The Address(27)

“I hear you’ve damaged the riser.” He looked to be in his late thirties. His strong Italian name didn’t match his gray eyes and fair hair, which hung just above his shoulders. The hippie look was long gone, but he seemed to have missed the news.

Bailey held out her hand. “Good morning, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Bailey Camden.”

He held up a dust-covered hand, palm out. She withdrew hers. “I was in Kenneth’s apartment ripping down the ceiling.”

“Aren’t you the sweetest.” Kenneth swooped behind Bailey. “Bailey and I were just discussing the fabulous wallpaper she’s going to put up to replace the damaged one.”

“The one in your apartment was from the 1920s. Not sure how you’re going to find an equivalent.”

What an ass. Here she’d solidified what she hoped was a little bit of goodwill from an unfortunate situation, and the super was stirring things up again.

“I’ll make sure Kenneth is taken care of, that the bathroom is fully restored. I’ve already assured him of that.” She couldn’t help herself. “You seem to be more upset than he is, at the moment.”

“I am, if this is the way your contractors plan on carrying out the renovation. The ‘cosmetic’ renovation.”

“Right. I’m new to this project, so bear with me as I play catch-up, but I believe they filed an amendment with the Department of Buildings last week. The leak might have happened whether or not there was construction going on. The building is over one hundred years old, after all.”

He cocked his head. “Where’s Wanda?”

“My firm has taken over. I’m the new owner’s rep.”

“Does the building management know?”

“Since I just took over yesterday, no. But I’ll phone them today and give them all my information.”

Kenneth touched Renzo lightly on the arm. “She’s a good egg, Renzo. Don’t be so hard on her. Look, show her the storage rooms so she can save some of the loot from the reno. She’s on our side, you’ll see.”

“Fine. I’ll be in my office in an hour.” Renzo studied Bailey again. “Tell your contractors to salvage anything they can.”

Bailey took the elevator down to the basement at the appointed time. The lowest level of the Dakota was bright, with well-lit hallways and a fresh coat of paint on the walls. The area directly under the courtyard was mostly open space, other than an office built off to one side that had a large glass window. She knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The room overflowed with newspapers, green industrial filing cabinets, and cardboard boxes, but Renzo sat at a grand desk, an antique from the looks of it, made of ebony and elm. The harsh fluorescent lighting accentuated its incongruity, like a sapphire in a puka necklace. On the wall opposite was an oak cabinet, the doors wide open, displaying tools of every size and shape, small and large drawers, cubbyholes and shelves. A masterpiece of design and utility, everything in its place. This was a man who prized his wrenches.

She’d win him over with flattery. “That’s a beautiful desk.”

He shrugged. “A lucky hand-me-down from a former tenant.”

“And what a cabinet. Did you design it?”

“My father did.”

“Stunning. Do you do woodwork as well?”

“I used to, but there’s no time these days.” He looked annoyed. She’d overplayed it.

Bailey made a mental note to ask Melinda for a hundred dollars to hand him when she saw him next, as a way of greasing the wheel. The cost of doing business in Manhattan. Until then, she’d have to tread carefully.

“You were going to show me the storage unit for the apartment?”

He rose and grabbed a huge key chain from his desk. “Follow me.”

They turned down a passageway with doors on either side, every five feet or so, like a prison. Renzo stopped in front of the one marked 45 and found the key. He unlocked and pushed it open. Inside, a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. He pulled the chain.

The space was empty, except for a stack of dusty tiles piled up in one corner.

Bailey shook her head. “I won’t be able to store everything in here. It won’t all fit. Melinda’s taking down the mantels, the molding. Everything.”

“Why?”

She was unprepared for the question. “Because her taste sucks.”

“And yours doesn’t?”

She hadn’t realized how close they were standing. He smelled like wood chips and grease. Not a bad combination, surprisingly. She’d market it as ManSmell, The Cologne. The thought made her smile.

Renzo rubbed his eyebrow with the inside of his wrist. The veins on his forearms were thick, a faint purple blue. “It’s not funny, what’s going on. A new shareholder on the fifth floor tossed out everything before I could stop them.”

“I heard you were able to keep the original elevators. I’d love to see them.”

“Three of them were taken in by tenants. One’s become a sitting alcove, another tenant combined two to make a bar.”

“That’s thinking outside the box. And the fourth?”

“Gone. It disappeared.”

“How can an elevator disappear?”

“Not sure. During my father’s reign. My guess is one of the contractors realized its value and stole it. But no one was held responsible.”