She glanced around for signs of the wolfhound, but there’d been no sighting since the day after the storm. And thankfully no evidence of wandering spirits waiting anxiously for the vessel to return below the ocean waters.

Ivy sipped her coffee, now already too cold for her taste. “For the record with all the spirits. I never plundered your ship, so don’t take your frustration out on me.”

Wind whistled over the tops of the beach grass and skimmed over the beach, carrying sand with it. “And Ruth, if you’re lurking about, any guidance regarding the cottage would be greatly appreciated. I miss you.”

Another half hour passed as she stood inhaling the salt air and listening to the sounds of the ocean. This place did have a wild lure, and today’s gentle breezes were trying to seduce her into staying.

The grind of machines scraping earth drew her attention back to what had once been the Seaside Resort. “I won’t be fooled. I know how this can all turn on a dime.”

She poured the dregs of her coffee out into the sand and returned to the house. Dani and her father would be here in a few hours, and she wanted to get a little more cleaning done. She shouldn’t care that Dani had seen the house at its worst, but it would have bothered Ruth if Pete saw it in disarray.

She climbed to the second floor and started clearing out the second upstairs bedroom. She carted off old banquet chairs, obsolete printers, a cash register, and what had been a modern computer fifteen years ago.

It was after 10:00 a.m. when Ivy’s phone rang, pulling her out of a closet crammed full of more Bibles. She reached in her back pocket for her phone. “Ivy Neale.”

“Ms. Neale, this is Bob from the photography shop.”

She brushed back her bangs. “Yes, sir. Any luck with that film?”

“Film was in excellent shape. I was able to develop all ten of the exposed negatives. I’ve just finished the prints.”

She sat back on her heels and swiped a strand of hair from her face. “And what did you find?”

“Looks like vintage Seaside Resort from the early 1950s. The photographer took an image of a showboat, the Seaside Resort, a little white dog, a very lovely woman who reminds me of Lana Turner, a group of young girls, several women in their thirties, and I think there’s a picture of Ruth.”

“Really?” She stretched the tension from her back. “Are they ready to be picked up?”

“They are. I’m here all morning. I’m closing at noon and taking the afternoon off to go fishing.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“See you soon.”