I turned my head, and my soul left my body.

A six-foot-tall taxidermized black bear loomed on his hind legs not three steps away, paws reaching toward me. I jumped back, a delayed reaction. A real bear would have had my head by then.

“Thank you, Violet, for scaring five years off my life. If you were afraid to go alone, you could have told me you were aiming for a double funeral.”

“What’s that?” Beatriz asked.

I raised the phone back to my mouth. “A heart attack in the middle of a nervous breakdown, possibly with the beginnings of an ulcer.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure business talk is the last thing you want. All I need for now is a copy of the paperwork that certifies that you’re now in charge of the property.”

“I’ll have Violet’s estate attorney send over the will. I’m meeting him today.” I peered farther into the dim basement.

Behind the bear, about a hundred cardboard boxes stood stacked to the ceiling along one wall, followed by about three dozen folding metal chairs that Violet used at show openings. Even farther in, an ancient wardrobe promised an alternate universe through its back panel. But the pièce de résistance waited past the wardrobe.

As Beatriz went on about rules and regulations, I only half listened, because… A carousel occupied the rest of the basement. A bona fide flat-top merry-go-round, a smaller version of the one in Central Park, but with carved horses and chariots and all.

Oh, Violet.

How had she moved an entire carousel down the stairs? Why? And most importantly, how was I going to have it transported upstairs?

Had I ever been down in the basement before? Not that I could remember. I would have remembered a giant carousel.

Had Mom known about this? I would have liked to think she would have warned me. Do take a chainsaw, darling. It’s only sensible.

A hopeful thought fluttered to life in my brain. “Did the buyer also purchase the contents of the basement, by any chance?”

“No. Everything must go. The house must be empty by closing day.” Beatriz’s nervous laugh gurgled through the phone. “It’s wild down there, isn’t it? Any idea what you’ll do with all those curiosities?”

“Craigslist?” With buyer responsible for removal tacked to the end of the ad. In bold letters.

After our call ended, I snapped a few pictures with my phone, but the light was too weak, even with the flash. I added a stronger lightbulb to my mental shopping list.

On my way over to the stack of boxes, I skirted the bear. “I swear I’m not here to eat your porridge.”

I opened the first box and pulled out a handful of flyers that advertised shows at The Gallery Velar. The graphic design carried my grandmother’s style: bold lines, brave colors.