The realtor smiled, lipstick on her teeth. “Now for the best part,” she cooed, unlocking the back door. Her heels sounded like a cart-horse, he thought.
In the back yard stood a stone house, ancient and menacing. “Isn’t it wonderful? A historian said it predates the house by at least a century!”
“Can that be my playhouse, Daddy?” Dot asked, pulling his hand.
“Where’d this stone come from?” he asked the realtor.
“I’ll need to check,” she said, thumbing the listing. “Nothing in here.”
“It’s charming” said Margie.
He jabbed the mortar with his pocketknife, wondering about an outdoor fireplace.
