My great-grandfather built the main house in 1882.

But this was your family home, wasn’t it?” He already knew the answer.

But there’s plenty on the property worth keeping-as James saw firsthand last week.” It can’t be saved, or at least, I don’t plan to save it. Because one way or another, that old house is coming down. “Projects like yours are what keep us busy.” I’m sure you’re very busy.”Ĭhuck retreated to his original position, sat down, and leaned forward on his elbows. It’s a pleasure.” She accepted his handshake, and, without giving him a chance to offer her a seat, she drew up the nearest chair-a Naugahyde number that had once sat in a mid-century dentist’s lobby. We spoke on the phone, before you met with James.” “Kindly ignore the clutter, ma’am-like myself, this office is a work in progress. She stood in the doorway, assessing the mess then she bobbed her head, shrugged, and stepped over a nested stack of vintage oil cans that Chuck kept meaning to relocate.Ĭhuck darted out from behind his desk, hand extended for a greeting shake. Her handbag was large, square, and black-more of an attaché case than a purse. Her hair was silver and her dress was blue linen, something with a fancy label at the neck, unless Chuck missed his guess.

She arrived in a faint cloud of expensive perfume: a tall, thin lady of a certain age and a certain pedigree. He successfully rearranged a stack of old license plates and stuffed all his pens into an I LOVE MY MASTIFF mug, just in time for his visitor to appear. His office was the company lint trap, and it was no one’s fault but his own. The owner and manager of Music City Salvage was every inch a goddamn professional, but he couldn’t prove it by his office, which was littered with rusting light fixtures, crumbling bricks and broken statuary, old books covered in mildew, stray tools that should’ve been packed away, and a thousand assorted items that he was absolutely going to restore to life or toss one of these days when he got the time. She has an appointment.”Ĭhuck Dutton set aside the walkie-talkie and made a token effort to tidy his desk, in case Augusta Evelyn Sophia Withrow expected to speak with a goddamn professional.

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