Free Better Than Gold by Mary Brady

renovated.
    “How’s it going, Mia?” one of them asked.
    “I’m making good progress.” Mia used her standard answer to the question because Monique told her using marginally crappy would be off-putting to many people.
    “I see you have company today.” Translation: Did you find out who the skeleton from your wall is yet, and if not when? Or: Who is this guy and is he married?
    “I do.” Mia went on to ask about their week and they answered they had all the new inventory ordered for the spring tourist trade, hoping this year there would be better crowds than last year.
    Mia waved and moved off before they could ask more about Daniel MacCarey. “Have a nice day, ladies.”
    When she reached the corner of Treacher Avenue and Church Street, she scrunched her face at the sight of the professor’s hybrid still hugging the curb in front of her building.
    She was sure she didn’t want to leave him alone with her future any longer and ducked under the single piece of tape still in place.
    The air inside hung still with the musty smell of old building. The ax-strike marks on the exposed beams in the ceiling made the building look its age, as did the wide planks of the floorboards. It would be a charming place when she got it finished and there could be no ifs about it. She would get it finished.
    It was quiet, almost spooky quiet.
    “Hello?” Mia called into the silence.
    She rounded the partially torn-down wall, and the room beyond was as quiet as— No, not a grave, not creepy quiet. Hushed as the eye of a storm, that hair-raising kind of stillness where the excitement and anticipation of a wild ride lived.
    She ran a hand down the back of her neck to chase away the feeling giving her a chill.
    A clinking sound put her in a dead stop.
    A delicate tapping came from—
    The basement.
    She had been down there only twice.
    Every chain saw massacre and Halloween movie played in her head as she gripped her flashlight. The hollowed out basement dug into the dirt and blasted into the stone was eerie and repugnant and would still be even if her pitiful flashlight became a host of floodlights.
    The basement door at the far side of the old and soon-to-be-renewed pantry squeaked obligingly as she tugged it open. She shrugged that off, too.
    Lights! Yes, the lights were on. Daniel was down there.
    The smell of the old, dank, partial dirt-floor basement wafted insults at her nose as she started down. Vegetables and wine had most likely been stored here when the building was a functioning hotel.
    She stopped halfway down and listened. “Daniel?” she called more timidly than she had intended.
    The shrieking sound from the movie Psycho screeched loudly in her head.
    Oh, shut up! she said to herself and continued down.
    The light at the bottom of the stairs did a pitifully meager job of keeping the darkness at bay, and the tapping restarted.
    “Hello?” she called tentatively. Chicken, she chided herself. “Daniel, are you down here?”
    The tapping stopped. So did she, on the third step from the bottom. As quiet footsteps approached she couldn’t help the urge to flee.
    Then Daniel stepped into the light shed from the ceiling bulb at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her. “Hello again.”
    Shadows from the dim bulb deepened the contrasting planes of his face and the light danced in his dark hair. Feelings stirred inside her, things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
    She rubbed a hand on the thigh of her jeans.
    “What are you doing down here?” she asked.
    His expression grew more serious and he held up what she supposed were archeology tools. “Exploring to see if there are any other areas that might need excavating.”
    “I hope not.”
    “And why are you down here?”
    “I just wanted to see if there is anything I can do to help...” Get you the heck out of my building .
    “Have you done much exploring on this level?” His tone told her this was a hedge, an opening gambit.
    “No.” Already she