“Tell me her husband doesn’t collect doorknobs.”

No, Quinn Newell’s problem was that she’d collected a selfish bastard of a husband. “He’s a collector, all right. Vintage advertising. But what she wants to declutter is a garage filled with stuffed animals and forties furniture.”

“His stuffed animals?”

“Hers. When she married him, he wouldn’t let her move her things into his house. Three years later, she’s ready to kiss them goodbye.”

Becca blinked, absorbing that. “Sounds like she should kiss him goodbye.”

“That thought occurred to me. But as you’re fond of saying, we’re not marriage counselors,” Emily said.

“Or divorce attorneys,” Becca said. “So you think the husband could be a problem.”

The hole in the wall. Quinn’s bruised face. That queasy feeling Emily had had the night before returned. “I think it was a big deal for her to call for our help. I’d rather be there when he’s not.”

“Sheesh,” Becca said under her breath. “And I was so optimistic. Cleaning out a garage sounded like a tidy little project, one with a beginning and an end.”

“And it is, basically, except for the load of emotions to unpack in the middle,” Emily said.

“That goes without saying. Though you’d think a storage unit would have been manageable, too. It’s not even connected to a house.” Becca shrugged back at Mrs. Murphy’s house and Emily turned to look. The corner of a curtain in the front window dropped. “And this husband’s out of the picture.”

At home later that afternoon, Emily got to work on her closet, drilling holes for drywall anchors and installing brackets for shelving and rods. She took pictures as she went along. It was mindless work, so satisfying at the end when she vacuumed the closet floor, stood back, and took in the results. Its orderly emptiness was calming.

It took her another hour to put away her clothes. Summer clothes hung separate from winter. Tops hung on a rack above pants and skirts. Emily even indulged in sorting by color, only because (she told herself) it photographed better. When she was finally done, she went to her office to upload the pictures. She was finishing when she heard Frank come in. A few moments later he was at her office door. “How’s the trial going?” she asked.

“The trial. Right.” A pause. “It hasn’t started yet. We offered to settle. They’re considering. What about you? Did you return whatever it was that you took from that storage unit?”

“I tried to, but someone changed the lock. And it turns out a map I inadvertently took out of there could be worth thousands.”

Frank’s jaw dropped. “Thousands?”