Chapter 1
When the elevator car dinged its impending arrival, Skeeter Dursky lifted his head. He’d been staring at his scuff-free work boots and pondering the choices that led him here.
The here he considered wasn’t the physical place where he stood holding a red toolbox in his right hand and a bucket of plumbing materials in his left. That place was the Lake Michigan Tower, a retirement community overlooking the body of water of the same name.
Skeeter rarely wasted time contemplating his existence. That sort of thing only happened while in prison, which he planned to avoid seeing again. Instead, he ruminated about being alone in his mid-thirties. He’d been by himself since leaving home as a teenager. However, it seemed the past several weeks were the most relevant for this self-assessment. Skeeter had met a girl he couldn’t forget and hoped to see again someday.
He shook those thoughts away as the elevator settled noisily into place. Soon, he would board the car and begin his next task for the day—if the doors would ever open.
His gaze lifted to the floor counter above the neighboring elevator. It had been at the top—the seventeenth—but was now descending.
Saxophone-heavy jazz music filtered through the lobby speakers. Nearby, an automatic air freshener misted out a timed scent; it smelled of cinnamon and pumpkin—a reminder of the impending holiday.
Next to Skeeter, Otto Cantrell grunted. “That smell.” Otto was the building’s maintenance supervisor. He made a face and disgustedly wiped a finger under his nose. “It’s like Thanksgiving threw up.”
Part of Skeeter’s new job was customer service—the worst part, it seemed. Even though he didn’t feel happy, he forced a smile. Skeeter wanted to present the best image possible to whomever exited the elevator. Since today was only his third day, he was trying to make a good impression on everyone he met. The elevator still hesitated to open, which left Skeeter grinning at a closed lift.
Otto glanced sideways at him and scrunched his nose. “You call that a smile?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You look like an ax murderer.”
Skeeter’s smile evaporated, which seemed to make Otto happy.
Even in heavily polished work boots, Otto was a good six inches shorter than Skeeter and more than thirty years older. It was hard to determine the man’s exact age, and Otto never felt the need to reveal it.
The older man furrowed his brow. “What’s up with these doors?”
As if on command, the elevator opened, and four silver-haired women appeared. Each was dressed in a pair of nicely pressed slacks and a vividly colored blouse. Their faces seemed to brighten upon recognizing Otto Cantrell.
Before arriving at the Lake Michigan Tower, Skeeter learned politeness went a long way with regular citizens. He opened his mouth to utter a phrase of civility, but Otto stepped in front of him and spread his arms wide—a showman stealing the limelight.
“Good morning, ladies. You’re looking lovely today—especially you, Shirley.”
The four women surrounded the older man. Each said, “Good morning, Otto,” in some nauseatingly sing-song fashion. After that, they beamed and tittered about the man.
Otto relished the moment.
Only Shirley Tilson noticed Skeeter, and she did so because she had to step by him to get closer to Otto. When she bumped into Skeeter’s toolbox, it caught the hem of her blouse and pulled it wide. She harrumphed, quickly pulled the garment free, but didn’t bother to say anything to Skeeter.
He was a large man with broad shoulders and thick arms. It was unusual for people not to pay some attention to him. Even if it was due to fear, they usually noticed him. With the long sleeves of his work shirt down, only a tattooed fireball on his right hand remained exposed. On those rare times he rolled up his sleeves, the copious amount of ink on his forearms was revealed. The tattoos often got stares—if not outright glares—from older folks. Most of the residents at the tower, however, acted as if he were invisible.
Perhaps it was his clothes. Like Otto, he wore a drab-green uniform that made him look like an overripe avocado. Skeeter’s grandmother once told him that clothes make a man. These garments made him an assistant maintenance technician.
Maybe it was Skeeter’s age that caused the residents to disregard him. He was probably half the age of everyone that resided in the building. But wouldn’t that be an endearing quality to them? Skeeter’s grandmother adored him, yet these four women seemed unimpressed.
To give the ladies more room to shower Otto with attention, Skeeter shuffled awkwardly back. His arms were tired from the weight he held. He knew better than to put either item down and risk one of the women tripping. Otto would likely lecture him for it, and Skeeter didn’t want to listen to another diatribe on workplace safety. The older man loved to hear himself speak when he perceived Skeeter doing something wrong.
It frustrated him that Otto didn’t offer to carry anything, but the older man insisted it was a perk of being the supervisor of maintenance. There were only two of them in the maintenance department, so a supervisor hardly seemed necessary.
Behind the women, the elevator doors closed, and the floor counter soon ticked upward.
One of the silver-haired women asked, “What’s on today’s schedule, Otto?”
“Well, Skeeter and me—”
“Who?” they said in unison.
Otto thumbed toward the younger man, and the ladies turned expectantly toward him. It was as if they genuinely noticed Skeeter for the first time. He forced another smile.
All but Shirley Tilson recoiled at his expression of kindness. One of the ladies muttered a breathless, “Dear Lord.” Shirley harrumphed a second time as she continued to rub her hip.
After Skeeter’s smile faded, the ladies faced the older man.
Otto spread his hands in a what-did-I-tell-you gesture to Skeeter before continuing his story for the women. “As I was saying, Skeeter and me are on our way to fix a garbage disposal on sixteen.”
“Oh,” one of the women cooed as she moved closer to Otto. “My bedroom door needs attention.”
Another woman touched the maintenance supervisor’s forearm. “Well, my bathroom fan needs you, too. It sounds terrible, just horrible.” She pursed her lips and blew an odd-sounding raspberry.
The ladies glared at their buzzing friend until she stopped.
A third woman sidled up to Otto. “The garbage chute in my hallway smells like cabbage.” Her nose crinkled. “Do you know what I mean? It’s so unbearable. You should come and smell it for yourself.”
If the ladies were flirting, it was the worst display of the art Skeeter had ever seen. Perhaps flirting was a skill that diminished with age.
Shirley Tilson said, “And don’t forget the chairs for our book club.” She clapped twice as if excitedly praying. “It’s going to be a big day. I can’t wait.”
Otto lifted his hands to quiet them. “Ladies, please. If you want to get on my schedule, you must book an appointment. You know that’s how it works.”
Shirley appeared ready to say something, but the other women cut her off by groaning their displeasure.
“I know, I know,” the maintenance supervisor said. “There’s only so much I can do. I’m just one man.”
Skeeter loudly cleared his throat.
Otto eyed him. “Got a frog stuck in there?”
Shirley spoke now. “But I am on the schedule, Otto. I requested the dayroom weeks ago.”
The maintenance supervisor smiled kindly toward her. “In that case, I’m sure we’ll get it whipped into shape for you. I’ll personally see to it, Shirley.”
Now, the other women said happy things to Otto like, “You’re so sweet. Will you put a good word in for me?” and “What would my humming refrigerator ever do without you?”
Otto looked earnestly at Shirley, but she didn’t say anything. She simply smiled at him, obviously pleased the chairs would soon be set up for the book club.
The second elevator dinged as its car settled noisily into place. While the women continued their strange flirtations with Otto, its doors opened without hesitation. A tall, silver-haired man stepped out. His shoulders were pulled back, and he stood ramrod straight. His hair had a businessman’s cut and his skin a ruddy complexion. He was a model of success and confidence.
The four women quickly abandoned Otto and gravitated toward the handsome man. Their faces took on a different appearance than before, but again they jostled for position. Laughter and lilted voices now came from the women.
Flirting, it seemed, was not a diminishing art. It just needed the right target.
“Go on,” Otto muttered. His gaze settled on Shirley Tilson. “Who needs you?”
Skeeter whispered, “Who’s that guy?”
“Mason Freemantle.” The supervisor frowned. “Thinks he’s the BMOC.” When Skeeter didn’t register recognition, Otto added, “The big man on campus.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he writes stupid books.”
“Yeah?” Skeeter eyed the tall man again. “Have you read any of them?”
Otto scoffed. “He wishes.”
The group of four women nudged each other as they vied for a better position with Mason. The author seemed to enjoy the ladies’ attention as much as Otto did a moment prior. Mason smiled broadly back at each of them.
The first floor’s lobby opened through the second floor to create a more expansive ambiance. This allowed a group of female residents to briefly pause at a railing above and watch with envy as Shirley Tilson and her friends surrounded the author. These women soon hurried toward the elevators but kept a watchful eye on the activity below.
Skeeter said, “He’s popular with the ladies.”
Otto grunted.
“Especially Shirley.”
“I haven’t noticed.” The supervisor angrily turned toward the elevator. “Aw, heck, kid. You let it close. Why’d you let it close?”
“I couldn’t get around your fan club.”
“They aren’t my fan club.” Otto glanced back at Shirley Tilson. When Mason Freemantle said something, she laughed and touched the author’s arm. “She’s only nice because I fix stuff.”
“You seem disappointed.”
The supervisor spun around and pointed at Skeeter. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”
“About what?”
Otto stabbed the UP button. “Once you learn how to fix a thing or two, they’ll pretend they like you, too.”
“I can already fix things.”
Otto mashed the UP button again. “This thing is really slow.”
Skeeter said, “I know how to fix a lot of things, in fact.”
The supervisor stepped back as if to survey the elevator, but Skeeter knew it was to get a better view of Shirley Tilson’s flirtations with Mason Freemantle. Otto said louder than necessary, “I might have to call the elevator guy.” Now he shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Yup. It’s gonna throw the whole day off schedule. I won’t have time to set up those chairs for the book club. The guest might not get to read today. Too bad.”
Only Mason looked in the maintenance supervisor’s direction, and the two men made eye contact. The ladies jostled more now that the author’s attention was diverted.
Smugness crossed the author’s face, and Otto’s features tightened before he looked away.
“Bah,” he grunted.
Mason said something to the ladies and led his entourage away. Shirley Tilson seemed to be the one in the brightest spirits and spoke the loudest. The words ‘book club’ could be heard from her as the group walked into the nearby dining facility.
Otto punched one fist into an open palm. “I hate that guy.”
“I can see that,” Skeeter said.
The older man punched his hand again. “I mean, I really hate him. Someday, he’ll get his.”
Skeeter smiled. This time, it felt natural. “You’re just jealous because of Shirley.”
The maintenance supervisor eyed the younger man, then flicked his hand dismissively. “You don’t know nothing.”
“I know plenty.”
“I’d be surprised if that were ever true.”
