“When does she got out?”
Margot tapped Odds’ head. “I didn’t realize it myself until it touched closer to home, but we have Peter, don’t we, Nancy?”
“We do indeed.”
His cheeks reddened. “I deal with death and violence every day, and here you lovely ladies are making me blush.”
Nancy preened. “Flattery will get you a big piece of pie, detective.”
“Then you are an angel, Nancy.”
Margot frowned. “Nancy, stop giggling like a teenage girl!”
“You’re jealous, Margot,” she called back as she fluttered into the kitchen.
Margot turned to Peter. “Should you confide in us, Peter? Can’t you get into trouble with your boss?”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, the press has already got wind of it. You’ll no doubt see it on the late news tonight.”
Nancy returned with a slice of apple and peach pie for Peter. He groaned. “I do have to stay in shape for the job, Nancy.” His complaint didn’t stop him from cutting a bite from each slice and forking them one after the other into his mouth.
Definitely a wife, Margot thought. Or a maid.
“Did Mr. Olsen have any family?” Nancy asked.
“A sister,” Peter mouthed around the pie. “She works for a local animal shelter, seemed pretty broken up as he was her only family. Olsen was about to be interviewed with the New York Times on his bakery.”
“That prestigious of a bakery?” Margot wondered.
“Not really. It’s a tiny storefront, nothing special to look at.”
“And the name. Cheap pastries is all right for some,” Nancy said with superiority, “but I would never.”
Margot didn’t remind her she had already made this claim.
Peter’s fork clinked against his saucer as he scraped the last bit of the dessert up. “Nancy, you are a genius in the kitchen. You have my thanks and appreciation.”
Nancy glowed. Odds leaped to Peter’s shoulder, and he reached up to pet him. “I see the wheels turning in your head, Margot.”
She widened her eyes and clutched her hands together. “Who me?”
“Yes, you. There’s no motive other than the robbery. The bakery has been in business for twenty years and still just scraped by, barely able to pay the rent and its one other employee.”
“But he was being interviewed.”
“By a newbie reporter assigned to a fluff piece, and before you ask, yes, I checked. All in a day’s work. I’m decent at my job despite how big a help you were last time.” He smiled, taking the bite out of his words, but Margot felt a bit unappreciated all the same.
“I trust your judgment, Peter,” she said in a small voice.
He stood. “I promise. The next time I need your sharp skills of observation and this mischievous hairball to help with a case, I will be sure to call.”
Margot stood as well. “Odds? He’s good for getting you into trouble, not out of it. I haven’t forgiven him for almost getting Nancy and I killed.”
Odds turned his head toward her as if in aghast that she would say such a thing.
“See if I save your life the next time.”
“You risk it way more than you save it.”
Peter blinked at her, and she flushed.
“I…uh…” she stuttered.
Nancy looped her arm through Peter’s. “Peter, why don’t you come by for dinner more often? I love having guests, and from the looks of you, you aren’t eating enough.”
“I’m within normal range,” he said, touching a flat stomach.
“Come by on Tuesday night. I’m making lamb and…”
Margot shook her head as Nancy walked him out of the apartment into the hall. Nancy would never hear of him saying no. In the end, she knew he would either lie and say he would come, or come because he felt he had no choice. Odds, who had ridden on Peter’s shoulder as he left, came scurrying back in.
“What’s wrong, Odds?”
“Trouble.”
Margot walked to the door to look into the hall, expecting to see Jimmy, since he was the only one who didn’t appear to like Odds in the entire building. Zabrina, who Jimmy had said would insist on Odds not being allowed to stay had behaved as if he didn’t exist.
Instead of Jimmy in the hall, it was their new neighbor from the third floor apartment. He was just stepping through the front door. As soon as he spotted Peter, he lowered his head, made some sort of grunt Margot assumed was meant to be a greeting, and walked past.
Nancy called out, “Hello, this is—”
He didn’t slow down but continued to the end of the hall and up the stairs.
“So rude.” Nancy thrust a fist to her hip. “I’m sorry, Peter.”
Margot watched as Peter narrowed his eyes on the man’s retreating back. Just as he had said to her earlier, she saw the wheels turning in his head. She wondered if he suspected something about their new neighbor and hoped not. They had had more than enough excitement inside their building to last the next year or two.
“So Tuesday, Peter, dear?” Nancy asked.
He smiled. “Good day, ladies.”
“Go figure. He is good.”
Margot looked down at Odds. “Shush, you. Let’s go home. I’ll see you in the morning, Nancy.”
“Okay, get some rest. More puppies early,” Nancy called after her. “Or quit!”
Margot groaned. Nancy would never understand. A few minutes later, Margot entered her apartment and walked to the kitchen.
“The paper?”
“No, Odds. I’m going to stick it out. I have a date with Frankie and the fellows early in the morning. Let’s turn in.”
Meow!
Chapter Six
A week after the event in the park, Margot felt her legs getting stronger. Or it could be they had gone numb from stumbling behind the dogs twice a day. On day two, she had declared to Nancy she was going to die, and Nancy had squeezed her shoulder and assured her she would cry her eyes out if it happened. No comfort whatsoever.
On day three, Odds had displayed his shock that she held a job so long, and of course Frankie had run off the following day to threaten a fourth day ever happening. All in all, Margot was quite proud of herself, and the one thing she didn’t tire of was reminding Odds of her success.
“How long do you think this will last?”
Margot looked down at her cat on the first day off she had received in six days. Upon opening her eyes that morning, joy had flooded her in recalling that today all three of her dog owners were free to walk their own dogs. She lamented the loss of the money, but her achy bones would get a rest.
“You haven’t liked this job from the beginning, Odds,” she told him. “Admit it. I’m doing great.”
“The mangy mutts still pull you along, and your mouth hangs open like a dead fish.”
Margot glowered at him. “And you’re being especially mean, and I don’t like it!”
He raised his chin and sauntered off. Margot looked around for a shoe to throw, but the nearest one was across the room in the closet. Her legs hadn’t quite got going yet to get there in time. Stubborn animal. He should learn his place and stop sassing her.
She slipped her feet into her slippers and shuffled into the bathroom. Once she was cleaned up and dressed, she made breakfast for her and Odds and wondered what she would do with the day off. Perhaps she should check the paper for more odd jobs. The occasional housecleaning supplemented the dog walking, but enough rent hadn’t been collected yet. Who knew how much of a stickler Oliver would be about lateness.
Margot spent the morning looking through Help Wanted ads and noticed the callouses on her fingers and rough patches along her skin. She recalled the many times she visited a spa that pampered her and used mud masks and all kinds of remedies to coax her aging skin to hang in there a little longer.
Squeezing her cheeks, Margot wondered if she was looking older lately, a month into her new life. The mirror told her she was, and she consi
dered how hard it would be to raise money for a spa visit. Perhaps she could invite Nancy to go along. At least she wouldn’t be alone as she was in the past.
“What are you doing?”
Margot started as she peered in the mirror, trying to stretch out wrinkles. She glanced over her shoulder to spot Odds and groaned. The spa wouldn’t happen. Not only didn’t she know what they cost because she had never needed to ask, if she couldn’t afford rent, luxuries were out of the question.
She stalked past Odds, complaining beneath her breath. Today wasn’t a day for that positive attitude she had told herself she would maintain. “Nothing, Odds. Don’t you have furniture to scratch?”
“Well I’ve already destroyed the Victorian. Don’t you have anything else expensive?”
“You’re in a foul mood, today, Odds.”
“Maybe it’s because you are.”
She thought about that. Perhaps he was right.
A knock sounded on the door, and she went to answer. If it was Nancy, she was always bouncy sunshine. Margot would let it seep into her and lift her spirits. No one could avoid reality like her friend.
When Margot opened the door, she found Kenny instead of Nancy, and little Dottie peaking out from behind him. “Hi, Ms. Margot.”
“Kenny, well it’s good to see you, and Dottie.” Margot extended a hand to pat the little girl on the head.”
“Hi, Margot,” Dottie piped shyly.
“Ms,” Kenny emphasized.
Dottie stuck her tongue out at him. He tweaked her ear.
“You better say it, or you’re not going.”
His little sister had let out a wail when he grabbed her ear, but she shushed right away, and her eyes went round with his threat. “Mith Mith,” she shouted. “Mith Margot.”
Margot chuckled. “Oh, don’t be so hard on her, Kenny.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t hurt her. I just touched her ear. She’s dramatic, and Mom says don’t let her be rude, or she’ll be impossible when she’s a teenager. Girls are like that.”
“Nah uhn,” Dottie sassed him and pinched Kenny before she darted past Margot to get to Odds. Her cat, who had been strolling into the room, caught sight of Dottie and ran in the opposite direction.
“Why did you let her in again! I haven’t grown back the last fur she rubbed off!”
Margot pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s the dramatic one. Come in, Kenny.”
He stepped into her apartment with jeans hanging off his hips. Margot thought not for the first time Kenny was too thin. He looked so spindly, but she had also seen his strength. She liked him a lot.
“I’ll just come in long enough to get my hard-headed sister. We have to get going.”
Margot’s interest rose. “Where are you going?”
“Didn’t you hear?” he asked, stopping at the entrance to the hall, down which Dottie and Odds had disappeared. Kenny offered her an apologetic smile. “The bakery’s closing down, the one where the man worked who got killed.”
Margot gasped. “You mean A Dirty Baker?”
“Yeah that’s the one.”
“Charles Olsen,” Margot recalled. “So his sister didn’t want to keep it open?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that. All I know is it’s closing. You know what that means.”
She scoured her mind for the answer and came up empty.
Kenny never minded telling her about things she didn’t know, even if, like a teenager, occasionally he gave in to teasing.
“Guess it’s another one of the things a rich lady wouldn’t know.”
“Will you tell me, Kenny or will I have to guess?”
He glanced down the hall. “Dottie!”
Margot winced at the noise level when Dottie screamed.
“I gots him, Kenny.”
Poor Odds. Margot watched as Dottie carried Odds into the room with hands beneath his front legs. He hung at an awkward angle, and he kept slipping from her grasp, which made her dump him left and right to try to get a grip. Odds, the good sport, accepted this treatment.
“You really should put him down, dear. He didn’t let me give him a bath, so he’s probably dirty and stinky.”
Kenny laughed. “Cats do a good job of cleaning themselves.”
Margot straightened her back. “What about the bakery, Kenny.”
“Oh, well, since it’s closing, they’re going to have a huge sale. I’m just learning about it, so most of the good stuff is probably gone, but you never know.”
“A sale!”
“You’re speaking her language now,” Odds sniped. “Cheap.”
Kenny couldn’t hear the foolish cat, so she ignored him.
“I’m taking orders, Ms. Margot, but since I don’t know what they have, you can write down different kinds of donuts or cake you might like. I’ll get something from the list.”
“Nonsense, Kenny.” She shuffled toward the hall to get her shoes. “I’m going with you. I need to get out of the apartment, and if you’re buying pastries for everyone, you’ll need help carrying it all.”
“I was taking the wagon so Dottie doesn’t have to walk much, but okay. You can come along.”
Margot hurried into her bedroom to pull her shoes on and then joined Kenny and Dottie in the outside hall. “He can’t go, Dottie. I don’t think they want cats in a bakery. Go back inside, Odds.”
“Who says I’m going with you?” He twitched his whiskers and wandered off, making her look silly. Margot shook a fist behind his head and locked her apartment. Dottie giggled, and Margot thought she heard a snicker from her brother.
“He’s pretty independ,” Kenny said.
“Yes, he’s independent,” she corrected. “He’s a scamp is what he is. Odds doesn’t know he’s a cat.”
Dottie made an awed sound. “Do he think he a dog, Mith Margot?”
Margot laughed. “Maybe so.” She thought of how Odds felt about her new job and figured if he thought he was a dog, he was too good to be with Frankie and the others, which of course proved he was a cat.
“Odds, the dog,” Dottie sang as they descended the stairs. “Odds, the dog.”
Kenny raised his finger to his lips. “Shh, be quiet.”
Margot’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
He pointed toward Nancy’s door. “She won’t like it if she knows we’re going to the bakery. You know Ms. Nancy is sensitive.”
“She’ll cry,” Dottie said.
Kenny rolled his eyes. “She probably won’t cry, but—”
“I know,” Margot said. “She’ll get her feelings hurt and think we don’t care about her baking. Okay, let’s hurry along, kids. I should bring her back something good to make up for it.”
Kenny blinked at her, and Margot admitted that would only make it worse. The kids scurried past Nancy’s door, and Margot followed at the fastest pace she could. Soon, they were on their way to the bakery with Nancy none the wiser.
Chapter Seven
The little bakery turned out to be cuter than Peter had led Margot to believe, although she realized her definition of cute had made a drastic change over the last month and a half. A Dirty Baker stood in the middle of a block of similar storefront shops. The one next to it appeared to be closed down with a heavy grate over the windows and door.
While a large sign hung in one window of the bakery stating its intent to close soon, it didn’t obscure the bright colors on the sign above the shop, and on the windows. A lovely spring scene had been painted on the windows beneath the name in fanciful writing. Benches had been placed outside the door as an invitation for customers to sit while they ate their treats.
“What a loss this place will be,” Margot mused. “I wonder why it wasn’t doing so well. Were the donuts not good?”
Kenny shrugged. “I never came here. My mom bakes and so does Ms. Nancy.”
Margot looked at him. “Won’t your mom be mad that you went somewhere else?”
He wrinkled a f
reckle-covered nose. “Of course not. She’s not like that.”
Margot had met his mother once or twice, Wanda Jones, a single parent, but Kenny wasn’t exaggerating when he had told Margot she worked a lot. Wanda inspired Margot to keep moving. After all, she had only herself and Odds to look after, not young children with bellies to fill.
At the scent of vanilla in the air and fresh dough, Margot started forward. “Let’s go in and see if there’s anything left.”
Meow.
Margot stopped and frowned down at Odds. “I told you not to come.”
“I was finished my business early.
“You didn’t have any business!”
He yawned.
Margot quickly scooped the hard-headed thing into her oversized bag. She glared down at him between the flaps. “Don’t you dare jump out. You don’t belong in there.”
He lay down and closed his eyes as if he wouldn’t dream of causing trouble. Margot knew better. She shut the bag and stuffed it tightly against her side with the straps high on her shoulder. When she looked up she found Kenny and Dottie watching her. Margot offered a weak smile.
“He won’t be any bother. Let’s keep this between us, children.”
Kenny shrugged, and Dottie went back to singing, “Odds, the dog.”
They entered the bakery, and Margot’s nostrils filled with all types of yummy scents. Her mouth watered to taste it all, but she recalled her budget. She expected there to be a crowd, but only three other customers were in the shop studying the display to decide what they wanted.
“Welcome to A Dirty Baker. I’m Lara,” the young woman behind the counter said. “Can I recommend the donuts? We still have plenty left.”
For some reason, Margot expected a sharp retort from Odds, but he remained silent.
Margot approached the counter. “Hi, Lara. It smells heavenly in here, like you’re still baking.”
Lara seemed to bounce on her toes. “Oh, yes, I can bake the simple stuff, which I did this morning.”
“I’m sorry about the owner’s passing,” Margot added. She noted out of the corner of her eye a couple customers’ heads pop up.
Lara’s countenance fell, and tears glistened on her lashes. “Yes, Mr. Olsen was a good man and didn’t deserve what happened to him. I will miss him, not to mention I love this job and baking.”
Odds Against (Margot and Odds Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 3