eet. His ears pressed<br >~up of dark pine trees<br > eyes began to show.<br >d whinnied. And then<br >oofs churning the loose<br >viciously at something<br >caught before he had<br >dead a moment later.<br >n under the harsh and<br >Iv.<br >"It s perfect，" Christine said<br >door. "It s a perfect house，<br >opening the station wager<br >these are perfect grounds<br >that s a perfect tree."<br > "It s expensive，" Nick growled from underneath his<br >baseball cap.<br > Christine looked at him and shook her head. "Not only<br >are Italians lousy lovers， but you know nothing about<br >real estate values. This is a waterfront home on the<br >North Shore of Long Island. Value. It s located in the<br >Village of Mill Harbor. Swanky value. With a few subtle<br >but distinctive touches， the house will double in value，<br >probably by next week. What do you think， Joey?"<br > Joey Marine rested his eight-year-old chin on the car<br >Wll<br >dew ledge and surveyed the larze old house and the<br >ample grounds. Possibilities flooded his young mind:<br >ball playing on the lawns surrounding the house， explor-<br >ing in the nearby woods， fishing in the waters of Mill<br >Harbor he saw shimmering in the distance. "This is<br >better than Central Park，" he said. "I think Mom is right.<br >Can I look around?"<br ><br >