I grabbed his sleeve. “Just come with me.”
Joe took one look at the kitchen ceiling and headed for the upstairs bathroom. He felt around the base of the toilet and along the edge of the bathtub. “It’s dry here. I have a bad feeling that the leak’s coming from behind the wall. It must be the sewer stack.”
“What’s that?”
“The main drain that runs from the bathroom all the way down to the basement. We’ll need to get a plumber out here tomorrow.”
And with that, he disappeared downstairs again.
“Tomorrow?” I said to Jasper, who waved his plume of a tail at the sound of my voice. “That doesn’t sound like nearly soon enough for us, does it, boy?”
I called the local plumber, Wayne Troxel, but got his answering machine. Emergency service wasn’t always in the vernacular of the Millbury tradespeople. I left an urgent message, and then called Angus, who said he would retrieve the plumber from his customary stool at the Sheepville Pub.
Next, I placed a call to the insurance company, who said they would try to get someone out tomorrow, or more likely on Monday. However, the policy only covered whatever it took to gain access to the pipe and the resultant water damage from the leak, not the pipe itself. The deterioration of a hundred-and-fifty-year-old cast-iron drain was considered normal wear and tear. They advised me to get an estimate for the dismantling and replacement of the cabinets, to take pictures, and to save a piece of the sewer stack to show the adjuster.
Great.
Twenty minutes later, Angus and Wayne arrived, the latter reeking of alcohol and cigars.
Wayne scratched his striped shirt over a bulbous beer belly that reminded me of the giant pumpkin. He hitched up his pants and cleared his throat.
“Oh, yes. We’re going to need to rip out this here entire wall to be able to get to it. All these here cabinets will have to come down ’cause it’s right behind here.” He banged on the wall for emphasis. “You’re looking at a very expensive repair here. Oh, yes.”
I closed my eyes briefly. My beautiful recently renovated kitchen would be ruined.
Wayne got down on his knees and inspected the drain under the kitchen sink. His jeans, no match for his belly even when vertical, gave up the ghost and slipped halfway down his wide rear end.
“What else could go wrong today?” I said to Angus.
“Isn’t that what they always say in those B movies before someone bites the dust?”
I rolled my eyes and tried not to look at Wayne’s substantial plumber’s crack.
• • •
The next morning, in spite of Wayne’s condition the night before, he was back first thing with a contractor who would handle the dismantling of the cabinets. I took pictures of everything before he started, and by the time the insurance adjuster arrived in the afternoon, all the cabinets were down, the wall cut open, and the ancient cast-iron pipe exposed.
I handed the adjuster the contractor’s quote of $2,953 to remove the wall cabinets, countertop, dishwasher, and base cabinets to gain access. He would also patch the walls as needed, repair the basement concrete floor, reinstall everything, and clean up.
The adjuster nodded. “This sounds reasonable. I’ll make my own calculations and send you a final estimate of approved damages on Monday. Less your deductible of five hundred, of course.”
“Of course.” The cost to replace the sewer stack itself was $3,712, which would come out of our own pocket.
“Don’t worry, Daisy,” Joe said, as he made a brief appearance upstairs. “I’m telling you I’m going to make money with these miniatures.”