“Hey, Meg,” he said. “Got a couple new ones for you.”
I tried to sigh too softly for him to hear. Then I put the phone on speaker. Hearing our discussion of whatever new projects Randall was about to dump on me would probably do more than any amount of explaining to help Caroline understand Helping Hands for the Holidays.
“First one’s a no-brainer. Couple over on Bland Street whose grandmother is coming to live with them, and she’s in a wheelchair. They’ve asked if we can build them a ramp.”
“Refreshingly straightforward.” I was scribbling in my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, as I called my voluminous to-do list. “You want me to go over and kick things off?”
“No need,” Randall said. “I’ll send one of my men over to scope it out. If their granny needs a wheelchair ramp, odds are she’ll also need a whole host of other accommodations they haven’t even thought of yet. Once we know what-all they need, I’ll let you know how many helpers to send. Meanwhile, do you have some time today? Got a new possible project that requires your touch.”
This time Randall could probably hear my sigh. Requiring my touch usually meant that either the project or the person requesting it was difficult. Possibly both.
“You know Mr. Dunlop?” he asked. “Harvey Dunlop, over on the south side of town?”
The name sounded familiar. I frowned in an effort to place him. Enlightenment struck.
“Harvey the Hoarder?” I asked.
“That’s him.” Randall chuckled. “Good old Harvey.”
“Are his neighbors complaining again? I thought that yard cleanup we talked him into doing last summer shut them up.”
“The cleanup you talked him into,” Randall said. “I like to give credit where it’s due. Yes, they shut up for a while, but now they’re back, complaining about rodents, and smell, and what an eyesore the house itself is. On top of that, this time Mr. Dunlop’s relatives have gotten into the act and are threatening to sic Adult Protective Services on him. And you know what Meredith’s like.”
Yes, I did. Here in Caerphilly, Adult Protective Services—or Child Protective Services, or any other kind of town or county social work—meant Meredith Flugleman. Which wasn’t a bad thing—she was highly skilled, passionately dedicated, and without a doubt one of the best-hearted people in the county. But she was also annoyingly perky and persistent. Once she decided that Something Must Be Done, having her around was like having a small, yappy terrier nipping at—or worse, attaching itself to—your ankles. I didn’t think her approach would work well with Mr. Dunlop.
“So he’s asked for our help?” I said.
“Not exactly,” Randall said. “But he needs it. And I figure if anyone can talk him into asking for help, you can.”
I took several of the deep, calming yoga breaths my cousin Rose Noire was always nagging me to try when stressed.
“Meg?”
“Just checking my schedule,” I said. “I should be able to get over to Mr. Dunlop’s house a little later this morning. I’m assuming time is of the essence.”
“I can only do so much to slow down the town building inspector,” Randall said. “And you know Meredith. Luckily Meredith’s on a cruise till after New Year’s, and the inspector’s off deer hunting for the time being. But still—the sooner the better.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 2
“Looks as if Randall just rearranged your day,” Caroline said as I was hanging up.
“And I’ll have to desert you,” I replied.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “Do you mind if I come along? I confess, I’m a little curious to see this Harvey the Hoarder. And while I do plan to spend some time out at the zoo helping your grandfather with whatever he’s up to, if I’m staying here through the holidays, I’m probably going to get sucked into your Helping Hands thing as well, so maybe I should start looking for a project that matches my skill set. This sounds a lot more interesting than plumbing and carpentry.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “The place could be pretty awful. And there could be more than just inanimate objects—there could be cockroaches. Rats.”
“I’ve done first aid on wounded badgers,” she said with a laugh. “I’m not afraid of a little old Rattus norvegicus. In fact, if we do find rats, I could take charge of humanely trapping and disposing of them. Right in my wheelhouse. Just give me a hand bringing in my suitcase and the rest of the presents from my car and I’ll be at your service.”
“Let’s get the boys to help.” I led the way out into the hall, reached for the cord attached to a large wall-mounted dinner bell, and gave it a brisk jingle.
“This is new,” Caroline said.
“We installed it a few months ago, when Michael and I both had laryngitis,” I said. “Josh and Jamie seem to find it entertaining, so we’ve kept it around.”
From somewhere upstairs came the sound of pounding feet, then a pair of faces peered over the railing around the second-floor landing. No, make that a trio of faces. I’d only been trying to train my not-quite-teenaged sons to answer the bell, but apparently it worked on my brother, Rob, and many of the visiting family as well—probably because a reasonably high percentage of the time, whoever was ringing the bell was announcing the availability of either a meal or some fresh-baked treat that should be eaten hot.
“Can you guys carry in all the presents and treats from Aunt Caroline’s car?” I asked.
They stampeded downstairs, each pausing to give Caroline a hug. Then Caroline handed her keys to Rob and the trio raced outside. Caroline stepped into the living room to admire the Christmas tree. The main Christmas tree, anyway—every year Mother seemed to up the ante in the Christmas tree department. This year she’d affixed tiny ones festooned with gold glitter to the tank tops of all the downstairs toilets.
“Lovely,” Caroline said, gazing around the room as she paused by the tree, still holding her stack of presents.
I was opening my mouth to say something offhand, like “well, of course” or “as usual” and felt suddenly guilty. The room was lovely. Watching Caroline enjoy it brought that home to me, and I made a mental note to say something appreciative about the decor to Mother. I’d long since let her take charge of decorating the entire downstairs of our house. Left to my own devices, I’d probably have done a decent tree and a modest wreath on the door, but that would be about it. I was too busy during the holiday season—and besides, I hadn’t inherited the decorating gene.
This year’s new addition to the decor was a wide panel made of evergreen branches braided with red velvet ribbon and matte gold metallic ribbon that went all the way around the walls on top of the crown molding. Initially I was appalled to think how much painstaking hand labor must have gone into it—but then I found out that Mother had started hiring the residents of the Caerphilly Women’s Shelter to do such handiwork, at generous rates that helped them build nest eggs for starting their new lives much sooner. Now when I looked up at the beautiful, intricate woven branches, one of my favorite quotes from A Christmas Carol tended to pop into my mind: “At this festive season of the year, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute.…”