Stuffed with milkshakes, we wander a block off the main square and find ourselves among the stately houses. One maple-lined street is home to a row of bed and breakfasts with names like The Rosewood Inn and The Sleepy Hollow BnB, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, seeing as the real Sleepy Hollow is hundreds of miles away in New York, but I’m sure it doesn’t hurt the business.

We round a corner onto another street, and Caitlyn begins to make up story after story as we pass each house.

“The family that lives in that one, they’re related to the Queen.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep. I read about them in a book. And that one” – she says, pointing to a white house with red trim – “a witch lives there. She puts spells on all the kids in town. And that one over there” – she continues before I can get a word in – “the man who lives there robs banks.”

“Caitlyn.”

“He does. He got rich by robbing banks with his gang.”

“Caitlyn, stop.” Stories of being related to royalty or magicians is one thing, but I don’t want her making up stories about people committing crimes, no matter how far-fetched they are. “You know you shouldn’t do that, right?”

She gets quiet and hangs her head.

“Okay.”

At the end of the street there’s another grand Victorian-styled house. The wooden sign in the front yard reads “Kingsbrook Historical Society” in gold-painted lettering.

“Want to check it out?” I ask Caitlyn.

She shrugs, which is enough for me, because I definitely want to go inside.

We walk up the path to the porch and I hold the door for her. We’re greeted by a display that proudly proclaims, “Welcome to Kingsbrook!”

The paragraph and photos below the display briefly outline the town’s history, from its beginnings as a trading outpost, to a lumber mill, to a resort town, to present day. Beyond the display, the first floor of the house has been converted into a mini-museum, with display cases and memorabilia. In the corner, an elderly man with a beak-like nose sits behind a desk.

“Hello.” He smiles.

“Hi,” I answer.

He moves around the desk. “Welcome to the Kingsbrook Historical Society. I’m Nathaniel Howard. I’m … Well, I’m pretty much the Kingsbrook Historical Society.”

“I’m Daniel Price and this is my daughter, Caitlyn.”

Mr. Howard’s face lights up. “Oh! You’re the new owners of the Nightingale House.”

“Yes,” I say, unable to hide my slight surprise.

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “I know just about everything that goes on in Kingsbrook. My family has lived here for generations. I know all the stories, and the Nightingale House is one of our prized jewels.” He shakes my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He turns to Caitlyn. “And you, as well. Kingsbrook welcomes you both.”