The doorbell echoed through the two story foyer, stopping Tara Anthony in the process of kicking off her shoes. An ivory sandal dangled from her toe.
Tightening her grip on the newel post, she debated ignoring her visitor and then groaned, stabbed her foot back into her shoe and rolled her tense shoulders. Whoever was out there had very likely watched her walk inside thirty seconds ago and knew she was here. As if to prove her point, the bell chimed twice more in quick succession.
No doubt she'd find another developer on the other side of the door, one who wanted to buy her lot, demolish her old house and build a minimansion in its place as had happened with so many of the neighborhood properties. This section of Miami had become an increasingly desirable location lately. But she couldn't sell. She'd promised her mother she'd hold on to the house. Just in case.
Tara pushed back her hair and sighed. She wanted this rotten day to end, and she wasn't up for a pushy sales pi ...
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