Darned if You Do by Monica Ferris Page A

and collectibles, so it’s good one of them is coming. She can keep us from throwing away something valuable.”
    â€œWhat!?”
He rared up, suddenly furious.
“You’re gonna throw my things away?”
Eyes wide and blazing, his voice rose to a shriek. “No, no,
no
!” Valentina tried to say something placating, but he overrode her. “You can’t throw
anything
away! Them’s my
things
!” He was leaning forward, trying to get his broken leg off its perch, his face twisted with rage and pain.
    The pain won, and he fell back, panting. “I’ll have you arrested if you throw
one thing
of mine away!”
    The door opened and a nurse in pink scrubs came in. “What’s going on in here? Mr. Riordan, are you all right?”
    â€œNo, I ain’t all right, not so long as she’s here. Take her away! Out, get out, get out!”
    The nurse turned to Valentina, who lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t worry, I’m going,” she said to the nurse, and to Riordan, “You calm down, you hear? You’ll do yourself a mischief, getting all mad like that.”
    He said between gasps of pain and fury, “Don’t you . . .
never
come back!”
    She smiled. The angry answer she wanted to throw at him was the one he wanted, so she made it gentle. “All right, honey, I promise.”
    *   *   *
    G EORGIE knew it would be bad. She and her sister, always on the search for merchandise they could sell at flea markets and on eBay and craigslist and other web sites, had visited many hoarders’ homes and barns and sheds, and, on one memorable occasion, they’d gone to a half dozen retired school buses bought for the express purpose of storing more stuff. Such visits were dusty and sometimes perilous—pulling out a find from a tall pile could set off an avalanche.
    Though she and Grace loved finding wonderful things at least as much as selling them at a profit, the bad example set by the hoarders kept the two of them from allowing their own home in north Florida to fill up.
    Seven volunteers had turned up late Thursday afternoon at Riordan’s pink-brick house. They were all wearing clothes that they didn’t mind getting dirty. The men all wore caps, and the women had covered their heads with a variety of scarves. Valentina ceremoniously opened the front door—a hasp and padlock had kept it closed after the police had broken in to rescue Tommy—and ushered them in.
    A murmur of amazement came from the group as they entered the living room single file—it was impossible to do otherwise.
    â€œHoly smoke!” said Phil. “This’ll take us the rest of the year to clean out!”
    â€œNow, maybe not,” said Connor. “Is the rest of the house like this?” he asked Valentina.
    â€œOh yes.”
    â€œStill, have you hired a Dumpster or at least a pickup truck to haul things away?”
    â€œYes, Betsy gave me the number of the company that rents them, and they’ll have it in the driveway first thing in the morning.”
    â€œWell done. Perhaps it’s not as bad as we think. If every volunteer works hard, it could get done in six, eight days, tops.”
    â€œBut we’re not here to work today, are we?” said Emily. “You told us the actual digging out wouldn’t start until tomorrow.”
    Valentina nodded. “We’re going to do a walk-through, to see if you want to change your mind about volunteering. Also, I’d like you to point out anything you think is seriously valuable. Or something that might be dangerous to touch, or move. These rooms are too crowded for more than one or two of us to work in at a time, so we’ll be splitting into small groups. Look around and choose which room you’d like to tackle. Ready? Let’s go. Remember, just look, don’t move anything, and meet back here in fifteen