“What a shame,” she said, surveying the travesty caused by disinterest. Weeds and scrub, along with untamed grass and ivy had taken over what looked to be gardens that had once covered acres. From where she stood, Joanna could make out the tops of a few statues buried in the mess, and topiary having gone unchecked had morphed into shrubs slowly being strangled by ivy. Dotted throughout the jungle of green and tan were flickers of color, perennials planted years before that had yet to meet their demise, and deep in the center of the tangle, Joanna could make out what appeared to be a fountain long since forgotten.

Shaking her head, she let out a long breath and then began to pace the footpath along the back of the house. After her fourth trip from end to end, she stopped and peered around the side of the mansion, hoping not to see what she did.

As they had been since Monday, dozens of reporters still lined the fence, their cameras propped on their tripods or slung around their necks, waiting and hoping the new Mrs. Kane would make an appearance. Although tempted to step out from behind the house and wave a quick hello, dressed in faded jeans and a tattered denim jacket, Joanna decided she didn’t quite look the part of Mrs. Addison Kane...yet. So, she made another lap across the mulch, but stopped on her return trip when she noticed David disappear into a lengthy brick building a good distance away. Two weeks earlier, when she had toured the grounds with Evelyn, Joanna assumed the building to be an abandoned guest house. Over a story in height, with a steeply pitched roof, and set off from the mansion far enough for total privacy, it seemed the obvious choice, but Joanna was wrong. Evelyn explained that while George and Fiona did indeed live on the upper floor of the building, the lower housed Oliver Kane’s extensive automobile collection.

Again, hiding at the corner of the house, Joanna considered making a quick dash across the lawn to quench her curiosity as to what exactly extensive meant, but chewing on her lip for a moment, she changed her mind. It wasn’t worth having her picture again plastered across the tabloids looking less than her best.

Returning to her constitutional, she paced back and forth for a few more laps, eventually coming to a stop in front of a break in the thick entanglement of the weeds and grasses around the garden acreage. Most likely trampled by the workers who kept the mulched path free of ivy, the clearing enabled her to see what appeared to be a raised garden bed only a few steps away. Looking down at her clothes and the old trainers she was wearing, Joanna shrugged, and then traveled where no one had traveled in over three decades.

***