Odds Ball (Margot and Odds Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Audrey Claire

  “Did Zabrina know Mr. Cordova?” Margot asked, and Estella’s eyes widened before she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “Why would you ask about Zabrina? She has nothing to do with this, and I can guarantee you she doesn’t know Brock Cordova. They don’t run in the same circles.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Estella,” Margot was happy to inform her. “Zabrina did know him.”

  Estella huffed. “Zabrina Fague—”

  “Doesn’t exist.” Peter arrived at Margot’s side. She blinked up at him in surprise seeing him soaking wet and running a towel over his head. “Come with me, Margot. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Peter, dear, why are you wet?” Margot stretched to look beyond the crowd to the courtyard doors. Rain pelted the glass, obstructing the view, and every so often a flash of lightning lit up the sky. As if on cue, the lights flickered in the ballroom, and gasps rose around the room.

  “We’re being hit by a nor’easter,” one of female guests explained. “The weatherman said it wouldn’t hit until closer to morning.”

  “He was wrong,” another guest moaned.

  “Well, we’re at a hotel. I’m going to go arrange for a room.”

  Peter dropped the towel on his shoulder. “I’m afraid no one can leave the ballroom until I verify every person. No one leaves the hotel until I locate the person calling herself Zabrina Fague. Margot, come along.”

  While Margot followed Peter out to the hall and up the stairs where the murder had occurred, she speculated over what Peter could mean. Zabrina, calling herself Zabrina? Was it true what Nancy had suspected all along? Margot refused to believe it, but she had seen everything with her own eyes. Zabrina pushed that man over the balcony to his death. All that kept running through Margot’s head was the hatred in Zabrina’s expression when she argued with Brock Cordova. What had he done, and how did she know him? Most of all, where was Zabrina now?

  Chapter Four

  “I hope you don’t mind, Peter, but my feet hurt something terrible,” Margot told him. “I must sit down.”

  Peter gestured to the chair Margot had occupied earlier. “By all means.” He pulled out his little familiar notebook as she dropped into it.

  Now that the lights were on, Margot got a better look at the room. The area could be a sitting room from her old home when she lived with her ex-husband. Maybe that’s why she had fallen asleep so easily. She missed the finer things she had owned, the comforts of her previous life. Her feet had never hurt the way they did now because as Estella said she had no need to work at the time.

  “Ms. Gardner?”

  Margot snapped out of her reverie of the past. “Peter, stop this nonsense calling me Ms. Gardner. We’re friends, aren’t we? It’s Margot.”

  One side of his mouth turned up. “Margot. Zabrina Fague is one of the tenants at your apartment building, isn’t she?”

  “She is, but why do you say she doesn’t exist, Peter? Wouldn’t you have found that out during the last investigation?”

  “Someone was very clever in creating an identify for her. I dug deeper. The name is an alias.”

  “Then who is she?”

  A knock at the door, which Peter had closed, produced the other officer. Margot thought the moisture across his forehead and the wetness at his underarm area wasn’t rainwater. He held Odds, a disgruntled expression on his face. “I found this scratching at the door. I don’t know how it got in, but I’m going to find somewhere to dump it until the investigation is over.”

  Margot screamed. “Odds. Don’t you dare dump him!”

  “Is that Odds?” Peter asked.

  The cat wiggled in the officer’s hold and dragged claws over his face. He yelped, and his hand went to the gun at his hip at the same time Odds got loose. Odds scurried beneath a chair.

  “Officer Jones,” Peter snapped. “You weren’t about to shoot him, were you?”

  “I…uh… I don’t really like animals.” His face reddened. “He scratched me.”

  Margot sniffed, glaring at him and shaking. “How dare you treat Odds that way. Peter, you have people like this working for you?”

  Officer Jones scowled. “I am working with Detective Crandell, ma’am. The arrangement is temporary. And this room is part of an active crime scene. Your cat can’t be in here.”

  Margot struggled to her feet and faced him. “If he was here when the murder took place, then he can!” Realizing what she had just said, Margot clamped her teeth together but resisted covering her mouth. She peeked over at Peter, but since he didn’t appear surprised, she wondered if he didn’t already know about her witnessing the murder. Of course he did. Why else would he bring her to the very room?

  “Have a seat, Margot,” Peter said, not unkindly. “It seems my witness was correct in the claim that you were seen exiting this room directly after the murder.”

  She twisted her hands together in her lap. “Am I being accused of murder?”

  “No,” Peter said.

  “We don’t know that yet,” Jones said.

  Peter scowled at him and then focused on his notes. “Several people report seeing the woman calling herself Zabrina Fague fleeing the scene after Brock Cordova fell from this balcony. Were you in the room when it happened, Margot?”

  She swallowed.

  “Margot?”

  She fidgeted in her seat, remembering what Jimmy had said earlier, how he worried about Zabrina and would Margot support her if anything happened. Was this what he expected to happen, for Zabrina to commit murder? Surely, he didn’t think Margot would condone such a thing. Margot didn’t know Zabrina well, but the woman hadn’t appeared unhinged. There was something between Brock Cordova and her. If he were for instance a stalker, wouldn’t her pushing him be considered self-defense?

  At Margot’s line of thoughts, she nodded and looked up at Peter. “I believe Brock Cordova was stalking Zabrina, and she had no choice but to defend herself.”

  Officer Jones muttered a filthy word, and Peter glared at him. Margot squeezed her hands together tighter on her lap. Peter moved in front of Margot and sat on the edge of a footrest. “Margot, knowing your interest in these types of investigations, I’m sure you understand why I can’t just draw conclusions without gathering all the facts.”

  “Of course, Peter, that would be silly.”

  He raised his eyebrows, and she sighed. “I saw Zabrina push the older gentleman, and he just happened to fall over the balcony railing.”

  “Just happened to?” Jones snapped.

  “Was he attacking her in any way that you saw, Margot?” Peter asked.

  She hesitated, but she couldn’t lie. “No. He held up his hands while she dug into her purse.”

  “Then she had a weapon,” Jones said.

  Margot swiveled her head in his direction. “Now who’s jumping to conclusions? I didn’t say she had a weapon. Nor did I say he held his hands up as if he was afraid.”

  “We’re getting nowhere with this woman. I wonder if she saw anything.” Jones stalked over to Margot, and she shrank from him. Perhaps she should get out her pepper spray. Now that she thought of it, maybe that’s what Zabrina was doing to ward off Brock Cordova. Margot wouldn’t suggest it though lest they accuse her of making things up again. Jones seemed to want to intimidate her, and Margot swore if Peter weren’t there, it would have worked. Why was Peter working with such a terrible person? “Did you see or hear anything else, Mrs. Gardner?”

  “That’s Ms. Gardner to you,” she corrected Jones. He didn’t need to call her Margot. “It was hard to hear above the laughter and music outside. The only words I heard clearly were the ones when Zabrina told Mr. Cordova she hates him.”

  “You’ve done it now. She’s going to jail because of you.”

  Margot’s head spun. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t—” She clamped her teeth together, trying to calm down. Peter scratched in his notebook. Margot glanced from one man to the other.

  “Is there anything else
you recall, Margot?” Peter asked.

  Guilt made her keep silent about the earlier argument. If she was wrong and she caused that poor girl to go to prison, she would never forgive herself. “No. Do you know Zabrina’s real name, Peter?”

  “That’s privileged information,” Jones said. “You don’t need to—”

  “Patricia Cordova.”

  Margot gaped. “Cordova?”

  “Yes, she was the only daughter of Brock Cordova, and she’s been missing for years.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Margot had never imagined Zabrina was someone more than what she presented to the world. She had been hiding from her father, but why? Brock Cordova had said he loved Zabrina in the hall, but she had rebuffed the sentiment. Margot had to admit he did seem a bit controlling, telling the young woman she belonged with him. Margot looked up at Peter. “Are you arresting Zabrina?”

  “I haven’t concluded what I’ll do yet.”

  A knock sounded at the door before Peter could say more. Jones opened it, and one of the uniformed officers stepped inside, clutching Zabrina Fague’s elbow, or rather Patricia Cordova.

  “Ms. Cordova, thank you for joining us,” Peter said.

  Her mouth tightened. “My name is Zabrina Fague. Don’t ever call me by that name.”

  “It is your given name, isn’t it?”

  Zabrina’s gaze swiveled around the room until she settled on Margot. “Why is she here?”

  “You’re right. Margot, please excuse us.” Peter held out a hand to help Margot rise. She was grateful for the help but disappointed to have to leave.

  “How could she possibly help?” Zabrina demanded. “If it’s about—” She stopped, and Peter paused, waiting for her to continue. Zabrina stomped over to a chair and dropped down onto it. Her gaze slid to the balcony, and she shivered then shut her eyes, bowing her head. Pale and weary from the set of her shoulders, she looked like she might faint. Margot hesitated to leave the room, but Jones tugged her arm to get her moving.

  Margot jerked free and raised her chin. “You do not rush a woman of my age. I’ll move under my own steam, thank you. Come along, Odds.”

  Odds poked his nose out from beneath the couch where Zabrina sat and spotted Peter. With one good leap, he jumped to Peter’s shoulder. As was his habit when meeting Odds, Peter raised a hand to tickle him behind the ears. Odds purred.

  Margot moved to the door and then had a thought. If she left Odds in the room, he might be able to tell her what was said. Unfortunately, Peter pulled Odds into his arms and carried him to Margot. In a few moments, the two of them were firmly trundled to the hall with the door shut behind them.

  “Well, that was useless,” Margot complained. She let Odds slip to the floor because she couldn’t carry him and hold onto railing to navigate the stairs. Margot descended to the lower level but bypassed the ballroom. Security might be looking for her now, and she had no wish to be forced out into the storm. She would head up to Nancy’s room and get her bearings. Then she and Odds would start their own investigation.

  Chapter Five

  Margot scurried as much as her aching feet allowed her to down the hall. Every so often, she stopped and pressed herself to the wall. Just ahead of her, Odds, who thought nothing of prancing down the center of the passage, glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “Do you have an itch?”

  “I’m trying to get you back to Nancy’s without anyone seeing.” She waved a hand at him. “Get back here, Odds.”

  He turned away and swished his tail back and forth as he stared down the hall. Margot followed his line of sight. They had only a few feet before they reached the bank of elevators, and there were no turns or alcoves at this point where they could hide. Margot sucked in a deep breath and hurried the last few steps. She stabbed the Up button over and over while glancing around. The bell dinged, and the doors slid open. All the blood must have left her head, because she swayed.

  A gentleman’s hand extended to hers, and she was transported back thirty some odd years to a ball she actually enjoyed attending. Margot pressed a hand to her chest and looked into the distinguished man’s soft blue eyes. The wrinkles around the corners and the perfectly ordered salt and pepper hair atop his head gave her a flutter in her belly. She lectured herself that she was behaving like Nancy, but she couldn’t pull herself together.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked in a deep, soothing voice.

  Margot fluttered her lashes and just grinned at him.

  Fingers snapped in front of her face, and a strident and rude tone cut across her fantasy. “Margot, what the heck is wrong with you? Have you gone senile? Margot!”

  Margot frowned. Her bubble popped, and she found herself back to the present, old, frumpy, and definitely no longer in this well-dressed gentleman’s purview. She straightened and tugged her hand free to glare at Jimmy. “I’m fine, Jimmy, and I don’t need your insults. Besides, you should be more concerned about your girlfriend than me.”

  The older man looked at Jimmy. “Girlfriend?”

  Jimmy blanched. “I told you, Dad. I’ve been posing…” He looked at Margot and grabbed the man’s arm to drag him around Margot. The man nodded at Margot, excused himself, and then walked on.

  “Yup, that apartment building is filled with liars. You picked a great place to live.”

  Margot tore her eyes from the two men and looked around for Odds. He sat atop the table on this floor, which also held a phone. Right then, Odds hid behind a vase of flowers. If she hadn’t been looking for him, she wouldn’t have found him. All that stuck out from the wide arrangement was his tail.

  “Odds, you are a clever cat.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  She strode over to him and peered behind the vase. He winked at her with a bored expression. “Did you notice Jimmy called him Dad?”

  “And he said he was posing.”

  “Posing as what?” Margot wondered, but she was distracted that Odds for the first time had come straight out with assisting her in ordering the facts. Usually, he hinted around or plain obstructed her progress, all for his own entertainment, she supposed. “I’ll get you upstairs first and then see if I can’t track them down to learn more.”

  “Are you sure it’s not about that old man?”

  “He’s hardly an old man, Odds.”

  “You’re old.”

  “If you keep giving me cheek, you will stay in the room the rest of the weekend, young man.”

  He yowled and jumped to the floor to prance over to the elevators. Margot followed and pressed the button again. This time when the car arrived it was empty, and they stepped on. Odds got antsy riding the elevator and jumped into her arms. Distracted, Margot didn’t pay attention to his claws scratching her arm, but on some level she felt the pain.

  When they let themselves into Nancy’s room, Nancy was sitting in bed, eating from a tin of cheese balls and watching the weather on TV. Her curls were flattened on one side, and one of her old housedresses covered the nice outfit Margot had helped her pick for the trip to the hotel.

  “Nancy, where did you get those cheese balls?” Margot frowned at the assorted items on Nancy’s bed, none of which had been there when she left.

  “I ordered them,” she said.

  “I’m pretty sure the hotel doesn’t offer cheese balls on the room service menu.”

  “Kkkkleptooo.”

  “Shush, Odds.”

  “I peeked into the hall to see if you were coming,” Nancy said. “You weren’t, but this time I made sure I had my card key. Odds wasn’t here either.”

  “That’s when you broke into someone else’s room?”

  Margot rubbed her forehead and sat down. Nancy continued because of course she couldn’t hear Odds accusing her.

  “I wanted to come down to the ball, but I wasn’t sure where it was.” Nancy pouted. “I was very lonely, so I turned on the news. Do you know there’s a storm, Margot, and it’s much worse than the forecaster predicted? They’re advising
people to stay inside until the worst is over.”

  “I know about the storm, Nancy, but there are fouler things about.”

  Nancy popped another ball into her mouth and munched. Her fingertips were all orange, and so were her lips. “Like what?”

  “Like a murder.”

  Nancy’s eyes rounded, and she scrambled to the edge of the bed, almost toppling over it in her haste. “Please tell me my almost husband isn’t the suspect, Margot! I’m beginning to think murder follows you around. We might need to get an exorcist in. Might be a fun party. I’ll have to think about it when we get back to the apartment. We can invite all our friends.”

  “Nancy.”

  “What do you think would be good with an exorcism, Margot? Chicken or beef?”

  “Strait jacket.”

  Despite herself, Margot snorted trying to stifle a laugh. Then she recalled the serious situation and Zabrina’s possible conviction. “I don’t have time to discuss it with you, Nancy. I have to change and get back downstairs.”

  “I’m coming along. I’ve been locked up in this room long enough.”

  Margot sighed. “Are you sure, dear? I don’t want you to have an episode and we have to bring you back.”

  Nancy licked at the orange stain on her thumb. “Heavens, I think this isn’t coming off. My bleach spray would cut through it, but that’s at home.”

  “Bleach spray!”

  “The clues to her crazy are falling into place. It’s the fumes.”

  “Nancy, go take a shower. I’m sure you’ll be just fine, but hurry. I want to catch them.”

  “Catch who?” Nancy didn’t move, but Margot directed her toward the bathroom with a gentle push. “And you didn’t tell me if you’ve seen my almost husband again. He’s not in trouble, is he?”