There were still slight traces of fog along the waterfront and in the downtown area of Seattle, but as Erin’s yellow VW climbed the hill that supported the apartment house, the mist thinned and by the time she was home the evening was cool but clear. Only a trace of fog could be seen in the wisps that clung to the dark waters of the distant Sound.

It was nearly seven, and Erin wanted to dash up the stairs to get ready for Kane, but propriety stopped her. She set her purse and briefcase on the lowest step of the staircase and knocked softly on Mrs. Cavenaugh’s door.

A curious blue eye peeked at her through the peephole. Then quickly the door opened, and the slightly bent figure of Milly Cavenaugh greeted Erin with a warm smile.

“Good evening, Erin. I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Mrs. Cavenaugh said cheerily, and winked broadly at her young landlady.

Erin’s face creased with anxiety. “Why not? Didn’t the repairmen show up?”

“Did they ever….” Mrs. Cavenaugh replied with a disapproving purse of her lips. Disgust darkened her eyes and she shook her head as she remembered. “They were here…an entire battalion of them…tracking in mud and heaven-knows-what-else into the house!” Erin’s eyes followed the sweep of Mrs. Cavenaugh’s hand as it included the front porch, entry hall and stairway. The oaken planks of the hallway were, indeed, imprinted with scrambled tracks of mud-laden, booted feet.

“Did they finish the job?” Erin asked, dragging her eyes away from the mess on the floor and back to her elderly tenant.

“Partially, I think. It seems that it’s going to take more work than the original estimate showed,” Mrs. Cavenaugh announced, thinking carefully.

“More work? Why?” Dollar signs flashed in Erin’s mind.

“Something about dry rot in the floorboards, I think,” Mrs. Cavenaugh explained with a shrug of her bent shoulders. “I’m sorry, dear, I really didn’t pay too much attention—I was too busy trying to get them to wipe the dirt off their boots.”

Erin felt her heart sink. Dry rot? What was that exactly? Something to do with the condition of the subfloor and support beams, she thought. It sounded like it would cost money—lots of it.

“Is something wrong, Erin?” Mrs. Cavenaugh asked, assessing the worried look that had appeared on Erin’s face. “Would you like to come in and sit for a moment? I could brew a pot of tea….”

Forcing herself to smile, Erin shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong, Mrs. Cavenaugh. I was just a little surprised to find out about the dry rot.”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing to be concerned about anyway,” the elderly lady thought aloud, dismissing the subject with an expansive wave of her hand. Her pale blue eyes took in the concerned look on Erin’s features before asking the question that had been entering her head ever since she had seen Erin through the peephole.

“How did things go at work today?”

Erin was still concentrating on the bad news of the dry rot, wondering how extensive the damage was and just how many hundreds or thousands of dollars it would take to correct the problem. Mrs. Cavenaugh’s question startled her.