St. Louis takes its hard weather from the rivers. Storms stack where the Mississippi and the Missouri meet, and they arrive as wind, blinding rain, and water that finds brick basements. Hail is not the lead. A downburst lifts a ridge, drives rain through mortar, and overwhelms a lateral in the same hour. Summers are heavy and humid. Winters still freeze. The house is often brick, older than the last gully-washer, and full of paths for water.
Tuckpointing, limestone sills, and parapets on flat roofs decide whether the wall stays a wall. Clay laterals and floor drains decide whether the basement stays a basement. A stain on a top floor is often the roof or the coping. Water at a garden level is often grade, a window well, or a backup. Those are different calls. Mature trees drop limbs into the same storms and shade the brick the rest of the year.
Cooling runs long because humidity does not leave when the rain stops. Heating still matters when the river wind turns cold. Mice and roaches use alley gaps. Mosquitoes follow the standing water. A bath stack in a multi-family brick building leaks into the ceiling below and looks like the storm. Say which floor got wet and whether the sky was actually open at the time.
Have the building in the first sentence: brick house, two-family, or a frame place in a brick block. Say river rain, wind, or a slow damp wall. A policy question, a deductible, and a claim are different from water that is in the house now. Name the path, up from the drain or down from the roof, before you describe the whole neighborhood.
The next line of storms will use the same rivers and the same brick. Pick the trade that matches the water you can see. Pick the trade and call.