Authors: Audrey Claire
Chapter Three
“Oh, dear,” Margot whispered and covered her mouth as she stepped out of the taxi.
The moving van rolled in front of the taxi and came to a brake-squealing stop. The drivers jumped down from truck but rather than preparing to unload right away, they leaned against the vehicle and eyed the property.
Tears came to Margot’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “This is it?”
“This is the address you gave me, lady.” The driver thumped Margot’s bags on the ground and stuck his hand out.
“Be careful with those. They cost more than you can imagine,” she said, eying the rumpled, outdated, and just plain worn out clothing he chose to step into public wearing that day. Then she averted her eyes, not wanting to hurt the poor man’s feelings.
Wait a minute.
I’m
the poor now!
Rejecting the thought because it didn’t bear thinking on, she said, “I guess this is my new apartment building. Doesn’t look like much. They tell me the place is on the second floor.”
“Uh-huh,” the man said. “My pay, lady.”
“Calling me lady is very rude, sir. How about Mrs. Gardner?”
“How would I know your name?”
“Fine.” She huffed. “Well at least get the bags and come along.”
She started for the building but didn’t hear him move and turned back. The driver stood beside his car pulling a cell phone from his jacket.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I said it’s the second floor.”
“If you’re not going to pay me, I’m calling the cops, and I’m holding the bags as collateral.”
Margot yelped and ran toward the man as he started picking her suitcases up one by one and tossing them into the trunk of his car. She grabbed for a handle and almost flew in after the bag as he swung it wide. “Stop,” she screamed.
“Hey, you’re too loud,” a male voice shouted from the doorway. “I just got my little sister to sleep.”
Margot spun to spot a young man standing in the entrance to the apartment building. Sandy hair too long and hanging in his eyes, faded jeans that hung low on narrow hips, and a T-shirt she couldn’t read because it too was worn out, but she thought maybe the picture included a guitar. She put the boy at fourteen or fifteen despite his scrawny build.
“You, young man,” she called to him. “Help me get these bags.”
He stared at her.
“Please,” she added as an afterthought.
The boy looked from her to the driver to the van where the moving men hadn’t bothered to get shuffling yet. She assumed their reluctance to enter the fray stemmed from the berating she had given them over the items she had refused to part with at her house.
“I think you better pay the man first,” the boy said. “Else whatever you have in there is going to be sold at the next flea market.”
“Flea?” she squeaked.
A look at the taxi driver again gave truth to the boy’s words. While the man hadn’t followed through with his threat to call the police, he did look prepared to drive away with her things.
Sighing, Margot opened her purse and removed her wallet. She pealed off a few precious bills and laid them in the sweaty open palm.
“Three dollars change,” she insisted.
He frowned. “Jeez, you’re cheap, lady. Not even a tip?”
“You manhandled my bags, and you were very rude. Besides, in truth, I don’t have a lot, so if I get extra and see you again, we will see.”
He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work. Have a nice day.”
After slinging the last of her bags onto the pavement, the driver slammed his trunk, hopped into his vehicle, and drove away. Margot glanced up to the moving van men and signaled, pointing to her bags. One of the men shrugged and pointed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate all her other items.
“I’ll help you,” the boy said walking up to her. “The sooner you’re quiet, the better. If my mom gets back and…oh never mind. You’re the new tenant in 205, right? I’m Kenny Jones. We live in 102.”
The tight fist squeezing Margot’s heart eased as she faced Kenny. “Well, thank you, young man. Yes, I think that’s what my lease says.”
She looked up at the building, big, square, and many-windowed with gray peeling paint that once had been white. The red bricks had been painted that color. From the appearance now that she had moved closer, no one bothered to scrape off the old peeling layer. They just sealed it beneath a topcoat.
Outside a few windows on the upper levels were fire escapes, and the ladders were all raised. She wondered if they were rusted in place. This was where she would live from now on. The relief Kenny’s offer of help brought dissipated as fast as it surfaced.
“You don’t know?” Kenny said.
“Know what?” She bent to pull one of the suitcases upright.
“Which apartment you’re in.” He frowned at her, and she noticed her guess was right. He was stronger than he looked, carrying three bags at once to the stoop. “Didn’t you come see it? Oh, I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember.”
“Well I never.” Margot waggled a finger at him. “I’ll have you know, I have a sharp mind, a very sharp mind! I don’t know because I handled everything on the phone, and I convinced the solicitor to help with finding this place even though he… never mind.”
Kenny still appeared doubtful of her mental faculties. “Well, Mrs…”
“Oh, where are my manners, Kenny? I’m Margot Gardner, and don’t call me Mrs. anything. Just call me Margot.”
“Well, Ms. Margot,” he said, “you probably should have come to see what you were getting into.” He nodded toward the shoddy outside of the building. “From the looks of these bags and all that junk those guys have in that truck, you might not be forgetful, but you sure are nive.”
“Nive?” She chuckled for the first time since she had learned of her husband’s duplicity. “I think you mean naïve, Kenny.”
His face burned, and she decided then and there she liked him.
“Why do you say I’m naïve?”
He aimed his chin toward the truck. “Because that stuff will never fit in your apartment, not even in the storage unit in the basement. But at least the cat will help keep any rodents away.”
Margot’s heart sank. She should have known. Then she gasped, realizing what Kenny had said. “Rodents! What cat?”
Chapter Four
“What in heaven’s name is a pet fee?” Margot asked as she followed Kenny to the basement. She tried to shoo him along the rickety stairs at a faster pace, since she had had to part with a few more bills to keep the moving men waiting on the street. They had already offloaded her essentials, some of which didn’t fit through the doorway into her new closet-sized apartment. Not without causing a scratch on the desk that felt like a scratch on her heart.
“It’s in case the pet does any damage. You don’t get the money back,” Kenny explained.
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have a pet.” She glanced over her shoulder at the feline that had leaped down from the top of one Victorian bureau in the van to land gracefully at her feet. Since then, the beast with bright green eyes and silver coat hadn’t let her out of his sight.
“He don’t know that.” Kenny reached for a door handle at the bottom of the steps and jangled keys.
“Doesn’t,” she corrected without thinking.
“Don’t,” Kenny insisted. “Are you sure he’s not yours?”
“I’ve never had a pet.” She had always wanted one though, but as a child, her dad had claimed to be allergic whenever she asked. Later, she believed he wasn’t being truthful. Then when she married Lou, he had been adamant. He hated animals, and they weren’t getting one.
“Well you can talk to the Super about it when you see him.”
As soon as Kenny opened the basement door, Margot wrinkled her nose against the horrid smell. Was this what vermin smelled like or was it just…normal? She glanced at Kenny to gauge his reaction, and he had covered his nose, his eyes watering. Maybe not so normal.
They braved into the stench and walked along the aisle with cages that looked like something Margot had seen on television once, like chicken coops.
How lovely.
“Where is the building supervisor?” she asked.
“No idea. Don’t care until we need something fixed.”
“I thought he would meet me here when I arrived and well, have people waiting to help me move in.”
Kenny laughed. “You really thought that?”
She glared at him. “Well, I didn’t think I would find my keys stuck in my door like that.”
“Not like there was anything to steal.”
Meow.
Margot glanced down at the cat, which had run ahead to tangle between her ankles. “Move, you, before you make me fall.”
The cat meowed again.
“What is it? Get out of the way. I’m an old lady, and if I fall, it won’t be good.” Over the last few years, she realized her fears of falling had escalated. Maybe if she got more exercise, moved around more. That might help.
Meow!
Honestly, had the cat just fussed at her? Margot stopped walking, but Kenny moved ahead, counting out the numbers that hung above the stalls as he went. “203, 204, 205. This is yo—”
Kenny let out an expletive.
“Kenny! Watch your mouth. It’s very rude to speak that way in front of a lady.”
“Go upstairs, Ms. Margot.”
“What?”
“Go upstairs!”
She stared at him, wondering at the about face in his attitude. He might be a teenager, but she had thought he was one of the rare few who respected the older generation. He even took care of his little sister when his mom had to work, but this cheek. No, she wouldn’t stand for it.
Margot started toward him, but once against the cat got in the way. She stumbled over him, grumbling and ready to utter a few choice words herself. “What is going on around here?”
She reached Kenny’s side, no thanks to the darn cat, and examined the cage. In that instant, all the blood drained from Margot’s head, and dizziness tipped her straight toward the concrete floor.
Chapter Five
Margot opened her eyes to a buzzing in her ears and a sting on her arm. She winced at the pain and worked her jaw to clear her ears. As she started to sit up, strong hands held her down. She gave a small cry, but a deep voice that seemed to come with the hands urged her to be still.
“Take it easy, miss,” the man said.
Margot’s eyes widened, and she looked up into a handsome face. If she were twenty years younger, she’d be…
“Still old.”
She looked around. “Who said that?”
The man’s brow wrinkled, and he touched her forehead with the back of his fingers. “I did. Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Margot brushed his hand aside. “I can see just fine! Now let me up, or are you looking to try something with an old lady? I don’t mind telling you, I have a mean right hook.”
He chucked, revealing a slightly crooked but nice white smile. Margot bet his mama must be proud. She felt pang of disappointment. That was another thing Lou hadn’t wanted—kids.
The man released her and stepped back. “Take your time. That’s right.”
Margot swept her feet to the floor and straightened. She realized she had been lying on her own couch and wondered how she got there. At least this piece she had salvaged from her house, even if the style and quality didn’t fit with the dingy flowered wallpaper in this room. She would have to do something about it.
Then her memory came flooding back. “A body! Someone is dead!”
The man nodded. Now that Margot sat up, she began to take in more of her surroundings and the man who had been leaning over him. He wore a gun strapped in a holster beneath his left arm. A police badge hung from his belt, and she swallowed.
“So it wasn’t a nightmare?”
“’Fraid not. I’m Detective Louis Crandell of the NYPD, and there has indeed been a murder.”
Margot wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Louis? Do you have another name other than Louis?”
“Crandell,” he repeated drily.
She patted his arm. “I’ll call you Peter.” She looked away from his face and noticed the scratch on her arm, red, puckered, and with a bit of dried blood. “This is why my arm hurts.”
Scanning the room, she found the devious scamp, swishing his tail back and forth as he perched atop the Victorian someone had decided belonged wedged against the wall just inches from the kitchen doorway.
Margot pointed at the cat. “You scratched me.”
“Yes, I did. You fell on me! It was instinct.”
Margot shrieked. “Did you hear that?”
The detective blinked at her. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”
He hadn’t heard, she thought and pressed palms to her burning cheeks. Granted, the voice seemed to come from inside her head. Maybe she was going mad. No, it was the body, seeing someone dead. She had only ever seen her parents after they passed and her aunt, but she had been grieving so much back then. Lou had been by her side too, supporting her.
Margot stood and paced, careful to do it away from the suspicious cat. Her side hurt, but as she stretched some, she was reassured to find she probably hadn’t broken anything. So, she concluded, this must be the stress of finding someone murdered.
“W-who was it?” she had the presence of mind to ask, “and have you arrested the perpetrator yet?”
Peter gave her an apologetic look. “I’m afraid not yet, Mrs.—”
“Margot Gardner. You may call me Margot.” She sat because her hip was starting to ache more. Her hands shook some, but she clasped them in her lap. “Where’s Kenny. Is he all right?”
“I’m here, Ms. Margot.” Kenny walked into her apartment from the hall, and Margot tilted her head. The young man flushed and hurried back out. He knocked, and she called for him to come in. He did, frowning. “My mom told me to bring you this, said it will help you feel better.”
Margot stared down at the small white one-inch by one-inch square in the center of a crumpled napkin. “What is it?”
“Drugs. Eat it up.”
“It’s not drugs!” She gasped and covered her mouth.
“Why would I bring you drugs?” Kenny said, looking at her like she had marbles loose, and Margot would not have disagreed if he said so. “It’s just a piece her carrot cake. It’s her specialty, and she’s won ribbons for it and everything down at the Catholic Church.”
“Why is it so small? Oh, I’m sorry. That’s very unappreciative of me. Please tell your mom thank you for me, Kenny.”
He colored at her question and scratched the back of her head. “Well, uh, you see, my sister and I ate most of it this morning. Mom probably thought there was enough left when she told me to bring you some.”
Margot eyed him. “And I suppose she also expected you to put it on a plate and not this paper napkin?”
“Maybe.”
“Before this kid’s head pops from embarrassment,” Peter interjected, “I’d like to ask the two of you some questions.”
His words reminded Margot of the dire situation. “I still don’t know who died.”
“The Super,” Kenny provided grimly. “Somebody offed him and left him down the basement.”
Peter silenced him with a look. “As he put it, yes, the superintendent who worked here, a Mr. Coley Patterson,” he said, checking a small notebook he drew from his pocket.
Margot pressed a hand to her throat. “H-how?”
Peter hesitated.
“How, please.”
He sighed. “By stabbing. Now, I need to ask you did either of you hear or see anyone as you entered the basement?”
Kenny screwed up his face, concentrating. “No.”
Margot for some reason glanced at the cat. The wide green eyes blinked back at her, and she chided herself for one second believing the hallucinations could be real. “Well, even if we did hear something, it surely
wasn’t
the killer.”
Amusement made Peter’s blue eyes crinkle at the corners, and he folded his arms across his chest. “And why is that, Margot?”
She flushed at her age, pleased as punch a young man had felt comfortable calling her by her first name. “Well, Peter, because he has been dead a few days.”
“How many would you say?” Peter asked.
“Why are you asking her?” Kenny interrupted. “She just got here today, so she can’t be a suspect.”
Peter grinned. “You’re right, kid. I was just curious about what she’d say. The body has been picked up, and in a few, I’ll have the ME’s report. Now, as a way to appease my curiosity, let’s go over everything, shall we?”