A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [1]
“See?” he said, and gestured to the blueprint. “One story, no basement, a small attic space. When the inspector did the initial inspection he did it based on that—” Butch dipped his head toward the plat drawing in Rose’s hands, “—and between the two there’s nothing like a staircase or basement anywhere. The original title doesn’t show one either. When we pulled up the rotten sub-floor boards, there it was. We had to stop. I don’t want any of my guys gettin’ hurt, y’know?”
Rose sighed, resigned. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“So I called you right away when I found out. Like I said, I had the guys clean up and stuff so we can get started again right away if the inspector gives it the okay.”
“If?”
Butch shrugged, his short-sleeved khaki shirt stretching over his belly. He scratched at his wide, rounded jaw and the crawling ivy-like stubble creeping over it. “Yeah, no guarantee it’ll be safe now.”
“Are you kidding?”
He shook his head, crossed one dusty work boot over the other and propped himself against the truck. “If the structure underneath’s not in good shape or not up to code or whatever, you won’t be able to get it passed.”
The blood drained from Rose’s face. “What ... what then?”
Butch shrugged again. “I mean, I guess you can hire an architectural firm or whatever to design it, you know, bring it up to code. Depends on what’s involved, but it might have to be razed.”
Rose got an adrenaline sting. “Oh God.”
Butch nodded. “Yeah, that’d be a bit—a bear. Cost a ton o’ money, too.”
“Oh crap.” Rose felt her head swim, the edges of her vision fading to white.
“Yeah, that’d stink.” He shrugged again. “Well, I’m gonna send the guys home, and take off. I’ll call you tomorrow, when the inspector tells me what time he’s gonna be here.”
“We don’t know?”
“Nope. He couldn’t say. He had another couple inspections down this way, then he was gonna stop off here. So we’re done today, and tomorrow, but I can be back after that with a full crew. You get the okay, we’ll get cranking again double-time.”
Rose’s body sagged, her head tipped to the bright blue sky. “This ... God, this sucks. This absolutely blows. I can’t believe this.”
Butch tried not to chuckle. “See ya later, then. I’ll call ya.”
“Thanks, Butch.” She stood and stared through the back door while Butch barked echoing instructions to the crew, their silhouettes like ghosts against the bright white from the picture windows. After a few minutes she traipsed in, arms folded over her flip-flopping stomach. She thought she might vomit.
She felt some sort of ceremony should be involved; some exchange of ... something, but Butch tossed a meaty hand at her as he went through the back door, and like cockroaches scattering from the light, the workers dispersed in shuffling boot heels and laughter. In a matter of seconds, she stood alone in the middle of her building, walls bare to the studs and floor exposed to its floorboard planks, surrounded in a faint dusty haze.
She looked over her shoulder at the yawning maw of shaft and sighed again.
* * * * *
Rose came back into the building, the dusty haze still lingering in the sun streaming through the windows. She held a tiny, silver flashlight from her car’s glove box in one hand, her purse slung over the other. She pointed the flashlight at her face and clicked the button. A strong white beam stabbed her eyes. She snapped it off, blinked the blue-white spot out of her vision, and moved toward the staircase shaft to the grinding sound of grit on the rough floorboard planks. The thump of her soles on the age-hardened wood seemed deafening.
She set her purse down next to her and stared at the staircase shaft.
The narrow hole was rough-hewn, perhaps three feet wide and four long. It gaped from the cement beneath the planks of the floor where the work crew pulled up the rotted subfloor. It looked as if it had been hacked from the surrounding concrete with a pickaxe. The rough