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what she owes,” Michael said. “Unfortunately she didn’t know the loan was in default because the bills were coming to her husband’s P.O. box. He died three months ago.”
    His aunt stood at his side, looking miserable. With foreclosures on the rise across the nation, the desperation emanating from her was something Sara had encountered before. She opened the envelope and took out the Notice of Intent to Foreclose, which seemed harsh under the circumstances.
    “In my experience—”
    The door opened again, this time admitting a heavyset man with a clipboard. From the smears of paint on his jeans, he could only be the contractor.
    “I’m from Lehigh Painting,” he announced in a gruff, hurried voice. “You need the entire downstairs painted, right?”
    “Right.” Sara was about to tell him to show himself around, but he’d already disappeared into the back of the office.
    “Sorry about the interruption. I was about to say lenders don’t want to foreclose because it costs them money in the long run. Taxes. Broker fees. Property maintenance until they can sell.” Sara noted from the letterhead that the bank was independent and locally owned. “So they’re usually open to working something out. Have you contacted the bank yet, Mrs. Feldman?”
    “They said it was too late to do anything,” Mrs. Feldman said, twisting her hands.
    “Who said that? A loan officer?”
    “I think that’s what he was.”
    “It would be better to deal with the branch manager or even the bank president.” Sara put the notice back in the envelope. “I can give the bank a call, if you like, and set up a meeting. We can try to get them to refinance the loan. If that doesn’t work out, we’ll try to get a loan from another institution.”
    “I still might not be able to afford the payments,” Mrs. Feldman said unhappily.
    Michael put his hand on his aunt’s back. The comforting gesture wasn’t directed at her, but Sara’s heart melted a little.
    “We’ll worry about that later,” Michael told her. “I’m sure Sara’s had experience with cases like yours.”
    “I have, but I should admit I’m not yet up to speed on Pennsylvania law,” Sara said. “I’d have to do someresearch first, but I’m willing to help if you still want me to.”
    “Sounds good to me,” Michael said.
    “Wait.” Mrs. Feldman blinked a few times, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “I need to know how much it will cost.”
    Because of Mrs. Feldman’s dire circumstances, Sara quoted an hourly rate well below what was fair. The woman’s face still blanched. Michael must have noticed because he quickly said, “I’ll take care of it, Aunt Felicia.”
    “No,” she said forcefully, then continued in a softer, shakier voice. “I can’t let you do that, Michael. Not after the way…I just can’t let you.”
    Sara wondered at the source of the guilt written plainly on Mrs. Feldman’s face, but it was just one more unknown in the mystery of Michael Donahue.
    “I’ve got that estimate for you.” The contractor appeared from the back of the office, handing Sara a piece of paper. The quote was as distressingly high as the other estimates. “We could fit you in late next week.”
    “But I need the work finished by Monday,” Sara said.
    “Impossible. Summer’s our busy season. Give us a call, but don’t wait too long.” He headed out the door without a goodbye, leaving Sara staring after him.
    “I swear if I didn’t need that drywall repaired, I’d paint the office myself,” Sara muttered under her breath.
    “I’ll do it,” Michael offered. “I know my way around drywall and I’ve done my fair share of painting. If you help out my aunt, I won’t charge for labor.”
    “I thought you were leaving town,” Sara said.
    “Not until this problem of my aunt’s is solved,” he said. “So what do you say?”
    Sara didn’t need to think about it long. “Yes.”
    “No, Michael,” Mrs. Feldman interjected. “I can’t ask