Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy

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      She laughed and joined him. “I love this house. Yolanda loves it, too. You’re going to fix the rest of it up for us, right?”

      “I’m gonna try. Upstairs, I’m pretty sure we’re looking at a lot of lead paint in all those doors. I need to see if they’re worth saving.”

      “They are.”

      That answer was no surprise as this was her house. But Yolanda wouldn’t be happy with how much more it would cost to renovate rather than replace.

      “How long did you live here?” he asked.

      “Since I was sixteen.”

      “So, we’re talking the nineteen forties?”

      “Yes. Late nineteen forties.”

      “I spoke to my grandmother yesterday. She remembered the Ventimiglias. Said the same thing you did, that they weren’t very nice. Do you remember Ivy Ventimiglia?”

      “I do. I remember those days like they were yesterday. Actually, I remember the past better than the present.”

      “What do you remember about Ivy?”

      For a moment he thought Rosi would withdraw. Instead, she said, “Well, she was a few grades behind me in school. I was in the same grade as your grandmother. Not that Ivy would have associated with us. Me, anyway. I think your grandmother might have spent some time with her. Position, family wealth, heritage, they all meant a lot more back then. Not always for the good.”

      “What do you mean?” He had an inkling, but wanted her to spell it out.

      “Ivy and your grandmother lived here on the hill, the rich part of town. Even if they didn’t like each other, and they didn’t, they had to pretend.”

      That was a question he’d have to ask his great-grandmother. To his knowledge, GG liked everyone. “Did you and my grandmother get along?”

      “Loretta was larger than life and nice to everyone, even those outside her station. She was also a little wild.”

      “My great-grandmother, wild?” Adam could believe it.

      “Wild and adored. She was homecoming queen.”

      Adam hadn’t known that. “Yolanda’s pretty enchanted with the book that got left behind.”

      “Book? What book?”

      “Yolanda didn’t mention it to you?”

      “I didn’t go to dinner with her. Then this morning when I got here she was already gone. What kind of book?”

      “It’s like a published journal and has all kinds of town history events and even some drawings. This house is in it.”

      Rosi shook her head. “Journals don’t mean anything. Most of us girls kept them back then. And not very much in them was based on fact. Best Yolanda stop thinking about the Ventimiglias. There are none left. Ivy had an older brother but he died in an accident when he was nineteen. Ivy never married.”

      “You kept track of her? How do you know she didn’t marry?”

      “It’s a small town, even though they moved, word trickled back. If she’d have married, I’d have heard about it. Weddings were a bit more important in those days, especially for the wealthy. It would have been in the paper, complete with pictures and pedigrees.”

      “Why didn’t Ivy and Adam’s great-grandmother like each other?” In the quiet of the bookstore, Yolanda’s voice seemed loud, and both Adam and Rosi startled. Neither had heard the door open and close, yet here was Yolanda, holding a bag of groceries and looking as if she’d been standing there since the conversation began.

      “It was a long time ago,” Rosi said. “Some say it had to do with Ivy’s brother. Maybe a little. Then, too, I don’t think Loretta had much respect for Ivy, and Ivy knew it.”

      “High school’s hard on girls,” Yolanda said. “There’s always a cat fight or two. But they couldn’t have moved just because of that. If people moved after every teenage drama, there’d be a For Sale sign on every other house.”

      “You’re jaded,” Rosi accused, “and way too practical. Ivy’s family made all the calls in this town. And we learned to deal with it. Plus, Ivy’s reputation had to be protected at all costs.”

      Adam was amazed. “You’re kidding? Did she do something to ruin her reputation?”

      “No, not that I know of. But even associating with the wrong crowd could cause talk. Ivy was told—no, ordered—who to talk to, where and when. Your great-grandmother was a bit ahead of her time. She used to tell Ivy to grow a backbone.” Rosi chuckled. Then she added, “For a while, I thought Ivy and Otis Wilson might get together.”

      “Otis from across the street?” Yolanda couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.

      Rosi merely smiled. “His family had position, but not enough to satisfy Ivy’s father. Your family—” she nodded at Adam “—lived in the house that’s now the Fremont Bed-and-Breakfast. They were Munros. Of course, that house has been remodeled and added onto so much that it’s hardly recognizable as one of the grand ole ladies that made up the houses on this street.”

      Adam needed to ask his grandmother more questions. She’d talked about being a Munro, but until now, how special that was hadn’t occurred to Adam. Today she lived in a condo with a view of a golf course and a man-made lake. “But if their relationship wasn’t the reason the Ventimiglias moved,” he asked Rosi, “what was?”

      “Some secrets are better left alone.”

      “Gramma, you sound like someone on a Halloween show.”

      “Ask your great-grandmother,” Rosi urged Adam. “See if she’s willing to tell you anything.”

      “Don’t speak to her without me,” Yolanda demanded, “I’m starting to really get into this small-town history.”

      “Sometimes,” Rosi said, “what’s dead and buried should stay dead and buried. Loretta knows that well.”

      “Where did Ivy live?” Adam asked.

      “Here. This was her house.”

CHAPTER FOUR

      UNFORTUNATELY, GRAMMA ROSI had nothing else to say about Ivy. She did, however, have plenty to say about her own family. Yolanda noticed Adam listened intently, but then he’d not heard the story a million times.

      Rosi’s father had worked for the railroad. He was gone more than he was home. He’d been a smart man, though, listening to the conversations of those who’d had more money than sense.

      “My father got a job with the railroad after the black workers went on strike. It was dangerous because it meant he was going against the men who the jobs really belonged to, men who just wanted a living wage.”

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