Page 61 of A Matter of Pedigree
“You want to look at apartments?”
“Sure,” said Polly.
“How come?”
“Just curious.”
“I thought you loved living in Paris.” Carole wasn’t sure how she felt about her mother moving back to Providence.
“I do love living in Paris, but the dollar doesn’t go very far there these days,” said Polly.
Carole wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. “So you’re really thinking of moving back here?”
“Don’t panic,” said Polly, chuckling. “I’m just thinking about it. Exploring my options.”
“I’m not panicked,” Carole was quick to say as she pulled into a parking slot. “I’m just surprised.”
Getting out of the car, she noticed that, except for a few pickup trucks belonging to contractors, the partly finished parking lot was empty. People weren’t exactly flocking to the rental office. And when they followed the signs that pointed the way to the office, which was located in the lobby, they found the door was locked tight. They cupped their hands around their eyes and peered in, observing a tastefully designed waiting area, but couldn’t get inside.
“It looks nice,” said Polly. “What’s the deal here? Mixed use?”
“Yeah,” said Carole, waving her hand. “As you can see, there’s a number of buildings. They’re rehabbing them for various uses: offices, residences, retail. They’re also opening up access to the river and landscaping the grounds. It’s going to be real nice.”
Polly looked around, as if she was imagining how it would all look when the project was completed. “Where was the fire?” she asked, suddenly, surprising Carole.
“Over there,” said Carole, pointing across the parking lot to the blackened brick building.
“I want to see,” said Polly, marching across the fresh asphalt. It soon ended, and they had to make their way across raw, rubble-strewn earth to the shell of a building. As they got closer, they could smell the lingering scent of the fire and could see the yellow tape that had been strung across the door. Polly ignored it and ducked under, stepping inside, where she paused. “Poor Frank-O must have been terrified.”
“I imagine so,” said Carole, whose heart was beating faster as she looked around and imagined the black smoke he had said filled the building. “He was in a hallway; he said he was confused and disoriented. It was a miracle the firemen found him in time. He could’ve died from smoke inhalation.”
“How did the fire start?” asked Polly, stepping farther into the building.
Carole grabbed her by the elbow. “I don’t think we should go any farther; the building might be unstable.” In the distance, she could hear voices, probably workmen involved in demolishing the damaged sections. “Besides,” she added, pointing to a smoke-blackened sign, “this is a hard-hat area.”
“Oh,” said Polly, looking down at the wooden floor planks, black with soot. “Do they think somebody set the fire?”
“I don’t know.” What Carole did know was that she didn’t understand her mother’s sudden interest in the site of the fire, and she didn’t much like poking around in a dangerous, burned-out wreck of a building. Just being there was giving her PTSD. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Do you feel it, too?” asked Polly. “There’s something evil here.”
Carole stood still, noticing that the sun had disappeared; the afternoon had turned dark and cloudy, but that’s what happened in New England. The weather changed all the time. And there were occasional voices and noises; some workers were obviously on site, and that was to be expected. But evil? She didn’t think so. She preferred to think that a guardian angel had been looking out for Frank-O and saved him from a bad situation. “Nobody was killed, you know. Frank-O was the only one who was injured, and he’s going to be fine.”
Polly wasn’t convinced. “Okay, I know you think I’m crazy, but there is definitely a bad vibe here.”
Carole took her arm and led her back to the car. “So I guess you won’t be getting an apartment here?”
She gave her head a firm little shake. “No way.”
They were approaching the Esplanade when Polly admitted her psychic episode might have been the result of all the rich pastry plus the martinis. “Maybe it’s like Scrooge in that story when he thinks Marley’s ghost is a fragment of undigested beef. I know one thing for sure. I have really got to pee.”
“That’s a relief. You really had me freaked out there,” said Carole, laughing as she turned onto Edith Street. “I can let you out at the door if you want. There’s restrooms right off the lobby.”
“I want,” said Polly.
Carole pulled to a stop, and Polly ran for the door, waving the fob that unlocked it, and dashed inside. Carole continued on down the street and turned into the garage, winding her way up through the levels. Somebody must be holding an event, she thought, observing that the garage was a lot fuller than usual. Her favorite spot was filled, of course, and she was kind of picky about parking the Cayenne. It was big, and she didn’t like to squeeze into a tight space where it could get dinged. On the other hand, she didn’t want to go up to the very top level because that was uncovered. She finally found a suitable spot on the last covered level and hurried over to the elevator, toting her groceries and discovering she could use a pee, too.
She was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator, but it wasn’t coming. There was no familiar groan as the mechanism answered the call and began moving, and the little lights above the door were dark. She pushed the button harder, but it didn’t light up.
