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ELIZABETH
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INSTEAD OF GOING TO study medicine in Denver, Andy Prentice was on an unplanned year off between high school and university. A year ago, he’d been in a ski accident. He had spent several months in and out of the hospital going through a series of surgeries and rehabilitation treatments. Not satisfied with his recovery, his uncle, Dr. Ned Prentice, had taken him to the Red Cliffs orthopedic clinic, where Astrid Canagan had operated on his leg. Andy had recovered in record time, but his studies had to be postponed.
Not a boy anymore, but not a grown man yet, he was a natural born charmer: tousled jet-black hair, an open face with dark eyes and a dimpled smile. He was already six foot two and still growing.
Andy didn’t need to worry about money for his studies—his well-to-do parents would pay for his schooling. Nonetheless, he’d decided to contribute toward his education with his own savings, and he’d started working as a security guard at the Baker Block four times a week.
A couple of days after Khalid Nouri’s first telephone call, I met Andy at the popular Café Flamingo and asked him for help.
Like the rest of his family, Andy was a vocal Baker Block movement supporter, so I’d decided to tell him as much as I could without telling him too much.
“Between us, there might be someone else besides Urban Imprint interested in investing in the Baker Block,” I started. “He wants me to do some research. I need to check the buildings, but nobody can know about it.”
“No problem. I’m working tonight in the old Courthouse. Come around ten, I’ll let you in through the back door.”
“Is it safe to walk inside?”
“I’m not supposed to wander around, just to make sure no one trespasses, but, well, I did. Everything seems to be in excellent condition — floors, ceilings, walls, stairways.”
“I’m not surprised. They knew how to build back then. Thank you, Andy. I owe you a big one.”
“I’ll trade a few of my shifts so that I work every night on a different site. That’s four more buildings besides the Cosmo. You already did the hotel, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “You won’t get into trouble for letting me in?”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I’d be fired on the spot. You know, safety issues, hazards, and so on.” He placed his hand over his heart and smiled. “But, it would be for a noble cause. Don’t worry about it. I’ll do my part and you do yours.”
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EQUIPPED WITH FLASHLIGHTS, measuring tape, small containers and tools for taking samples, my phone, notepad, sticky notes and pens, I was at the back door of the old Courthouse at ten o’clock sharp.
I’d decided not to mention my little expeditions to Mr. Nouri. He might object to my nocturnal wanderings through the old buildings, so I decided to keep quiet until I was done with all four inspections.
Andy was waiting for me with a protective helmet under his arm. He let me in and walked me through the building. “Phone me if you need anything,” he said, pushing a yellow safety helmet into my hands. “I’ll be downstairs in my ‘office.’ Keep the helmet on all the time.”
I spent the next several hours assessing the building from the basement to the roof, taking notes on the condition of the foundation, electrical installations, heating system, plumbing, windows and doors. I took more than twenty samples from the walls, floors and insulation that I’d analyze at home or send to Rick and Alain.
At six o’clock the next morning, tired and stiff from the cold, I said good morning to Andy and walked home.
After a long, hot shower, I ate, made a pot of coffee and started working on my report.
At half past three, I decided to take a break and run to the post office to send the samples to my partners and make a quick stop at Mrs. Fontaine’s house.
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“PERFECT TIMING!” SHE smiled as she stepped aside to let me in. “I’ve just made tea and the cake is fresh from the oven. I was about to phone you.”
“Mrs. Fontaine,” I said, “I’m grateful that you don’t mind me working for Mr. Nouri.”
She took my jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “Why of course,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. “I would offer your expertise to Mr. Nouri if he didn’t ask. You’re invaluable to this project. I also have some good news,” she carried on as we walked toward the living room. “This morning Nouri’s lawyer called. They want the committee to help out.”
“Wonderful,” I said, pleased that Khalid Nouri hadn’t cut them off. “What’s your job going to be?”
“To conduct a survey about what to do with the Baker Block, what we need. Do we need a music school, a ballet school, another library, city archives? The committee will know that we have a serious investor, but I assured Mr. Nouri that we’ll keep his identity under wraps. We don’t want Urban Imprint to know we have another investor. Not yet.”
Oh, I didn’t doubt the entire Rosenthal community would hold their tongues.
I opened the cupboard and took out the delicate porcelain cups with saucers and a tray. Mrs. Fontaine transferred the cake from the baking pan to a crystal serving plate and then added two small cake plates, forks and napkins onto the tray.
“So how are you going to do the survey?” I asked as we walked to the living room with our goodies.
“Molly and I started working on a questionnaire. We’ll work on some other things as well. Once Urban Imprint’s out of the game, we’ll do the survey. We can have it done in a week or two.”
“How is Molly?” I asked.
Mrs. Fontaine smiled. “Over the moon. Sam asked her out.”
I clapped my hands. “On a date?”
“On a date. It was about time. Anyway, we plan to email the questionnaire to about two thousand residents of all ages and ask everyone to respond immediately. And they will; you know how much Rosenthal cares about the Baker Block. Once we have the results back, ArtePolis will use it as the basis for their business proposal.”
“Sounds good,” I said over the rim of my cup and took a sip of tea.
“We have to stop those urban bullies, who think they can buy a piece of somebody’s history and knock it flat. People here like to be considered when it comes to our town. Nobody is against changes, but they have to reflect our needs, they have to make Rosenthal an even better place to live, not ruin it. Some things are made to last, however, like the Cosmo and the Baker Block.”
“A condo complex wouldn’t be built to last but to be knocked down in less than twenty years, to make room for another condo complex,” I said and took a small bite of the cake. “Mmm, this is heavenly.”
She smiled and nodded. “I don’t say anything’s wrong with urban residential development, but not at the expense of historic buildings. I’ll do anything to see that Urban Imprint ends up empty-handed.” She frowned. “Urban Imprint, my ass. Urban Smudge, that’s what I call them. That’s what they leave on whatever they touch. Well, they can go somewhere else and build their ugly and cheap buildings and malls. This is a big country.”
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AFTER ANOTHER SLICE of soft, fragrant cake and one more cup of tea, I glanced at my watch. “I have to go,” I said and stood up. “I have to finish something before Mr. Nouri phones. He wants to talk about what I’ve done so far, and I promised I’d be at home.”
“Ah, I see. Wait here for a sec.” She took the cake and disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later she came out with a small canvas bag in her hands. “So, what do you think about Mr. Nouri?” Mrs. Fontaine asked, walking me to the door.
“He’s knowledgeable, a sound businessman, and a practical man. We got top-notch references about his company from Rick and Alain’s colleague.”
“What about his personality?”
“I don’t know. The first time we spoke, I had a feeling I talked to five different men. Last time,” I smiled, “it was only one.” A smart and charming man, whose deep, smooth voice had done something funny to my stomach. “He might not be the easiest person I’ve worked with, but I like him. He radiates confidence.”
“It’s important that you two get along. That being said, don’t work too hard, honey. You look tired.”
“I’m working on something for my new boss. I can’t tell you more because, for some reason, he wants me to keep it confidential.”
“Don’t worry about that. Here,” she said and pushed the bag into my hands. “Bean casserole and a few slices of cake. Whatever you’re doing, don’t forget to eat and sleep.”
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BACK AT HOME, I WENT through my report on the old Courthouse once more. I was satisfied. It was going to be more detailed than Mr. Nouri had ordered. He’d be pleased, I thought with a smile.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Khalid Nouri. After that first call, he’d been perfectly polite. Polished, considerate, a great listener. Underneath all this, however, I was picking up some fine threads of hidden emotion in his controlled voice: worry, tension and doubt mixed with excitement and anticipation. Sometimes he sounded as if he had a million other more important things on his mind than talking about the renovation. He sometimes seemed more interested in my opinion about economics, politics, books, music and movies than on our job. He told me he liked my sense of humor. I liked the sound of his laugh, but I didn’t dare tell him that.
When I finally wrapped up my report, it was already seven o’clock. Too late to catch an hour or two of sleep before Mr. Nouri’s call and my subsequent “night shift.” I made tea and transferred it into a thermos to take with me, then leafed through a book on Rosenthal’s architectural history that I’d borrowed from Mrs. Fontaine.
At ten o’clock I realized that for whatever reason, my boss wasn’t going to call tonight. Disappointed, I packed my equipment and set out to do the inspection of the next building on my list: the former police station and registry office.