No Place Like Home by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

see them immediately.
    At four o’clock she was on her way. “I’ll be back,” she told Robin. “Wish me luck.”
    Three of the houses she eliminated from consideration. All were charming in their own way, but not, she was sure, what Celia Nolan would be interested in. The one she had saved for last seemed, from the description, to be a real possibility. It was a farmhouse that had been restored, and was vacant now because the owner had been transferredby his employer on short notice. She remembered that she had heard that the house showed well because it had just been redecorated. It was near the town line of Peapack, in the same area in which Jackie Kennedy once had a home. I never did get to see this one because it received an immediate offer last month, but then the sale fell through, Georgette reflected.
    A beautiful piece of property, she thought as she drove up to the entrance. It has twelve acres, so there’s plenty of room for the pony. She stopped to open the gate of the split-rail fence. This kind of fence is so in harmony with the surroundings, she decided as she pushed the gate back. Some of those gaudy gates and fences they’re putting on the Mc-Mansions are an insult to the eye.
    She got back in the car, then drove up the long driveway and parked at the house’s front door. She opened the lockbox and was glad to see that the key was there, meaning that no one else was showing the house. Of course, nobody is around, she thought, otherwise there’d be a car here. She let herself in and walked through the rooms. The house was immaculate. Every room had been repainted recently. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, while retaining the look of an old-fashioned country kitchen.
    It’s in move-in condition, she thought. Even though it’s more expensive than Old Mill Lane, my guess is that if Celia Nolan likes it, the price wouldn’t be a problem.
    With growing hope, she inspected the housefrom attic to basement. In the finished basement, a storage closet near the stairs was locked and the key for it was missing. I know Henry showed this house the other day, Georgette thought with growing irritation. I wonder if he absentmindedly pocketed the key. Last week he couldn’t find his key to the office, and then later was searching everywhere for his car key. It doesn’t have to be his fault, of course; right now I’m ready to blame him for everything, she admitted to herself.
    There was a splotch of red on the floor outside the closet. Georgette knelt down to examine it. It was paint—she was sure of that. The dining room was a rich, deep shade of red. This was probably the storage closet for leftover cans of paint, she decided.
    She went back upstairs, closed and locked the door, and returned the house key to the lockbox. As soon as she reached the office, she called Celia Nolan and raved about the farmhouse.
    â€œIt does sound worth taking a look at.”
    Celia sounds low-key, Georgette thought, but at least she’s willing to see it. “It won’t last on the market, Mrs. Nolan,” she assured her. “If ten o’clock tomorrow morning is all right with you, I’ll be happy to pick you up.”
    â€œNo, that’s all right. I’d rather drive myself. I always like to have my own car. That way I can be sure I’ll be on time to pick up Jack at school.”
    â€œI understand. Let me give you the address,” Georgette said. She listened as Celia repeated it, then was about to give directions, but Celia interrupted.
    â€œThere’s another call coming in. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp.”
    Georgette snapped shut her cell phone and shrugged. When Celia Nolan has time to think, she’ll probably call back for directions. That house isn’t the easiest place to find. She waited expectantly for her phone to ring, but it did not. She probably has a navigation system in her car, she