessie Osborn Lee.”

The women’s married names were written in a different shade of blue ink, and the loops on the Os and Bs were smaller, more controlled. “She updated their addresses several times.”

He thumbed through the pages. “My grandmother’s or Aunt Bonnie’s names are not in here.”

“Makes sense that they’d lose touch after your grandmother stopped coming to the beach.”

“When my aunt Bonnie died, I was about twelve. Ruth attended the funeral.”

“Really? She didn’t take me to that one.”

“Ruth and my dad spoke in the reception line.”

“Were you close to your aunt?”

Dalton frowned. “Aunt Bonnie didn’t have much use for me. Never made it a secret that Dad was making a mistake adopting his wife’s son.”

Ivy could almost feel Ruth’s outrage. Ruth didn’t tolerate that way of thinking. She accepted everyone.

“There are two downstairs bedrooms. One was Ruth’s bedroom. The other was her art studio and is crammed with easels and paintings. I’m leaving the art room untouched until I can clear this room out. Hopefully, I’ll have one of the bedrooms cleaned out soon so I can sleep in a real bed. The couch is as uncomfortable as it looks.”

He glanced toward the couch, the rumpled blanket and pillow with a fading impression of her head. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Dani’s interested in seeing the paintings. She said there could be a real demand for Ruth’s work. More income for you.”

“Dani’s seen them?”

“They used to paint together. It was good for them both.”

Ivy didn’t want to be jealous, but it did bother her that Dani had had a part of Ruth she’d never known about. “Maybe. We’ll see. I want to really look at the paintings before I make any kind of decision.”

“You haven’t seen them yet?”

“Working up the nerve.” She still wondered why her grandmother had never told her about painting. “Ruth guarded her sketches closely, so I can only imagine the paintings were just as personal.”