Odds Against (Margot and Odds Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Audrey Claire

  He nodded his encouragement, and she tried to appear sane. “I was walking Frankie and his friends. Frankie is one of the dogs I walk for my odd job. The friends are the other two dogs I also walk.”

  “I figured as much once you identified Frankie. Go on.”

  She teased the material of one pants leg with the tips of her fingers. Nervous energy made her want to get to her feet and pace, but she held it in. Staying still might be better for the impression she made on Peter.

  “I felt someone was watching me, and when I looked to see who it might be, I found footprints in the mud.”

  “They could have been anyone’s, or left at any time,” Peter pointed out.

  “They were fresh.”

  He smiled. “You are very observant, Margot. You would be a credit to the force.”

  “In my younger days.” Warmth stole over her.

  “These footprints, you believe they were made by the bakery assistant.”

  “I don’t know, but it was a woman.”

  She explained why she believed it was a woman, and Peter again wore the look of being impressed. He frowned when she explained Frankie had obscured the evidence.

  “I’ve had my fill of those dogs, Margot.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter.”

  “However, even if we did still have the prints to examine, they don’t prove anything. Neither that the person in your apartment was the same one you believe was following you, or that the person was the assistant.”

  “It could have been the sister,” Nancy suggested.

  Peter agreed. “If either of them had a reason to follow you or break into your apartment. I don’t understand why you think the intruder is related to my case. Can you explain?”

  “Uh, not really.” She’d lost all confidence in sharing what Odds told her.

  “So the reason you called me here was because of the prints?”

  What else could she say? “Yes.”

  Peter stood, and so did Margot and Nancy. Margot knew she had failed to convince him.

  “Margot, you should know as routine I did question both Lara and Pamela regarding their whereabouts the night Charles Olsen was killed. Both had alibis, which checked out. Pamela Olsen’s boyfriend was hers.”

  She couldn’t give up. “And the thief with the wrap sheet? Did he confess to killing Mr. Olsen?”

  Peter hesitated. “No, he didn’t. In fact, I ruled him out. I’m afraid I don’t have a suspect, and I’m reviewing my notes in between my other cases. I don’t have a motive other than robbery, which is where this case stands.”

  “I’m sorry,” Margot said. “I know you’re busy I shouldn’t have gotten so excited. You have a lot to do, and you don’t need old busybodies pulling you away from it for every fit and start.”

  “Don’t worry. You and Nancy are my favorite busybodies.”

  Nancy huffed in protest, and Margot laughed. “Why thank you, Peter.”

  “You’re welcome, and please be careful out there, Margot. New York can be a very dangerous city.”

  “I’m learning that each day.”

  “Well, good day, ladies, and don’t hesitate to call me if you need me. Please, real evidence next time?”

  Margot agreed, and she and Nancy sat down after the door closed.

  “Margot, dear, why didn’t you tell him about what Odds said?”

  “He didn’t take me seriously about the footprints. I doubt he will believe me if I say Odds told me they were the same.” Margot glared at Odds, standing near the door. “And why didn’t you say anything while he was here?”

  Odds put a paw up and scratched to go out. She grumbled.

  Nancy played with a snap on her dress. “Don’t get mad, Margot, but what if Odds can’t speak?”

  Margot’s spirits sank. “I’m always thinking of that.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m your friend. I’m in it. You tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  Margot stood and opened the door for Odds. He scampered from the apartment without a backward glance, and she shut the door. “I need to know if I’m cracking up.”

  “That’s easy.”

  Nancy sounded too dismissive and happy for her tastes. “How?”

  “A psychic.”

  Margot faced her. “A what?”

  “A psychic is a person who—”

  “I know what a psychic is, but I mean how could such a person help me?”

  Nancy clapped her hands and grinned. “She has powers, and if Odds has the ability to communicate, she’ll be able to tell. She might even be able to talk to him too.”

  Margot’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes, and there are simply hundreds, maybe thousands of psychics in New York.”

  “How do we find them?”

  Nancy opened a door beneath one of the end tables cluttering her living room. Inside, Margot saw there were at least ten yellow page books. Nancy nabbed a thick one from the top of the stack and placed it on her lap. “We’ll see if we can find one in the neighborhood, and you can take Odds there to let her read him.”

  “Read him,” Margot repeated with interest. Then she thought this might make a great opportunity for her to get Nancy out of the house. “Nancy, dear, why don’t you come along? After all, you know more about this sort of thing than I do. You’ll know the right questions to ask this person so I don’t waste my time or hers.”

  Nancy’s finger, which had been skimming over the pages, stopped, and she looked up with an expression of horror. After a few seconds, she schooled her features. “Sure, I’ll come with you.”

  Margot’s mouth fell open. “You will?”

  “Yes…Oh, that’s right. I’m expecting a delivery any day. I simply can’t miss it.”

  “Well, which day do you expect it? We can go before or after.”

  “No, I just can’t risk it, Margot. You understand, don’t you? I’ll give you a list of potential questions to ask.”

  Margot sighed. She’d known this was the way it would be, but she wouldn’t give up. Maybe after this situation was resolved, she would work extra hard to get Nancy out of the apartment.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Nancy made coffee for them both, and Margot sat stirring hers. “Nancy.”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you think Zabrina’s secret is?”

  “Her secret?”

  “Yes, she obviously doesn’t have a phobia, but she wears those gloves for a reason.”

  “Fingerprints,” Nancy said knowingly.

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Interpol has her fingerprints on file. She can’t just leave them all over the place willy-nilly.”

  “I suppose.”

  Nancy moved the conversation to other topics as if that settled questions regarding Zabrina. Her friend might be convinced Zabrina was an international spy, but Margot had doubts. She didn’t have time to focus on their unfriendly neighbor just yet. She would get around to it soon enough.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Why are we here?”

  “You know why, Odds. I told you why.”

  “Because you’re mad I didn’t talk?”

  “No, and stop sounding like I’m punishing you.” She opened the bag and peeked in at him. He had those eyes, so wide they were almost round instead of almond-shaped. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t a punishment, and you know it.”

  “What if it’s bad news?”

  She had considered that, and it scared her. Three times she had put off the trip and changed her mind. Funny enough, it had been Nancy who shoved her out the door and told her not to return until she had visited the psychic.

  “Some nerve,” Margot muttered.

  She checked the handwritten address on a slip of paper Nancy had given her. This was the place, and it was obvious, what with the word psychic in big block letters along one side of the doo
rframe and signs on getting a spiritual reading about love and money on the other side.

  Margot wanted to turn around and go back home, but if she did that Nancy would question her, and she couldn’t lie to her friend. Besides, it wouldn’t solve her dilemma. She had to know if Odds really could speak, and this might be her only way of knowing.

  Stairs led up to a second floor studio, which was almost too dark for Margot to see where to step. A deep but decidedly feminine voice beckoned her farther, and Margot forced a smile.

  “Hello, I’m—”

  “Shh, not yet. Come in and have a seat.”

  Doubtful, Margot did as she was asked, putting a hand out to feel her way. The longer she was in the studio, the more her eyes adjusted, and she began to make out details. She realized her fear and the brightness of the summer sun might have contributed to her blindness.

  Decorated in deep, rich colors like purple and wine, the studio seemed cozy enough. A small round table occupied the center of the hardwood floor. Under it a paisley carpet, and two cushioned armchairs were pulled close to the table. In one of the chairs, a woman with long, dark hair and exotic, mysterious eyes regarded Margot.

  Margot stirred from one foot to the other as if she had to use the facilities. In fact, as she thought of it, she believed she did. Nerves did that to her sometimes. She ignored the call to nature, partly because she didn’t want to do it here in this scary place.

  “Come and sit down,” the woman said more firmly.

  Margot swallowed and took a seat. Now that she had stepped closer, she saw a globe that was a great imitation of the moon sat in the center of the table. She touched it and felt a spark of electricity. Was this the power of the psychic?

  The woman held out a hand, and Margot put hers in the psychic’s palm. A shake of the dark head. “Not yet. Cash.”

  Margot winced. “Of course.” She opened her bag and reached in for her wallet. Odds stirred, but didn’t pop his head out as he usually did. Margot wondered if he was as nervous as she was. She let him be for now. “Is this enough?”

  The woman snatched the bill from Margot’s fingers and held it up to the dim lighting above them. “It will do. Now, what can I help you with? Love? A bit old, but not dead yet, huh?”

  Margot straightened her back, insulted. “I have many more years in me, but I’m not here about love. It’s Odds.”

  A slow grin spread over the woman’s face. “Ah, playing the odds? You want to increase your fortune? I can certainly help you with that.”

  Odds’ head popped free of the bag. “This one is going to be fun.”

  “Now you’re interested?” Margot frowned at Odds. He climbed out of the bag and onto the table. Cheeky as usual, he strode on light paws toward the psychic and sat down in front of her. Margot leaned forward over the table, excited to hear her impression.

  “I’m not a fan of cats,” was the first response. She had gone stiff.

  “But don’t people like you usually—”

  “Don’t believe the stereotypes!”

  Margot’s hope was fading fast, but she refused to give up yet. “Do you hear him?”

  Odds said nothing of course.

  “Oh, you mean, can I speak to him? Why if he was a spirit guide in the form of an animal, certainly.” The woman touched her forehead and shut her eyes. “In fact, I believe I’m getting something. It’s not clear just yet.”

  Her other palm stretched toward Margot. Odds sniffed it, and she drew back as if bitten. Margot began to realize she truly didn’t like cats. How would she ever be open to hearing him if he scared her?

  “Say something, Odds,” Margot whispered. “At least make an effort. We’ve come all this way.”

  Odds yawned and looked straight at the woman. “It smells like mothballs in here. I don’t like mothballs. They burn my nose.”

  Margot blinked at the psychic, willing her to have heard. “Did you get that, dear?”

  “Yes!” The woman swayed. “I am getting something. She peeked at Margot. “Just to be clear, you don’t know what he’s saying exactly, right? You just believe he’s speaking?”

  Margot hesitated.

  “Say no.”

  “No.”

  The woman nodded. She shook her hands, eyes closed, and chanted. “I’m getting…a number.”

  “A number?”

  “Yes, three. Three is your lucky number.”

  Odds looked at Margot.

  “So you’re saying that Odds is saying the number three?”

  “Yes, the odds are three.”

  None of that made any sense. The only thing that did was that the woman didn’t realize the cat’s name was Odds, not that Margot had any interest in some type of odds. The last vestige of hope she had died. This woman was obviously a fraud, but even as a fraud, she had neither proven nor disproved that Odds spoke to Margot. She was left to the situation continuing as it had, and she was down twenty hard-earned dollars.

  “Thank you for your help,” Margot said and stood. “Come along, Odds. In the bag you go.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she mumbled over an explanation, but Margot tucked Odds away and turned to leave.

  “Don’t give up!”

  Margot froze and turned back. “Pardon?”

  Embarrassment stood stark in the pale face. “Don’t lose hope. I’m not who you were looking for, but that doesn’t mean…uh…there’s not someone who is.”

  This encouragement took Margot by surprise. The woman didn’t come right out and acknowledge she was a fraud.

  “You’re saying there are other psychics who might be able to hear Odds?”

  The woman paled even more.

  Margot felt sorry for her. “Hear him clearer, I mean.”

  A smile. “Yes, thank you. There are other psychics who would hear him clearer. Don’t give up.”

  The words were little comfort coming from someone who took money pretending to hear spiritual messages, but she grasped onto them anyway. “Thank very much, dear. I appreciate you saying so. Have a nice day.”

  “You too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Why are we here?”

  “Hush, Odds. You ask that everywhere we go. Think of it as an adventure.”

  The little head turned this way and that, taking in their surroundings, the old buildings, the trash in the gutters, the homeless man on the opposite side of the street—thank heavens. “This is adventure?”

  “Yes,” she said stubbornly.

  “We’re following Donut Girl, and later we get to trail Dog Girl. Fun.”

  “She’s not a dog girl,” Margot explained. “Remember, Pamela said she works with dogs and cats.”

  “She didn’t like me.”

  “She talked to you.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s the other crazy one. Now I remember.”

  “Honestly, Odds. Who have we been discussing all this time?”

  He didn’t appear to care one way or another.

  Margot fell back far enough—she hoped—behind Lara not to be discovered. What kept Margot most interested was the fact that Lara wore low-heeled shoes that easily could have made the prints behind the tree. She had already come to the conclusion the prints couldn't have been made by Zabrina because the heels of her shoes were so skinny, they probably didn’t make much of an imprint at all.

  When Lara closed the donut shop, she had walked along the street into a neighborhood Margot wasn’t familiar with. Of course, she wasn’t familiar with many areas of New York. This one seemed even less savory than where she lived, and she kept looking around to be sure she and Odds were safe.

  “I don’t know what I expect to find, Odds,” she said, making conversation to keep her mind occupied. “Something isn’t right about how Charles Olsen died.”

  Odds peered at her from the ground.

  “And you, mister.”

  Oval eyes winked at her.

  “There’s something you’re not saying also.”

  Meow.
>
  “Don’t meow me.” She stopped walking and pointed a finger at him. “You were against me getting the dog-walking job, and every time I want to look into what happened at the park, you stop talking.”

  “You’re blaming the innocent cat? I guess you think I killed him?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Where’s Donut Girl?”

  Margot scanned the street, but Lara was nowhere in sight. After hurrying to the next corner, Margot checked a narrow side street. Still nothing. She stamped her foot. “Dagnabbit, we lost her, Odds.”

  He busily sniffed a wadded napkin on the ground.

  “I don’t suppose you could sniff her out?”

  Odds raised his head in the arrogant way only a cat could pull off. “Ask Frankie.”

  “Oh, you! Let’s go. We have no choice but to follow Pamela.”

  They took the bus, Margot already feeling the drags of fatigue. She had spent more that month than she intended to, and she hadn’t managed to get any extra jobs. When they arrived at the animal shelter, she decided to go inside rather than wait outside for Pamela to get off work. Maybe she could meet a few new owners and entice them into hiring someone to walk their dog while they were at work.

  “Good afternoon,” Margot said when she entered the center. A young man about Pamela’s age, she guessed or maybe a few years younger stood behind the counter. Warm brown eyes twinkled at Margot without wavering. She had been all set to bring out Odds as a point of focus for Pamela.

  “Hello, ma’am,” the man said with an enthusiastic smile, “ready to meet your new friend?”

  She chuckled. “Oh, no, the old one is more than a handful, thank you.”

  “The old one?”

  She set her bag on the counter, and Odds looked out. If little Dottie had grabby hands, this gentleman made her seem standoffish. He scooped Odds into his arms to cradle. “Isn’t he cute? His fur is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Odds yowled in protest.

  “I’m sure there are tons of silver haired cats,” Margot said, just to annoy Odds further. She laughed at the way he seemed to frown when the man pressed a cheek against his.

  “Not this shade.” The young man looked up. “I’m Tom, by the way, Mrs…?”