“We can fix your place up, too,” I said. “But we can’t do it with your stuff in here. We need to do something about the stuff before the repair crew comes in.”
“It sounds like a great deal,” he said. “Can’t you just give me a few weeks to get things organized? I’m sure I can rearrange stuff so the workmen would have enough access.”
“Mr. Dunlop, I have a better idea.” Cordelia set her teacup on the table with an air that suggested we’d spent far too much time on social niceties and should get down to business. “Let us help you with your stuff. Not getting rid of it,” she added quickly, seeing him open his mouth to protest. “Moving it—temporarily. I’m sure Meg can find a place—I bet she can get the Spare Attic to donate a storage unit for the short time it would take to do the repairs.” She glanced around and frowned slightly. “Maybe a couple of units. We help you pack up everything. We move it all to the storage unit. The Helping Hands crew comes in and fixes everything up—it will go so much faster if the place is empty. And then we can help you move your stuff back in. If you find there’s some of it you don’t want to bring back, we’ll help you sell it or donate it or recycle it or whatever you want. But if you want every stick of it brought back here, that’s what we’ll do.”
He actually looked as if he was considering it.
It was a crazy idea. And not very practical, either. The Spare Attic, a converted textile factory, was Caerphilly’s only off-site storage business, and I knew people who had been on the waiting list there for years. And even if we could find a space there, the other customers would probably mutiny when they heard about it, no matter how many precautions we took to ensure that we didn’t move any insects or rodents along with Mr. Dunlop’s stuff.
But then an idea struck me. Randall Shiffley had recently bought up an empty building in town that had once housed a furniture store. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do with it—his main reason for buying it was to make sure no sneaky chain stores from outside the county got their hands on it and came barging in to put the local shops out of business. It was a freestanding building, so we were less likely to get complaints about pests—and if need be we could fumigate the whole place. Randall probably wouldn’t mind, or if he did—well, he was the one who’d stuck me with handling Mr. Dunlop and his hoard.
“I have it,” I said. “We can move your stuff into the vacant Caerphilly Furniture World building. I’m sure you’ve seen it—it’s huge. You’ll have plenty of room to spread your things out and sort them properly. If there’s stuff that needs to be repaired or refinished, there’s space to do that on-site, and we can probably find experts to help out. If there’s stuff you’ve been meaning to sell, we can help you do that, too. It’ll be great. And we can ask Ms. Ellie Draper from the library to help you start writing up the history of your valuable items, so the information won’t get lost when you’re no longer around to bear witness.”
Mr. Dunlop looked slightly wary. But only slightly.
“You’re hoping once you get all my stuff out of here you can talk me out of most of it,” he said.
“Yes.” I didn’t think lying would work. “Definitely. But talk you out of it. Not grab it and stuff it in the dumpster when you’re not around. We’ll respect your stuff—I promise.”
We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, looking at him. Finally he lifted his chin as if in determination.
“I’ll do it. When were you thinking of starting?”
“I can get some volunteers over here by noon,” I said.
“You’ve got one volunteer already,” Cordelia said.
“And I can come back a little later,” Caroline said. “I just need to put on some work clothes.”
“Oh, my.” Mr. Dunlop looked slightly stunned. He’d probably been hoping for at least a few days’ reprieve.
“No time like the present,” I said. “The sooner we act, the sooner you can thumb your nose at those annoying relatives and neighbors. Start packing a suitcase. And think about whether you want to sleep at the furniture store with your stuff or if you’d like me to find you a room at a nearby bed-and-breakfast. Because everything goes over to the store, as soon as we can pack it up, and this place will be a construction zone.”
“Okay.” He sounded a little shaky, and it was probably a good idea for Cordelia to stay and keep him feeling positive about the project.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll get you through this.”
“More tea?” Cordelia asked, lifting the teapot.
By the time I left, Cordelia had pulled out pencil and paper and was taking notes as Mr. Dunlop retold the story of the family bank in greater detail.
As soon as I was back on the crumbling front walk, I pulled out my phone. I had a lot to organize.
“I’m going to check around the foundation and out in the yard for signs of rodent activity,” Caroline said. “Only take a few minutes.”
I nodded. I was already calling Randall.
“How are things over at Mr. Dunlop’s?” he asked.
“So far so good,” I said. “You know that building you bought this summer? The old furniture store? You got any plans for it yet?”
“Not really,” he said. “I assume you’re asking because you do?”
“We’re going to put Mr. Dunlop’s stuff in it while the Helping Hands volunteers fix up his house.”
Randall was briefly silent while he digested the idea.
“O-kay,” he said finally. “Are you thinking it will go the way it did with his yard, and he won’t want any of it back?”
“I expect it won’t be nearly as easy,” I said. “Because obviously he will need some of his stuff back. Furniture. Appliances. Dishes. But maybe when he sees the house all clean and repaired and empty he’ll have a change of heart and be reasonable about how much he brings back. And if not, maybe we can find a therapist who specializes in OCD and hoarding to help him. But even if all we do is clean up his stuff, arrange it neatly and put it all back, he’ll still be better off without the building inspector breathing down his neck.”
“Agreed. Okay—what do you need from me, apart from the keys to the furniture store?”
“Moving boxes. And the use of a truck. And we need it yesterday—we want to start before he changes his mind.”
“I’m on it. And I should probably send Eastman over to check things out.”
“Eastman?” One of the enormous Shiffley clan, no doubt, but I couldn’t place him offhand.
“He just took over running Shiffley Pest Control last month, when his daddy retired.”
“Good idea.” I shuddered slightly. “Who knows what critters are sharing quarters with Mr. Dunlop?”
“Nothing major, unless it’s changed recently. I’ve had Eastman out there regularly—ever since Ham Brimley next door to him began complaining about rats.”
“Are there rats?” I wasn’t looking forward to finding out if Caroline’s matter-of-fact attitude toward rats survived a personal encounter.