Treading Lightly. Elise Lanier

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      “I’m looking for Mr. Franklin.”

      “I’m he. I mean him. I’m him. Mr. Franklin.”

      She stared at him. “Unless you’ve taken some kind of youth elixir, had hair plugs, and dyed whatever little tufts were already there from gray to black—you’re not Mr. Franklin.”

      He laughed. “Oh. You must be referring to my grandfather. Gramps retired to Florida.”

      “He did? When did that happen?”

      “Eight months ago.”

      “Oh.” Shows how observant I am.

      “I’m Mr. Franklin, too, but I think that sounds so officious, don’t you? Please, call me Ben.”

      “Okay, Ben,” she said, trying to recall if she’d ever heard a maintenance man use the word officious before. She might not acknowledge their presence—or lack thereof—but she did notice their speech patterns and chosen vocabulary. Her job made that a habit and a necessity. “So, Mr. Franklin, I mean, Ben.” She stopped speaking. Something was off, amiss, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Wait a minute. Your name is Ben Franklin?”

      “Ironic, huh?” His smile was lopsided.

      “Well, yes.”

      “I’ve yet to invent anything useful, although I’ve spent my lifetime trying to come up with something.”

      She felt sorry for him. “Most of the good things are already invented.”

      “Don’t I know it,” he said with a huff, looking totally dejected.

      “Keep at it, Ben Franklin. You’ll think of something.”

      “Thanks.” He grimaced. “It’s a hard name to live up to.”

      “I’d imagine so. It must feel like a curse for someone in your line of work.”

      “Yeah. Welcome to my world.” His head hung low for about three seconds before snapping up with new life. “So, how can I help you, Miss Uh…”

      “Ruvacado. Janine Ruvacado. Fifteen D.”

      “Fifteen D.” He thought for a few moments. “Oh, you must be Craig’s mom.”

      She smiled. Everyone knew Craig. “Yup. That’s me. Craig’s mom.”

      “He’s a great kid. He was one of my first customers when I got here. I changed out some worn skateboard wheels for him.”

      Her smile widened. “Yes, his skateboard. He loves that thing.”

      “It’s a beauty!”

      She’d gotten it for him when the money was still pouring in. It’s a good thing she bought it when she did, because now she couldn’t even afford the replacement parts for it. “Thanks.”

      “So what can I do for you, Craig’s mom from Fifteen D?”

      “Janine, please. Well, I seem to have broken my treadmill.”

      He looked from her left side to her right, then twisted his neck as if peering behind her. “I don’t see it here, so I guess it’s still up in the apartment. Want me to take a look at it?”

      “I thought you’d never ask. Your grandfather was a real love. He’d always fix anything that went wrong around here, even if it wasn’t building related.”

      “Yeah, Gramps is a fixing wiz. If he can’t fix something, it can’t be fixed.”

      She laughed. “Yes, it was his motto. ‘If I can’t fix it, no one can,’ he used to say.”

      “Some may take that as being cocky, but with Gramps it was true,” Ben Franklin said seriously.

      Biting the smile that wanted to creep across her face, she replied with equal seriousness, “Yes, I know. He fixed many a broken thing for me.”

      Ben nodded, solemnly.

      They walked to the elevator and Janine sighed with relief as they got in and started for the “surface” floors. Her sigh wasn’t lost on Ben.

      “Glad to be out of there?”

      “Yes!” Then she realized she might have been rude. “I’m sorry. How did you guess?”

      “Besides the look on your face as we entered the elevator?”

      “That bad?”

      “Well, no. The horrified look on your face for the entire time you were down there might’ve also given it away. And I didn’t think it was because you were alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a stranger.”

      “I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. I just have a fear of basements and sub-basements.”

      “Taphephobia?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Do you have taphephobia?”

      “What’s that?”

      “The fear of being buried alive.”

      “Oh. No. Not really. I don’t think it’s that bad. I’m not afraid of being buried alive.” Although now that he mentioned it, she was upset by the thought. Being buried alive had to be horrendous. “It’s just a fear of being in basements and sub-basements. I’ve got an overactive imagination.”

      He nodded. “I understand.”

      She snorted a laugh, trying to push aside the thoughts of a predeath burial. “You’d be the first. Everyone else thinks I’m nuts.”

      The elevator stopped at her floor and they got out, walking to her apartment. She pushed open the door that she’d left ajar.

      “You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that. Anyone can walk in.”

      “So I’ve been told. But I figure, what are the odds of some lunatic walking in the opened door of the fifteenth floor of this building at the exact moment I’m down in the sub-basement, looking for your grandfather?”

      “Pretty slim, I’d suppose.”

      “Yeah, and it gave me the added incentive to hurry back up from the dungeon. I couldn’t sit around with your grand-dad shooting the breeze. I could honestly say, ‘Gotta run, Mr. Franklin, I left my door open.’”

      He followed her through her apartment. “Yeah, Gramps sure can shoot the breeze when he’s in the mood.”

      She opened her bedroom door. Normally she wouldn’t allow anyone in there, especially with the mess that was the usual decor, but this was an emergency. She hurried to pick up the stray panties that hung off the lamp. She hadn’t bothered to clean up, assuming old man Franklin would take his time getting his arthritic body СКАЧАТЬ