“What about the child? Whatever became of the kid?” Justin asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been able to find anything, yet.”

They passed a few minutes in comfortable silence, each absorbed by their own thoughts, before Justin asked, “So, how much further to the turn off?”

“Umm, according to the directions in the email from the realtor, we turn off at Cedar Lane which comes after mile marker 147. And we’re at number,” Susan paused to watch for the small white mile markers that lined the two-lane country road, “142, so roughly five more miles to go. Then after that, it’s two and a quarter miles till we see the drive with a pretty pink mailbox.”

“Pretty pink mailbox, will have to go,” Justin mumbled under his breath.

Twenty minutes later, the SUV rounded a bend in the road and Justin and Susan were face-to-face with their new home. It was a lovely two-story farmhouse, more suited to fairytale Europe then modern New England, complete with a thatched roof, leaded windows and stone chimneys at each end. With a cobbled-stone path leading to the door, creeping ivy caressing the stone chimneys, English tea roses beneath the windows and an autumnal forest backdrop, the image was very picturesque and peaceful.

“Looks like you finally got your Kinkade. Probably cost us less too.”

“Ohh, darling, I like your work too,” Susan said in defense. “But sometimes I need a little sunshine,” she added with a smile as she stepped from the vehicle.

“I wonder where the realtor is? Thought we were supposed to meet him here and get the keys,” Justin said as he climbed out. “You should have insisted that they overnight the keys to us before we left the city.”

“Calm down, Justin. The realtor will be here--maybe he was just delayed. Let’s use the time and explore the property.”

They walked around to the back of the house and encountered the ruins of a large Victorian greenhouse. Although the framework was intact, most of the glass panes were broken and the interior was an overgrown jungle of weeds.

“I guess this is the ‘Greenhouse with original Victorian wrought iron framework’ listed in the description,” Justin muttered sarcastically.

“So it needs a little work,” Susan said. “We knew we were getting a fixer-upper. Do you regret buying it?”