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“you have to act when you’re ready and not a moment before. If I could just look around a bit, that would help.”
    “Help what?”
    “Exactly. At some point you will want to sell, and I can give you a few tiny bits of advice that will make that process easier, even if,” she paused here for full effect, “you go with another broker.”
    And I will, I promised myself.
    “What kind of advice?” Alvin said.
    She turned her blinding smile on him. “Staging a home can make the difference between a quick sale and the price you want and a protracted and miserable selling period.”
    “Staging,” Alvin breathed. “I’ve heard about that. You mean someone would come in here and make things look like a model home? That would be great, wouldn’t it, Camilla? People do that for a living. I think I’d be good at that, myself. I’m an artist. I did these.” He pointed proudly to the nearest Tuscan murals.
    “Oh,” she said glancing around and losing a bit of her bright colour, “did you? My.”
    My, indeed.
    “Let me get you some lemonade, Ms Jewell,” Alvin said, fluttering from the room like a lovesick moth. “I’d like to hear more about this.”
    As he disappeared from view, she leaned toward me and said, “First, I’d recommend getting rid of the murals. Contemporary buyers want neutrals, harmony and simplicity.”
    “Do they? Well contemporary buyers are just going to have to suck it up if they want this house. The murals stay.”
    “Oh, certainly, just as long as you realize that it will limit the number of people who come through.”
    “It will limit it to none, because if you recall, less than a minute ago, I said that I was not ready to sell.”
    “Well, of course, you did. And I agree, but we’re just blue-sky thinking about the future. Anything I could do to help make the transition easier for you and...”
    “Alvin,” I said.
    Gussie yawned. The little calico cat got up and stretched.
    “Your dog is quite, um…”
    “Flatulent? Yes indeed, although I should point out that he’s not actually my dog although he is lying on my sofa. He belongs to Alvin’s brother, but for complicated reasons he’s been here for a while.”
    “He seems to get along with your cat,” she said, a tiny frown line appearing between her eyebrows.
    “Again, odd as it may seem, that is not my cat. She belongs to a friend, Mrs. Violet Parnell, who is actually in the Perley Rideau Hospital recovering from a broken hip.”
    “Do I hear tweeting?”
    “Lester and Pierre. Peach-faced lovebirds. Also visiting.”
    “That’s a relief. Pets make it much harder to sell a place. So if these cute creatures could move on, things would go much more smoothly.”
    Gussie had been in residence for more than four years, and Mrs. Parnell’s cat, for various reasons, had always more or less stayed at my place. The birds were just hanging around until Mrs. P. was discharged from hospital.
    “Move on? That won’t be happening.”
    “Well, fine, of course, it is your home. Keep in mind that a lot of buyers are afraid of dogs and others are allergic to cats. Birds make people nervous, but I’m sure we can work around that.”
    Was she deranged? “I don’t actually have to work around anything, because I’ve decided I’ll be happy in this house forever.”
    “Certainly, take your time and think it over. Do you mind if I look upstairs?”
    “Yes,” I said, “I do mind. I’m not selling this house, and you can tell my sisters that from me. Now I’m extremely busy today, and you’ll just have to excuse me.”
    “Absolutely,” she said, not moving.
    I opened the front door, letting in a blast of hot humid air. I smiled and said, “Goodbye, Ms Jewell.”
    To do her credit, she turned that right on its head. She glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. “I really have to go, but I’ll just leave this information package for you. I’m here to help. I can certainly facilitate your paper purge.”
    “You don’t