Sickleham Hall, ghostly pale, dominated the lush Irish hillside. Her attorney Hal Croydon narrated the property’s assets and liabilities as he drove towards the drive. Ignoring the older man’s droning baritone, Geraldine strained to catch a better view of the estate, her estate.

Geraldine could feel each and every beat of her heart. Six weeks ago, Geraldine had been fishing through her sofa’s cushions for loose bills to buy a chicken burrito. She remembered her heartburn when she received the fantastic phone call from Croydon, Pickaxe & Croydon. Apparently her genealogy test revealed Geraldine may possibly be an heiress. It all felt like a dream, a dream to good to be true. Burrowing into her newly purchased silk scarf and her old pea coat, Geraldine worried when she would wake up.

“Watch you step,” a voice said.

Clearing her thoughts, Geraldine shook her head. Hand outstretched, a nice young man was holding open the car door. She remembered he was Croydon’s assistant Nigel somebody. Geraldine stepped into the shadow of manor house. She shivered. Hal now standing outside the car was still talking about investments. Studying Geraldine’s face, Nigel looked concerned.

“No worries, just someone walking over my grave,” Geraldine said with a laugh.

Paling, Nigel glanced nervously at Hal. Geraldine walked towards Sickleham Hall. Sun bleached stone and dozens of mournful windows, this was her home. Home, she rolled the word in her mouth. She’d never known her father’s people. As a little girl, Geraldine had asked her auntie once about her parents but she didn’t remember the answer just the spanking.

The heavy carved door opened. Arms folded, a severe grey haired matron waited. Hal was fussing at Nigel to attend to my luggage. Geraldine caught a peek of a massive spiral staircase. A breath caught in her throat. The housekeeper looked Geraldine up and down.

After additional DNA tests, Hal had offered to continue to manage Geraldine’s estate and send her funds to America. Her friends said take the money and run. But something had called to Geraldine. Now standing here pulled like a magnet to a place she had never known Geraldine understood.

At the door, she inhaled. Lemon oil and old books scents welcomed her.

“Right this way, Miss,” the housekeeper said.

Drawing herself up, Geraldine stared the older woman down. The housekeeper swallowed hard.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Geraldine, may I show you to the library for refreshments.”

Tossing her scarf over one shoulder, Geraldine gave a brief nod. Without a look back, she walked into Sickleham.