She sighed as she pocketed the keys and looked up at the house. It was a typical two-story white farm house with black shutters. The paint was chipping and, in some places. it was coming off in long strips, as if someone had stood there and peeled it. There was a barn farther back on the property. It had been red once, but it had turned gray from the weather and time. There were acres of unused land behind the house. It had once been for farming, but her father, unlike his father before him, was no farmer. Jay Chandler had decided that there was more money in business and had gone to Babson College in Boston, where he had met her real mother, Dustine—Dusty's namesake. Dustine had still been in high school, but after she’d graduated they were engaged, and when Jay had received his B.A. in accounting, they were married. Dusty knew her father had shifted gears after a year or so of accounting, deciding to go into architecture. He went back for a second degree and now owned his own, very profitable, business.
