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Simple. Right. My knowledge of faucets ended at turning them on and off.
Apartment 2C belonged to an elderly woman named Mrs. Howell, who offered me tea three times before I even reached the kitchen. Her sink dripped steadily, a rhythmic plink-plink-plink that was probably driving her insane.
“I’ll have this fixed in no time,” I said, setting down the toolbox while wondering if whacking it with a wrench would work. Probably not.
Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, I stared at the pipes like they might reveal their secrets through sheer proximity. There were twisty bits. Connector things. A valve that looked important. The dripping came from the faucet itself, not the pipes below, which meant I had to figure out how to take the handle apart without flooding her kitchen.
After five minutes of useless staring, I pulled out my phone and the slip of paper from my pocket.
Deadeye answered on the third ring. “Niles?”
“Hypothetical question,” I said, keeping my voice low. “If someone had a leaky faucet and absolutely no idea how to fix it, what would you suggest?”
The pause on his end was brief. “Hypothetical?”
“Completely. This is purely academic.”
“Uh-huh.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Is this someone currently standing in front of a leaky faucet?”
“Hypothetically.”
Another pause, then, “Did you get a job as a maintenance tech?”
“I have no comment at this time.”
His laugh was warm and full, not mocking. The sound of it loosened something tight in my gut. “Okay. Tell me what you’re looking at.”
“Faucet. Kitchen. Drippy. I’m wearing sparkly shorts and pretending to be competent. I even have a toolbox.”
“The shorts are important.”
“For morale.” I liked that he’d mentioned my shorts. Too bad he couldn’t see how fabulous I looked in them. They gave my backside a little lift, making my tush look fuller.
Clearing his throat, he got down to business. “First thing. You need to turn off the water supply. Look under the sink. There should be a valve.”
I ducked lower and scanned the pipes. “Found it.”
“Turn it clockwise. All the way.”
The valve resisted for a second before slowly rotating. “Done. Now what?”
“Now you take off the handle. Usually there’s a screw hidden under a cap. Look for a little plastic cover on top.”
I found the cap and pried it off with my thumbnail. Sure enough, a screw sat underneath. “You’re very good at this. You’re like a faucet whisperer.”
“Been doing it a while.” His voice stayed easy, patient. “You got a screwdriver in that toolbox?”
I dug through the contents and found one that looked about right. “Phillips head. Am I using the right term? I want to sound knowledgeable for my own self-esteem.”
“Nailed it like a pro. Now, remove the screw and pull the handle off. Should come loose pretty easily.”
The screw turned. The handle lifted away. Beneath it, something sat nestled in the faucet body. It looked important and slightly intimidating.
“Okay. Handle’s off. There’s a…thingy. Inside.”
“Cartridge?”
“If that’s what you call a thingy, then yes.”
