Page 37 of A Matter of Pedigree (A Carole and Poopsie Mystery #1)
“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.
It must be out of order. She was going to have to use the stairs and in these heels, too.
It was only a flight or two down to the pedestrian bridge, and she clattered along, hanging on to the metal handrail, going as fast as she dared.
She was almost there when a stocky guy in a black hooded sweatshirt passed her, going up.
She didn’t think anything of it; he was probably one of the college kids living in the building, and she was focused on her need to pee when she was suddenly yanked from behind by her hair and thrown down onto her back as her bags of groceries and her Prada bag went flying.
Adrenalin surged through her body, but before she could scream, the guy was on top of her and pressing a gloved hand over her mouth. “Shut up!” he hissed at her.
She was rigid and wide-eyed with fear, and noise was coming from her mouth; she couldn’t seem to help it.
His face was inches from hers, but he was wearing a black Covid mask and all she could see were his eyes, dark and glittering as he pressed his arm against her neck.
“I said shut up,” he said, looming over her.
She managed to stop the noise, struggling to breathe and squirming uncomfortably against the metal-edged concrete steps pressing against her back.
She watched him warily. What was she supposed to do?
Talk to him and try to make a connection?
A human bond, that’s what you were supposed to try to create. But what did you say?
“You’ll never get away with this,” she whispered. “Somebody’s sure to come along.”
“Shut up and don’t move,” he said. His voice was muffled by the mask, and she knew she ought to study what she could see of him in order to identify him later.
She obediently froze, then gasped in terror, catching a glimpse of something shiny.
Metal. A knife? Was he going to cut her?
A closer look revealed it wasn’t a knife, but scissors.
A huge pair of shiny scissors. What was he going to do with them?
Then suddenly, his body weight shifted slightly as he pressed his arm across her chest, pinning her down as he rose slightly, and she felt cold metal against her belly under the waistband of her jeans.
“This’ll teach you to mind your own business,” he growled, starting to work the scissors inside the jeans.
She understood in a flash. He was going to cut her jeans because it took too long to pull tight jeans off a resisting woman. She’d read about this: rapists with scissors. He was going to cut through her nine-hundred-dollar jeans that were identical to Meghan Markle’s and rape her!
The hell with that! It wasn’t a decision; it was an automatic response, like a reflex.
Before she knew what had happened, she had driven her stiletto heel into the back of his leg, causing him to yelp with pain and reach for his wound.
She took advantage of this change in position to slip her hand down to his groin, where she grabbed as much as she could and gave it a squeeze, using every bit of strength she had.
He rolled off her, curling into a fetal position, moaning and clutching himself.
Still on her back, she used the railing to haul herself onto her feet and clattered down the stairs as fast as she could go, screaming all the way.
She didn’t have time to mess with the fob at the pedestrian bridge; she kept going all the way down and through the door to the safety of the street, with its steady steam of passersby.
Then she stopped, leaning against the door, panting and sobbing, gulping the fresh air as warm pee streamed down her legs.