Outside, the streets of South Village were gearing up for what promised to be another profitable day.

Los Angeles, only five miles away, had been kind enough to share its smog and muggy heat, but Taylor didn’t mind the summer months like so many others did. She loved it here, felt perfectly at home among the young, hip, urban crowd which was drawn to Southern California’s premier pedestrian neighborhood. And why not, when any day of the week one could walk to a theater, an outdoor café run by someone famous or simply stroll through a mecca of interesting galleries or shops.

Taylor was counting on that crowd, as someday soon her two storefronts would be ready for lease.

Suzanne was taking one of them for her catering business, she’d already committed to that. A relief.

But there was still the other one. Leasing it out would keep her bank account happier than it was at the moment. But the truth was, she’d held out a little tiny seed of hope that someday she could use it for herself, opening her own shop. That is, if she had any antiques left after using them to finance the renovation.

A definite pipe dream at the moment.

The banging sounded louder now, and was definitely coming from one of the dusty, dirty storefront units. Outside, from beyond the front gate, she could hear people walking by, talking, laughing. Shopping. Once upon a time, that had been her favorite pastime, shopping, and a silly part of her suddenly yearned to be out there.

But that, too, was for another day.

As she reached the left unit, the banging increased in intensity. Opening the hallway door, which led into the back, she was greeted with a thick cloud of dust. The banging was so loud now she could hardly hear herself think, but as she stepped inside, the noise abruptly stopped.

Stunned by the silence, Taylor inhaled dirt in the already hot, muggy, spring California morning, and wondered how long before her carefully curled hair, flowing in a purposely artful and loose manner beneath her straw hat, sagged into her face.