“I’m not surprised she held on to all this. The Seaside Resort was her home. All this was her last connection to it. They’ll get good use at several of the shelters.”

Many of the items conjured up memories for Ivy. The napkins she’d folded each day before and after school, the bedspreads she’d smoothed with her hands when there was no one else to clean a bungalow room, and the banquet tablecloths she’d fluffed over round tables before a wedding or family reunion. All the stuffing, dragging, and hefting had been a walk down memory lane. “Is there a camera shop in the area?”

“Sure. It’s Bob’s Small Appliance Repair. No one really wants cameras anymore, but a few still get appliances repaired. He considers cameras small appliances. He’s at Milepost 10.”

“Just a few miles from here. Perfect.”

“You need a camera? I’ve plenty of used ones here.”

“Thanks, but no. I have one that belonged to Ruth. I think there’s film inside.”

Mrs. Cooper nodded. “A mystery. Keep me posted.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back. This only represents my old bedroom and part of Ruth’s room.”

“Ruth never did like anything to go to waste.”

Ivy thanked the woman and drove south the five miles until she spotted the small store in the strip mall. A red neon OPEN sign blinked in the window.

Out of the car, she stepped into the small shop filled with toasters, fans, microwaves, and leaf blowers all crammed together on the floor and shelves that lined the walls. She moved to a glass display case filled with cameras, watches, and decorative clocks. Behind it was a register and a curtained-off room.

She rang the small bell on the counter, and a stocky man with thinning black hair appeared from behind the curtain.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Hey, hoping you can help me. I’m Ivy Neale. Ruth Wheeler’s granddaughter.” She set the camera on the display case.

“Ruth. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Bob. Need the camera fixed?”

“I don’t know. I found this camera in her house.”

His gaze dropped to the camera. “A Leica? Looks old school.”

“I think so. I’m not sure if it’s broken, but I think there’s film inside.”

Accepting the camera, he inspected the photo counter on the top. “Ten pictures taken by the looks.”

“It was stashed under a bed. Not sure if the film inside is any good, but it’s gone this long without being developed; it’s worth a try.”

“I can do it. I have a makeshift darkroom. Still get the rare request to develop film.”

“That would be terrific.”

He turned the camera over and traced a calloused finger over the CD scratched in the metal. “Think maybe a guest left it behind?”