I knew her, of course, the first time she came to the house; one of the advantages of being dead is the ability to see beneath the surface.

When I willed the house and all its contents to her, I hadn’t ever seen her, not in all the thirty years since she first slipped into the world; all I had was her first name, Kelly, and one faded little Polaroid picture of her at about a year old. I knew she had Victor’s red hair and green eyes; beyond that she just looked like a baby, like they all do at that age.

I gave the lawyers a copy of that picture, though I didn’t have much hope they’d ever be able to find her. But I wasn’t counting on the angels. I think they helped. At any rate, eventually—I don’t keep track of time any more; could have been a week, could have been years—the lawyers found her, and she came. My granddaughter came to me at last.

When professional house-restorer Kelly Mason inherits a historic bungalow from an unknown testator, she assumes the donor means her to fix up the house and donate it back to the community, as she has done with many others. But when she visits the place, she feels an unprecedented emotional pull and decides to move in. As she works to restore the house, Kelly discovers clues to the history of its previous owners—a history that turns out to be her own as well. In order to embrace that history and find the home and family she’s never known, Kelly must open her rational mind to the unexplainable and her scar-crusted heart to forgiveness and love.

The Vestibule of Heaven is my second novel and is complete at about 70,000 words. It is currently available for representation. Read the full first chapter here:  Vestibule_of_Heaven_ch_1.doc

Or download the onesheet here:  VH_onesheet.pdf