“Ivy is a Hollywood screenwriter,” Ira said with pride. “Engaged to Oliver Frost, the director.”

“Wow.” Oliver Frost was a big-time director in Hollywood. He’d just wrapped up filming the last in a teen dystopian franchise that had shot its young stars into the celebrity stratosphere.

“Cool, huh?” Bailey grinned at me. “Ivy and I went to school together. We were best buds until she moved to Hollywood.”

Iris threw her arm around Bailey’s shoulders. “Bailey girl, you are still best buds. You know she loves you more than anyone.” She sighed and stared almost forlornly at the photographs. “Kid just got busy.”

Bailey gave her a squeeze. “I’m showing Jessica around and our first stop is ice cream at Antonio’s. Nothing but the best.”

The couple grinned. Ira moved to behind the counter. “Now, then, let’s see. I recommend a two-scoop: double chocolate chip and mint chocolate chip.”

“No, no.” Iris followed him. “The strawberry delight with the white chocolate.”

Ira made a face. “That’s crazy talk, woman.”

“Don’t you call me ‘woman’ in front of customers.”

“It’s Bailey girl and her friend.” Ira shrugged as if to say, What’s the big deal?

“Move over and let me get them ice cream.”

“The ice cream counter is my domain.” Ira stood in front of it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you seriously blocking my way?”

“Um, guys.” Bailey cleared her throat. “Today would be nice.”

“Fine.” Iris nodded. “Two strawberry delight and white chocolate coming up.”

“No, two double chocolate chip and mint chocolate chip coming up,” Ira said equally firmly.

I stepped up to the counter, trying my best not to laugh and almost failing. “We’ll have one strawberry delight and white chocolate and one double chocolate chip and mint chocolate chip.”

Iris and Ira blinked at me.

Iris finally nodded and cleared her throat. “Well, alright, then.”

A little while later we walked out of Antonio’s with our cones. I had the strawberry and white chocolate. And Bailey was right. The ice cream was creamy and smooth and delicious. I licked at it greedily, feeling like a kid again.

“They are always like that,” Bailey said, laughing. “They argue about everything. But they really love each other. And Ivy.”

I was curious about Ivy. “Is there a story there?”

“I’m not sure.” Bailey tilted her head to the side in thought. “Ivy and I still talk, but it’s not the same as it used to be. A year or so back she got really closed off and distant. With her mom and dad, too. They blame this Oliver guy, but I’m not sure what’s really going on there.”

I thought about how close-knit the community here appeared, with Bailey growing up with Ivy and being best friends with the business owner next door to her inn, plus her obvious affection for Cooper. It really was a small town.

It seemed so nice.

Like a big extended family.

I found myself envying Bailey again.

“So ice cream, check,” Bailey said as we wandered past Paradise Sands. She stopped and my gaze followed hers to Cooper’s. “Now the explanation I promised.” She licked at her ice cream and turned to me with a smirk. “I’m not telling you it all, because it isn’t my story, but I’ll tell you something I think will help you understand Cooper’s reaction better. Mainly what you need to know is that Cooper has had his share of betrayal. The latest was fairly recently, in fact.”

She continued to walk and I practically twisted my neck craning back to look at the bar. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Maybe a glimpse of the man himself?

“When you were looking for a place to stay here, did you come across the Hartwell Grand Hotel?”

“Yeah.” It was a four-star hotel in the middle of town. “It looked nice, but I wanted to stay on the boardwalk.”

“Most folks do. The Grand is owned by the Devlin family. Ian Devlin is the patriarch of that particular group of bandits. There are four sons and a daughter. They own a few stores on Main Street as well as the hotel and they own Ocean Blue Fun Park—the fairground a few blocks from here. They’re wealthy . . . and they don’t pretend to be nice on their way to accumulating more wealth. They’re more than ambitious. They’re ruthless.”

Intrigued, I said, “How so?”

“We’ve all had our personal dealings with the Devlins and some of us are more than a little suspicious that they may have obtained buildings through underhanded means. There is a possibility they’re paying off town officials to get what they want. Maybe even state officials . . . like health inspectors.

“I had a friend, Stella, who had owned a café on Main Street for a decade. Five years ago the café didn’t meet the health inspection requirements even though there had never been problems before. Stella was meticulous about cleanliness. But they didn’t pass her and every time she tried to get it sorted out there was a roadblock put in her way. She was already in debt and in trouble, so when Ian Devlin showed up and offered to buy the building she took the offer and moved out of Hartwell. Hers isn’t the only story like that. Everyone knows Ian Devlin has been trying to get property on the boardwalk for years. When my parents were retiring and handed the inn over to me, Stu Devlin, the eldest devil, got pretty aggressive trying to get them to sell.”