Glitter of Gold (Georgia Coast Romance Book #2)

Liz Johnson

Description

Anne Norris moved to Savannah, Georgia, for a fresh start. Now her pirate-tour business is flagging, and paying the rent requires more than wishful thinking. When she discovers evidence of a shipwreck off the coast of Tybee Island, she knows it could be just the boon she needs to stay afloat. She takes her findings to local museum director Carter Hale for confirmation, but she runs after a disastrous first meeting.Carter has been searching for the location of the wreck detailed in the worn pages of an 18th-century diary, the discovery of which could open the door to his dream job at a prestigious museum. But convincing Anne to help him fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle is no easy task. And working with Carter means that Anne will have to do the one thing she swore she'd never do again: trust a man.Finding a monetary backer and sticking with a search that's turning up nothing will take all their dedication--and every secret they've tried to hide. If they can find the lost ship, they may discover a treasure worth more than all the pirate gold in the world--love.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 06 août 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493417773
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Praise for A Sparkle of Silver
“Johnson pens an evocative tale of family intrigue and dashing romance sure to delight fans of Melody Carlson and Susan Anne Mason.”
Library Journal
“A mystery, a treasure hunt, and a split-time romance—all set within a beautiful chateau on St. Simons Island during its 1920s heyday and its beautifully restored present. What more could we want? Especially as Liz Johnson also delivers a sigh-worthy ending. Enjoy!”
Katherine Reay , author of Dear Mr. Knightley and A Portrait of Emily Price
“This is a sweet story with likable Christian characters and chaste hints of romance. . . . Johnson’s many fans and all gentle romance readers will be delighted.”
Booklist
“Liz Johnson does it again! A Sparkle of Silver is a charming romance about real people triumphing over real problems. Add in a dash of mystery, a treasure hunt, and old family secrets, and you have a story that will warm every corner of your heart.”
Victoria Bylin , award-winning author of Together with You
“In A Sparkle of Silver a winsome protagonist takes the reader on a journey through time with the help of an old diary. Lovers of history will enjoy this treasure-seeking adventure through a historic estate, and readers will appreciate a story that turns up riches of the lasting kind. This sparkling tale of mystery and romance will delight fans of Liz Johnson!”
Denise Hunter , bestselling author of Honeysuckle Dreams
Half Title Page
Books by Liz Johnson
P RINCE E DWARD I S L A N D D R E A M S
The Red Door Inn
Where Two Hearts Meet
On Love’s Gentle Shore
G E O R G I A C O A S T R O M A N C E
A Sparkle of Silver
A Glitter of Gold
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Liz Johnson
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1777-3
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Dedication
For Hannah and John and Julia, who brainstormed this idea with me and helped me find the story I was looking for.
And for Mom, who walked the squares of Savannah and the beaches of Tybee Island with me. You’re my favorite research partner.
Being part of this family is the best.
Contents
Cover
Praise for A Sparkle of Silver
Half Title Page
Books by Liz Johnson
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of the Final Book in the Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Matthew 6:21
one
A nne Norris knew two things for certain. Some things could be forgiven. And some things most certainly could not.
At this moment, she was wondering if her mom would ever forgive her.
“I don’t understand.” Her mom sighed heavily into the phone. “Hurricane Lorenzo is supposed to be bad.”
“I know.”
“Are you prepared for this thing?”
Anne nodded before remembering that her mom couldn’t see her. “Don’t worry,” she said, opening her pantry door and surveying the meager rations. “I’m watching the news. I’ll be fine.”
“You can come home, you know.”
“I know, Mom.” But it was more something she said because it was what her mom wanted to hear than reality. Because she really couldn’t. Going back to California wasn’t an option. It hadn’t been in exactly two years, three months, and twelve days.
Her mom paused, and there was a long silence on the other end of the line. Anne leaned against the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder as she traipsed across the sparsely furnished living room and peeked through the blinds to the street below. The wind had already started making the trees dance, and sporadic drops of rain had begun painting the sidewalk. But this would all be a walk in the park compared to the fury Lorenzo was about to unleash.
“Is this about money? I know things are tight.”
That was an understatement. But it also wasn’t the deal breaker. Money was an issue, but California was the issue.
“Thanks, but no. I’m fine. Really.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, and she didn’t like it one bit. Or maybe she really was trying to convince herself. That was even worse.
Suddenly a lone figure entered her view. Hunched shoulders. Arthritic hands clenching a grocery tote in one hand and a pink leash in the other. Mrs. Kane hadn’t exactly been on the welcome wagon, but she was her closest neighbor.
“Mom, can I call you back?”
“Are you all right?”
Anne reached for her shoes, untying the knots in the laces. “I need to check on my neighbor and her dog. I’ll call you in a few minutes.” She hung up without any more explanation.
She darted out the door and down the steps from her second-story apartment, reaching Mrs. Kane just as the older woman began her slow climb to the apartment in the back of the building. Princess, her fluffy Pomeranian, bounced at her feet as she clung to the metal railing and pulled herself up.
“Mrs. Kane! Mrs. Kane!”
The woman turned around, squinting in Anne’s direction. “Who’s that?”
“It’s your neighbor, Anne.”
After a long pause, Mrs. Kane nodded. “Okay then.”
“You’re still here.” Anne didn’t know what else to say. She’d assumed that Mrs. Kane had evacuated with the other half of the city.
“You sound surprised.” Mrs. Kane’s voice was loud enough to carry the half mile to the river and back. Her hearing aids were probably turned off. “My son wanted me to come stay with him in North Carolina, but that wife of his never liked me much.”
“I, um . . .” Maybe this had been a stupid idea. Swallowing her sputter, Anne tried again. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything. You know, before the storm hits.” A lone raindrop splattered against her cheek, a reminder that it wasn’t far away.
Mrs. Kane managed a flicker of a smile just as the little ball of fur at her feet yipped. It had to be eighty degrees and 400 percent humidity outside, but she looked perfectly pleased in her yellow velour track suit. “It’ll take more than a Category 4 to scare away Mavis Kane. I always could sleep through the storms, my mama said.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Kane was a Savannah native and not naive to the ways of hurricanes that sounded intent on tearing the whole city down. “Well, if you need anything, I . . .” Anne lost her words, not sure exactly what she wanted to say, so she began to turn.
“Do ya have any peanut butter? Princess gets awfully cranky without her afternoon treat.” Her gaze dashed to the dog.
“Peanut butter?” Anne’s tongue felt like it was coated with the stuff. With every ounce of her very last, very expensive jar.
“Yes. Prinny just loves it, and the store was plumb out of it.” She held up her grocery bag. “You know, all those greedy hoarders storing up.”
Yes. She knew them. She probably qualified as one in Mrs. Kane’s book.
Anne nodded slowly. “I’d be happy to share.”
Mrs. Kane’s face softened. “We’d be grateful.”
“I’ll be right back.”
The rain had already begun to make the metal slick, but she hurried up the stairs to her home. Her air conditioner chugged in the window on the far side of the room, barely making a dent in the weight of the air, but it was better than being outdoors.
When she opened her pantry door, she cringed. The shelves were small and contained a couple ten-cent packets of noodles and two jars of peanut butter. Hugging the unopened jar to her chest, she closed her eyes.
This—and the bread and jam in her fridge—was all she had. But it was enough to share.
As she walked past her counter, she snagged her purse and hefted it over her shoulder. She might as well face her landlord too before the storm hit.
Mrs. Kane took the peanut butter and cradled it as though it was treasure. “Thank you.”
Anne managed a full smile. “You and Princess take care of each other, okay?”
“We always do.” With that the older woman shuffled up the steps to her apartment.
The rain had grown steady by the time Anne reached the front door of Maribella’s. The coffee shop took up the entire first floor of the white brick building. Before the Civil War, it had been a boardinghouse, and the upstairs rooms had been converted into apartments—all managed by Lydia Robin.
Anne cringed as she stepped inside, already preparing for the run-in.
“You’re late,” Lydia said from behind the counter. The smile she offered to her customers was conspicuously absent.
Anne had been paying her rent at this counter for more than a year, and Lydia’s scowl was about as welcoming as a shark at the shore. “I know.” She dug into her floppy bag, her fingers searching out the sharp corners of the check she’d written earlier that morning. She tried to give Lydia a smile, but her effort faltered. “I’m sorry.”
“Mm-hmm.” Forget Southern hospitality. Lydia had skipped the serving of sweet peach pie in favor of a double portion of sour apples.
Anne sighed and repeated her apology. She didn’t want to apologize again. She just wanted to find the check, which was playing a pretty convincing game of hide-and-seek in the depths of her purse while she jabbed her hand into