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Hoard Haul-Out

By Cindy M. Amos

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Maybe he could think of better ways to earn a living than busting up packrat nests. Kenan North stepped across the worn threshold of the Jenson manor house uncertain of what he might find. The contract for junk removal specified an estate sale had already taken place, but a huge coat rack still adorned the entry hall of the town’s founding father, Josiah Jenson. Dilapidated and on its way to becoming a rubble pile, the two-story Federal style mansion had seen better days in Bidmore’s history. He cupped one hand to his mouth. “Hey, is anybody home? Hoard Haul-Out is reporting for duty, as scheduled.”
Something thudded to the floor overhead. A dusting of plaster filled the stagnant hallway. Footsteps beat across the old hardwood planks. “Give me just a minute,” a woman called from the second floor landing.
He stepped through a doorway to the left and began taking inventory of the larger contents in what appeared to be a parlor. An upright grand piano stood against the interior wall. His back ached just looking at the musical monster. A solid row of bookshelves flanked the opposite wall. At least they’d been emptied of contents, which might account for the cardboard boxes sitting in a jumbled heap that tamped down a round oriental rug. He jotted a note to salvage the rug for resale, one of the dispersal alternatives the company accomplished after the owners had grown much too tired to care. Eclectic accumulations fascinated him, fueling the fire to remain gainfully employed over the summer.
Overhead, something metal slid across the floor in an awful hurry. When glass shattered afterward, he retraced his steps into the entryway and glanced up the once-grand staircase. “Everything okay up there, ma’am?”
“Lost one vase saving ten more,” she replied from a distance. “Give me two more seconds to finish this room, and then I’ll come down.”
His gaze swept the parlor, evaluating its contents. He made note of the floor lamp in the far corner. Two yellowed oil paintings still hung on the wall separating the rear of the house. A doorway into what appeared to be a butler’s pantry beckoned to him, so he tucked away the notepad and headed further into the residence.
Shellacked in chipped white paint, the butler’s pantry consisted of wall-to-wall shelving, part of which held glass-front panels. Likely state of the art in its day, time had not been kind as many of the cabinet doors gaped open due to the sagging foundation. Only a handful of heavy aluminum pots remained in a bottom cupboard. “Well, that makes for a quick inventory.” He jotted down the built-ins which would stay in place for the razing planned for mid-July.
A sharp snap overhead drew him back into the parlor’s doorway. Instinctive, he grabbed the jamb to better gauge the building’s structural integrity when another plank moaned overhead. “Ms. Jenson?”
She made a couple of heavy steps. “Coming right…”
Plaster from the parlor ceiling rained down like powdered sugar. A thud from above caused a timber to crack, splitting the plaster into a fracture line that paralleled the façade of the house. He dodged the area of weakness and headed for the massive stairway, his nose tucked into one sleeve. Not spying the heiress at the top of the landing, his unease multiplied. “Ms. Jenson, I have to insist that you come downstairs. The structure seems unsound in the room where you’re working. Better safe than sorry, in this case.”
“I just want to retrieve this one box of antique vases,” she replied.
“Let me get it later.” He strained to hear any signal of compliance. Instead, the plaster rained down from a new spot closer to the entry hall. If he could judge fairly, the fracture line extended a yard or so closer. “You best lighten up and come on down. I see signs of structural failure below the floor joists where you’re walking.”
A solid snap confirmed his suspicions. Chunks of plaster fell to the floor next. An all-out collapse followed, complete with a screaming damsel in distress whose legs soon appeared trapped in the ceiling slats. While one slip-on shoe dangled from her ankle, the other fell off to join the rubble pile with a plop.
Shocked into action, he took the stairs three at a time. Headed for the front room, he stood in the doorway and assessed the situation. The stained ceiling marked a water leak in the center of the room which had weakened the floor over time, leading to the cave-in. The upper half of his client remained visible, pinched by oak planking. A box of glassware wedged in her arms had kept her from plunging straight through. In the far corner, a dust-covered travel trunk sat askew under the window, guarded by a fragile-looking spinning wheel.
Upon entering the room, he lowered onto his stomach to spread out his weight. As he crept closer, he remembered to introduce himself. “I’m Kenan North with Hoard Haul-Out. We have a ten o’clock appointment for the estimate.”
“Yes, thank God you’re here. Can you get me out of this mess? The planks are jabbing me in the back, but I’d like to come out in one piece.”
He reached for neutral territory, the cardboard box. When he pulled it toward him, she slumped further down the hole. “Oh, we’d better wait on that release a sec. Are you Julia?”
She tossed her head and a hair clip tumbled out, loosening her hair. The fair blond highlights framing her face mocked the dire situation. “No, a thousand times no. I’m her younger sister Jaslyn.” She tried to wipe her lips on her shoulder and then spit to clear some debris.
The unexpected flare of emotion amused him. “I’m going to lift you out. That might get uncomfortable, but I can’t just let you fall.” He moved a bit closer and felt the floor sag.
“Wait. These floor boards are stabbing my ribs. I don’t think I can come out the way I got in here. Listen, it might be the best thing to let me just fall on through. Wish I could cover up my face somehow.”
“Right. Good thinking.” He started unbuttoning his best cotton shirt. Maybe there was a reason he’d worn it besides trying to make a good first impression. He shrugged out of the shirt and began to wrap her face and neck. Using the sleeves to tie it securely, he fetched the clip and anchored the collar to a loose lock of hair. “There. Now I’m going back downstairs to catch you when you drop through. Hold onto that box until I give the signal, then I may tug on your legs to get the ball rolling, so to speak.” He patted the cardboard flap to reassure her. “You’ll have to leave the box up here—for now.”
She sighed. “So close to having these heirlooms rescued.”
“We’re just getting started on that rescue, Jaslyn. I’m headed down, so listen for my cue.”
“One more thing,” she whispered. The shirt shook in a shiver. “My right leg is throbbing, so please be gentle.”
Oblivious that she could be injured, he slunk back out of the room without a reply. Economics majors rarely played heroes, not even the seniors. His brother Chad had hired him for the summer because he was actually a good estimator when it came to hoard hauling. Too bad his business savvy wouldn’t help him in this situation. But his knack for laden workouts in the gym might be just what the doctor ordered for such a delicate extraction.
Making quick work of the stairs, he jogged into the parlor and assessed the situation. Floor planks pressed against her hipbones on both sides. Above her right knee, a lump accented her thigh muscle that wore a scrape bigger than a potholder. Purposeful to avoid that area, he lowered his hat brim and took her hips into his grip immediately below the plaster. “Okay, Jaslyn. Let’s do this one, two, three. You shove the box off and lift your arms to protect your head. Stay streamlined like that, and I’ll pull you through. Kick when you’re ready.”
Her foot flexed right into his solar plexus.
“Fine. Here we go. One—get rid of the box.” He paused long enough to hear the scrape of compliance. “Two—get those arms up. And three—here we go.” He tugged with considerable heft, intending the release to transpire in a split second. The haste of her drop still caught him off guard. Plaster showered all around as she slid lock, stock, and barrel into his arms. He tightened his grip and held her suspended while more planking and debris hit the floor. When he shook his head to clear his hat, a tremble shot down to the soles of his feet.
Still shrouded, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Dear Lord, I’m out. And not a moment too soon.” She inhaled and let it out again.
Alternative scenarios battled for selection. “I need to set you down so we can check your injuries. Stay put where you land, and let me search for that missing shoe.”
“Please don’t let go until we’re sure I can stand up. My right leg is going numb.”
“It definitely took the brunt of the break-through. Easy now.” He lowered her and tried to find a less intimate place to rest his hands.
When she unclipped her hair, the shirt slid from her face and draped his arm. “Goodness me.” Her eyelids squeezed closed with a wince. “I’ve been saved by a half-naked stranger. Please, put your shirt back on.” Though she tried to stand in a show of independence, she gasped and shifted off her right foot.
He got one arm into a sleeve and alternated steadying her shoulder with the other. “Not really a total stranger. You were in my Spanish class in high school. I put off that cultural debacle as long as possible, but you were pretty good at speaking a second language.”
She brushed the rubble from her bangs and reattached the hair clip in one sweeping motion. “Do you remember el zapato?” As if to help jog his memory, she flexed her bare foot.
“Okay, a second red sneaker coming right up.” He dug the shoe from a plaster heap, poured out some chalky dust, and placed it by her foot.
She slid into the sneaker and tried to take a step toward the front door. Instead, she fell forward, almost collapsing on her face. A pleading squeal accentuated the feeble movement.
Reactive, he caught her mere inches from the floor. After lifting her up and moving the hair clip off her cheek, he locked gazes and held her tight. “We’re taking a little trip to Grace Medical’s emergency room. The haul-out estimate can wait.”
She started to roll her honey-brown eyes but seemed to relent as the seconds ticked by. “Fine. You can haul out the last of the Jenson line before I’m just another rubble heap on the horizon.”
He scooped her into his arms and aimed for his truck. “You were good on the drama squad, too, as I recall. And pretty easy to look at on stage, to boot.”
She laid her head back on his shoulder. “Thank you for putting on your shirt. I wouldn’t want rumors firing off around town about something racy going on.”
“Since you don’t have a single scratch on your face, I’d call that makeshift protection a card well played. Maybe I should tell everybody that I won you in a poker game.” He paused and lowered her toward the passenger-side door.
“You aren’t helping the Jenson heirs live above reproach with such scandalous talk.” A tease lightened her expression as she lifted the latch. “Watch my right leg, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am. That limb is already on the scratch-and-dent table. We’ll have to offer a discount for that particular sale.” He gave her a thespian smile while easing her onto the seat. Something his grandfather told him echoed to mind as he closed her inside. A Jenson never comes cheap. Well, maybe a good deal could be found once he culled to the bottom of the heap.
~
Perched in her sister’s kitchen, Jaslyn examined the royal blue cast that would escort her through the summer. A broken femur and hairline fractures down her shin won her this clunky cast, so most of her plans to ready the manor house for demolition evaporated. Steam began to rise from the teapot on the stove. “Julia, the kettle’s about to whistle. Want me to get it?”
Her sister shot into the room with her arms full of dirty clothes. After dropping them by a set of louvered doors, she retraced her steps to cut the power on the burner and saved the kettle from a screaming fit. “Is green tea okay? It’s all I have on hand. I really need to get to the grocery store soon.”
“Green tea is perfect. Thanks for rescuing me from Grace Medical. I could tell Kenan North was plenty ready to get out of there. Plus, he had the estimate yet to accomplish.”
Julia dunked the tea bag into one cup and agitated the string as if to speed up matters. “His brother Chad is dropping by later this afternoon to talk about the haul-out schedule. We still have a chance to make a little income off of their last-ditch efforts to salvage scrap metal and sell some architectural elements, but I’m not sure how much money we can generate.” She gave a weak smile and transferred the tea bag into a second cup.
She examined her second oldest sister in the direct sunlight shining through the window over the sink. Once head cheerleader, homecoming queen, and the most popular girl in school, Julia now barely had time to brush her hair, play single mom, and hold down a lackluster job as a technician downtown at the pharmacy. Life could be hard like that, in the wake of a moral mistake. A brimming teacup slid onto the table in front of her.
“Sugar’s in the little yellow dish. Remember Grandma Jenson using that?”
“Yes, I’m glad you saved it. I attempted to collect those vases that I claimed when you and Jelinda preferred the dishes, but the floor gave way and literally stripped them out of my arms. At least they didn’t break.” She dipped a tiny spoon into the dish and sprinkled the crystals into the steaming brew.
Julia slipped onto the banquette bench opposite her and cradled the cup in her hands. “Maybe I can ask Chad to set those aside for you—if they can get back into the sewing room.”
She gave her cast a hollow knock. “I wouldn’t recommend it since the floor collapsed under my weight. Thank goodness Kenan believes in bulking up his muscles. I couldn’t have asked for a better rescuer.”
“So you do need men?” Julia hid her coy smile by taking a sip.
A philosophical dodge around the taboo topic might be in order. “Men seem to appear handy for the cleanup phases of life. You know, like tackling hoard piles and other junk jobs.”
“Thank goodness somebody tries to rectify the balance between too much and not enough.” Julia sighed and stared out of the rear-facing window. “If I ever come into more money, I vow to resist accumulating excess stuff.”
She hummed and swallowed a mouthful of flavorful tea. “Discerning when you reach the point of excess could be key to such balanced living.”
“That’s true. Remember my friend Danica? She tried to solve this problem by moving into a tiny house over on Cemetery Road. But when that filled up to overflowing, she bought a barn-shaped shed to put out back, so she does her crafting out there.”
“Adding more space is never the answer. That became crystal clear while I toured the manor house. All those rooms got filled to the brim over the years, and for what gain? Did all those possessions really bring our ancestors pleasure? I’d venture to guess they did not.”
The doorbell chimed twice in rapid succession, causing Julia to grimace as she rose. “I forgot to put up my Please Knock sign. Double drat if that doorbell wakes up my little Evie.” She disappeared to the front of the tiny rental. When she returned, she had two men in tow.
Chad waved at her. “Sorry to hear about your accident, Jaslyn. How’s your leg doing?”
She shifted so the cast came into plain sight. “Meet my constant companion for most of the summer. I’m calling him Royal Pain for oh-so obvious reasons.”
Kenan folded his arms. “That could have gone so much worse, especially if you had to hang up there for hours waiting for extraction. As it turned out, your misadventure only delayed our estimate for two hours.”
His curt synopsis landed with a ton of guilt. Maybe she hadn’t expressed enough gratitude. “Kenan, I need to thank you most sincerely for being there at the precise time I needed help. Who knew my salvaging escapade would go south in such a hurry? The floors had never caved in prior to that episode—and I’m the smallest member of the family.”
“That made for an easy catch.” His stern expression melted at the admission.
Julia reached for a letter on the far counter. “Chad, before you start with the haul-out estimate, could you take a look at this invoice from Talon Estate Sales for me? It just doesn’t seem to add up to very much. I thought the estate sale produced more income than this.”
Chad accepted the letter and scrutinized the contents. “You understand they take their twenty percent right off the top, don’t you?”
“Well, yes and no,” Julia replied. “I negotiated them down to eighteen percent, but that only complicates the math when I try to total these numbers in my head.”
“Good job on chipping away at their fee. Looks like you still have the Jenson charm.”
Kenan jabbed his brother’s arm. “Better let me examine that invoice.” He drew out his cell phone and soon began tapping numbers into the keypad.
Jaslyn sipped her tea and watched the brothers interact. Though Chad was taller and had fairer hair than Kenan, her rescuer had been chiseled from high-grade granite rock, especially his jawline. His serious focus on the invoice made him seem borderline handsome, an assessment she would definitely keep to herself. Out of nowhere, the family’s mixed history with the estate auction company flashed to mind. “Julia, remember how grandma’s sister used this Talon group for her estate sale? Aunt Birdie was none too pleased with the end results, though they cleared lots of merchandise for her. She thought they undervalued the antique pieces that should have brought more money.”
Chad nodded. “Unfortunately, estate auctions only bring in what bidders are willing to pay. We’ve seen better results by taking bids over a multi-day silent auction. Then the highest bidder for each item is contacted afterward for payment and collection.”
Kenan creased the letter closed. “If they truly sold eighty items during the sale, then these numbers match the eighteen percent commission they extracted—given they recorded the value of each sale accurately.”
Jaslyn tried to read his taut expression. “Why did you add that particular caveat?”
“Well, from the moment I stepped inside the manor house, I wondered why the estate sale had left out the antique oak hall tree. That piece holds definite resale value. So I questioned if the Talon guys knew what they were doing—or if they were being needlessly selective.”
Julia snapped her fingers. “That’s exactly what Aunt Birdie thought. She said they were hopelessly picky and had left out some of her best possessions. By my count, on the day of the manor house auction, we had one hundred thirty items on the docket—and they all sold.”
Chad took the letter. “That accounting tally would make this invoice fraudulent. Did you take any pictures or make a written list so you can legally contest this payment?”
That fired a little indignation under her ribs. “No, that’s why we hired a company to conduct the auction for us. We’re overwhelmed with closing out this property.”
Julia sank into her seat. “And we still have Uncle Jerome’s estate sale on Memorial Day.”
A tendon flexed in Kenan’s neck. “Maybe more oversight would be in order the next go round. We can come in early and watchdog the auction, if the Jenson family needs the support.”
Chad pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Julia. “Could we sit with you ladies and talk over this proposal for the haul-out?”
Julia jumped to her feet looking startled. “Gosh. Where are my manners? Can I get you guys something to drink? We have sodas left over from the auction event.”
“I’ll take something fruity,” Chad replied with a smile.
“Something clear for me,” Kenan added. “Hey, Jaslyn. Do you think Royal Pain would mind some company over there?”
She slid into the far corner of the banquette, regretting the tight fit. Her cheeks heated as the muscle-clad rescuer scooted beside her and took up more than his half of the bench. “Hey, thanks for offering to eagle-eye Talon Estate Sales on our behalf. We sure need the help.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Troy Talon is my old wrestling nemesis from high school. He took my spot in state finals when the referee disqualified my takedown. He claimed my foot was over the boundary circle at the time.”
Chad clicked his tongue. “That’s my kid brother for you. Always borderline in the wrong place at the most critical time.”
The need to defend him struck out of the blue as Julia brought two cans of soda to the table. Jaslyn chose her words with care. “Maybe not always in the wrong place at the right time. He sure made it to the end zone for a timely catch when I vaulted through my great-grandma’s sewing room floor.” Knowing Chad wouldn’t miss her dig at his legendary reputation as a star receiver for the high school football team, she focused on valuing her rescuer instead. No disqualification this round. She received Kenan’s furtive smile as a payback of sorts as the haul-out estimate landed center stage to seal their forthcoming partnership.

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