Page 17 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

Kate peered up at him. “A wine cellar? With uh, wine, lots and lots of wine.”

“Yeah, Seymour’s wine.”

“Wait we’re under…”

“Agate Point.”

“That’s impossible, the inn’s at least three miles from the coast.”

“By roads it is. But as the bug crawls, no, it’s not far at all. Because Camellia hooks into Oceanside Drive, which meets up with Cliffside Drive. And Agate Point sits at the very end where the two streets connect.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. Granddad has a lot of explaining to do.”

Wind swirled up and around them, with a hint of sea mist to it, and it all began to make sense to Rory. What he knew to be true from the voices he’d heard. And didn’tthatjust make him sound crazy.

Before he could dwell on that, he spoke with certainty. “This tunnel leads to the sea. Franklin Worthy, the original owner of your inn, was a smuggler of the first order, smuggling weapons and supplies for the rebels right under the nose of the occupying British. An American hero. Your inn was instrumental in the fight for American Independence.”

Kate met his gaze, and he felt her quick intake of breath. “So this tunnel…”

“…is the best kept secret in Hazard.”

Chapter Eight

Kate let Ivyinto her newly furnished front parlor and held her breath waiting on Ivy’s impression. Kate thrilled in the transformation of the previously bare-planked room. It now radiated warmth, inviting and welcoming with all the new additions. A royal blue settee was just off to the side, a plush oriental rug in deep blues and burgundy spread before it. But it was Kate’s most cherished piece of furniture that absolutely made the room work.

“Oh, my, you have a piano,” said Ivy, awe whispering behind her words. Seymour had arranged to have it delivered separately from his U-Haul delivery, claiming he had two pianos so she might as well have this one. Kate’s new friend stepped to the upright instrument and trailed her fingers lightly along the ivory keys.

“Do you play?”

Ivy spun back. “Me? Oh, no, not at all. My family was never musical. Yours?”

Kate nodded, then shrugged one shoulder, “Well, a bit. I had piano lessons as a child along with all the requisite recitals. Later, I played with the orchestra in high school.”

“Oh, you must have been good then.”

“Well, for my age, I suppose.”

“And now?”

Kate grinned, “Haven’t played in years, but I’m excited to have a piano again. It isn’t authentic to the era, of course.”

“No?”

Kate shook her head. “They didn’t have pianos in America until later. At the time this house was built, only harpsichords were available.”

Ivy scrunched up her face in puzzlement. “What’s the difference?”

Kate moved over to the piano and raised the lid so Ivy could see the strings inside. “A piano key is levered to strike the string, allowing the instrument to be played softly or loudly, hence the name pianoforte.” Kate reached around to demonstrate before closing the lid. “A harpsichord, on the other hand, plucks the strings so each note played has the same volume.”

“Ah, so the pianoforte was a technological advancement.”

Kate nodded. “It was considered an improvement.”

Ivy grinned. “But I bet harpsichords have their charm too. Have you ever played one?”

Kate smiled and shook her head. “Come on back; I know you want to look around.”

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