“Yes,” Ezra said. “James Heywood’s late wife was Sandi Rose Heywood, who inherited this place from her parents, Bob and Betty Rae, who are now deceased. I guess those were roses growing on the porch railing, but since it’s December, I’m thinking they’re, like, hibernating or something. I’m no gardener, so I can’t be sure. Okay? Are we good?” He glanced at his watch, signaling his eagerness to be done with this annoying buyer.

“Fine,” Ivy said, holding out her hand for the keys.

“I’ll have to unlock the front door for you,” Wheeler said. “The lock is old, like the house, and it’s kind of tricky.”

“Thanks, anyway. But I’m sure I can somehow muddle through a lock all by myself,” Ivy said, her tone deliberately frosty.

“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging. “Congrats on the house, by the way. I left you a little housewarming gift on the kitchen counter.”

As soon as she opened the Volvo’s passenger door, Punkin was off like a shot. He raced to one of the bushes bordering the porch and christened it before returning to Ivy’s side as she dragged a suitcase up the porch steps.

The first thing she noticed about the porch itself was that the worn floorboards seemed to bounce slightly with every step she took. Did that mean she had foundation issues? She sighed and for the first time felt a twinge of regret that she hadn’t actually toured the 106-year-old farmhouse in person before making her offer.

There were six keys on the ring Ezra Wheeler had handed her, none of which was labeled. Ivy tried four different keys until she finally managed to fit a black, old-timey-looking skeleton key into the front door lock. She held the egg-shaped doorknob firmly in her left hand and managed to make a quarter turn with the key. She turned the knob, but the door didn’t budge. She pushed against the doorframe, sending a shower of pale blue paint flakes down the front of her jeans. Nothing.

Ivy tried jiggling the lock and jiggling the door. She walked completely around the house, trying keys in four more doors, to no avail. She peered in a window at the back of the house, into the kitchen, but the glass was wavy and blackened with grime, so she only got a glimpse of a kitchen sink and a small wooden table and chairs.

“Come on, Punkin,” she said, heading back around to the front of the house. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket.

“Looks like we’re gonna give Ezra a call and admit defeat.”

Five minutes later, the Jeep was jouncing down the driveway.

“That didn’t take long,” Ivy said as he joined her on the front porch.

“I was just waiting down at the crossroads,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin. “And I did try to warn you. That lock really is the dickens to open.”

He grasped the doorknob firmly, inserted the key into the lock, jiggled it a moment, then slowly turned the key to the left. As the tumblers finally clicked, he rammed his shoulder against the door, muscling it open.