"No need to," Bitsy replied. "Sandy had an architectural engineer out and there are detailed measured plans for each floor, as well as the landscaping. I just need to go pick up a copy for each of you."

"Just the same, I want to measure for myself. It'll make it more meaningful if and when we take on the job," Shelley said in her don't-cross-me voice.

"If and when?" Bitsy asked.

Shelley smiled. "We haven't seen the contract yet."

Bitsy made a half gesture as if to slap her own head. "I had them with me yesterday and completely forgot to give them to you. Come on upstairs and I'll fetch them as you leave. It's a very good contract. You'll agree, I'm sure."

Neither Jane nor Shelley replied to this remark.

She led them up the right-hand curved stairway, which appeared and felt solid all the way up. Jane wondered if this were the single stable element of the house.

When they reached the second floor, it was a total shock. There was only a tiny landing. The other side of the house was blocked off with very old plywood. They turned and looked down a narrow, dirty corridor with rows of dingy doors on both sides and an extraordinarily ugly, brown, worn cheap vinyl flooring on the hall floors.

"I told you you'd be surprised."

"Surprised is hardly the word," Shelley snorted.

"But it's going to be lovely when we finish."

Shelley started walking along the hall, opening doors. The ones that weren't stuck shut revealed tiny rooms, some still with grubby futons on the floors, or ancient bedsteads with disgusting mattresses. The rooms were hardly six feet wide. Trash had been swept into corners, and the floors were bare. Pegs were on all the walls for hanging clothes, instead of providing closets.

"It was for druggies," Bitsy said. "And homeless people, I've been told."