“That’s the house?” Junie’s heart sank as she eased her grandmother’s golf cart to the curb in front of a ramshackle cottage. Sun-bleached paint peeled from the wooden porch. She turned to her friend Jo, who owned Cuppa Jo’s, a local diner on Crown Island. “It looks pretty rough.”
“I told you it needs new paint,” Jo replied. “It’s fairly original. That’s my house over there. The lavender one with yellow shutters. This one could look like that, too.”
Other cottages on the street were splashed with sherbet colors of the rainbow, a Crown Island tradition. Junie wondered what color she might paint the old house. As she slid from the golf cart she used to run around the small island, her gaze fell on overgrown grass, tangled vines, and w**d-infested gardens. As bad as it was, the empty lot ne
