“Ritzy,” Hayley murmured a few minutes later when they entered the building. The front room was carpeted, with comfortable looking chairs in the waiting area to their left, pictures on the walls, and a long counter to their right. One of the men seated behind it looked up from his computer, smiled, and asked, “May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Zach replied. “My wife inherited a houseful of furniture from her grandmother. It’s, well to be honest, not at all our style, but it is valuable according to an antiques’ appraiser. Personally, I’d like to sell it but she—” he smiled ruefully at the man, “—said she’d kill me if I tried.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Hayley said. “It’s been in our family forever. I won’tsee it sold to some stranger who doesn’t appreciate what they’re buying.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He gave her a hug. “Anyway, what we need is a unit, or perhaps two, that are large enough to hold everything.”