Dough Knot Murder

by CeeCee James

  Baker Street Christmas

  CeeCee James

  Copyright © 2019 by CeeCee James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  I joked to my husband that I was going to dedicate this book to myself. Why? Very good question! Well each one of my other books (over twenty at the time of this publication) are dedicated to them! <3 And I realized that until another writer comes into the family I might never get a book dedicated to me.

  But, in truth, they are my heart. And in dedicating this to them, I am dedicating the story to those who make me the happiest. I want to go on to write something humorous, but I’m just getting to dang sappy to do it. So, without further ado, this is——

  For my Family, my favorite Christmas gifts of all. <3

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11 Recipes

  Blurb

  Christmas at Baker Street

  A short story with free recipes

  In this Baker Street spin-off, Oscar and Cecelia find themselves along with the guests of the bed-and-breakfast snowed in this Christmas holiday. What should be all sugar cookies and hot cocoa takes a drastic turn when one of the guests turns up cold—as in stone cold dead. With no help in sight, the two hope to find the killer before anyone else gets iced out. Including them.

  I love the Baker Street Series!

  Good mix of characters to keep you turning pages & looking forward to next.

  Reward yourself by making some of the recipes included!!!

  Be sure to read through the end to catch a few special recipes including Cecelia’s Christmas morning bread, a little something from Oscar, and my own secret Chicken Pot Pie! Plus a note from me! This story is special to me (I share a bit more about that at the end), and I hope you love this grumpy, darling man as much as I do! It turns out, the world would be a better place with a few more Oscars and Cecelias.

  Chapter 1

  The clouds in the sky lay across the horizon like a thick, gray, flannel blanket, threatening to ruin the rest of the day with a snow storm. It was not good news to the retired FBI agent who rubbed his arthritic hands together in an attempt to warm them. He blew a plume of mist on his fingers and then stuck them under his armpits.

  “Bear!” he yelled, his face getting lost behind another misty cloud. “Bear, get over here!”

  The man’s name was Oscar. Right about now he was feeling sorry for himself and in a big way. It was too dang cold to be standing out here doing the chilly-willy dance while waiting for that confounded-dog. There she was laughing at him from behind the crab-apple tree, tongue dangling out. He sighed and tried snapping his fingers. They were stiff, and the sound produced was like two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together. Not only did it irritate him further, it did no good in enticing the animal to come back.

  Oscar couldn’t believe he was in this predicament. He had just arrived home from spending far too much money at the grocery store—for the price of milk he expected there would be a calf included—when, upon opening his front door, the dog ran out, nearly tripping him in the process.

  The beast in question was a defiant, puffy Pomeranian who now dashed toward the bushes in a yellow blur. Mushy piles of leaves and mud, wet from an earlier cold rain, splashed on her underbelly.

  “Confound it, Bear! Will you get over here!” Wait. Was she thinking about rolling? Desperately, Oscar tried a new tactic. “I have a treat!” He threw out the last word with as much wheedling as his vocal cords that sounded like a chainsaw could attain.

  She sniffed around a pile of rotten crab apples, completely ignoring him. Oscar considered his last, desperate option. His late wife had named her Peanut, and he’d always detested it. The animal seemed in on the joke and never responded to her new name, try as he might.

  He might have to resort to calling her Peanut. Even worse, he might have to do it in a sing-song.

  A bell happily jingled from her jaunty red collar, causing the grizzled man’s eyebrows to lower even more. How had that gotten around her neck? He definitely would never do anything that silly.

  “What is that you have Has someone gussied you up, you little tumbleweed?” His eyebrows trembled like an avalanche about to fall.

  Behind him, soft footsteps came down the hall. “What are you grumbling about, Oscar?” A woman appearing close to his age poked her head out the front door, her white hair piled high in a bun. Her name was Cecelia, and she ran the bed-and-breakfast next door. She calmly wiped her hands on a dish towel, the corner of her mouth hinting at a smile. “I see you’re back, already. Did you get my ginger?”

  “What have you done to Bear?” Oscar asked, pointing indignantly to the prancing animal who now had a pinecone in her mouth. A leaf clung to the dog’s backside.

  “It’s Christmas time. Everything gets a little magical touch.” Cecelia rubbed her fingers together, pantomiming the sprinkling of pixie dust. She then did the motion over Oscar’s head. “Even you, Mr. Grumpsters.”

  Oscar’s eyes opened wide behind his thick glasses. “What the? I’m not—” he sputtered.

  “You are. You are. You are,” interrupted Cecelia, her voice all lightness and sweet, like how he’d imagine Mrs. Claus. “Grumpy as the day is long.”

  Oscar harrumphed loudly, a gift he’d perfected through much practice during his eighty some odd years.

  “Oh, come on, smile. Everyone loves a happy face.” Cecelia tapped the dimples in her pink cheeks, miming what she was encouraging him to do.

  Oscars scowl deepened. He did not smile on command.

  She danced the last few steps over to him and tucked her soft fingertips into the corners of his lips. Ever so slightly she pushed up. As soon as she released, his mouth dropped again.

  She frowned. “Oh, dear. Those muscles haven’t been used very much at all. You have a bit of atrophy going on there. Give it a try. You can do it.”

  He blinked, more stoic than ever.

  “Oh, pooh.” She stepped away, waving the towel at him dismissively, and then glanced up into the sky. “Is that a snowflake? Look, Oscar! It’s snowing. Right on time for Christmas! How magical!” Her breath frosted from her mouth in a soft curl. Oscar wouldn’t have been surprised if it formed a heart-shaped smoke ring.

  He resolutely shook his head. “We aren’t going to have any snow this year, I tell you.” He said it as if his very words would cause the storm to squeal like a frightened pig and run in the opposite direction.

  “Really? Well, let’s make a bet, then. How about if it snows you make dinner? If not, I will. I choose lasagna.” Without waiting for an answer, she called for the little dog, “Come on, Peanut!”

  The dog immediately dropped the pinecone and pranced along the path and up the stairs. She ran two tight circles around Cecelia and then scampered into Oscar’s house.

  Oscar’s lip quivered with indignation. He rubbed his arms and tried to hide a shiver from the chilly air.

  “Come on, let’s get these groceries unpacked and then help me get the decorations on the tree.” Cecelia tucked her arm into his and bent to help him gather the few bags he’d dropped in the entry way.

  Did she say tree? Oscar puzzled over that while they carried the groceries into the kitchen. Cecelia dropped them on the counter and imme
diately dug into them, smiling as she pulled out her ginger.

  Oscar attempted to pull the leaf off the dog cavorting his feet. “Bear! Stand still, will you? What do you have? Ants in your pants?” He plucked the leaf off and continued in the same grumpy tone, “What were you saying about a tree, Cecelia? What tree? I haven’t had one of those since the year of the freezing rain.”

  “Frank brought it over while you were out,” she answered, tucking the groceries away. Frank was her grandson, a retired military vet and a current police officer with the Gainesville police force. After shutting the last cupboard, she headed into the living room without waiting to see if Oscar would follow.

  Grumbling, Oscar sank into the saddleback kitchen chair to untie his shoes. It hurt his hands, but he soon had them off. As he trailed down the hallway to the living room after her, his nostrils widened as he caught scent of her lingering rosewater perfume hanging in the air. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, although he’d never let her catch him doing that.

  “Look. Isn’t it lovely?” Cecelia exclaimed when he came around the corner. She waved a hand at the giant tree that sat in the corner.

  Oscar’s mouth dropped. As far as trees go, it was a rather prestigious display. Fluffy-boughed and spilling the aroma of snappy fresh pine, it stood rather proudly in the corner.

  But a tree! In his own house! He pushed his glasses farther up his nose as he stared in horror. And was it… flocked white? It was!

  Oscar sank down into his easy chair which squeaked and squished from the years of accommodating him. He dug his toes into the worn flannels slippers he kept tucked under the coffee table. Bear jumped up and snuggled into his lap. Not that he’d say she was snuggling—more like hogging all the space. He dropped his hand to stroke her soft ears, and she gave his hand a little licky-kiss.

  The pup’s warmth calmed him, and he finally found the words to make an indignant objection. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t just put up a tree in someone’s home! They’re dirty, and lose needles, and have spiders.”

  “Oh, poo! Are you telling me that you’re afraid of a little spider?” Cecelia lifted the dog off his lap and held out a hand to help Oscar up. “Come on! It’s time to make new memories.”

  He stared at the tree grudgingly but slowly stood. He would never breath a hint of it, but sometimes he was no match for her. She kissed his cheek, and he smiled. Then she set down Bear and handed him a box of ornaments.

  Oscar glanced at the menagerie of ornaments in his hands, everything from gingerbread houses, to ice-cream cones and rocking horses. “How are ice-cream cones about Christmas?”

  She was already at the tree placing candy canes.

  Before she could answer, a fierce knocking rattled the front door. Bear exploded into barking and raced down the hall with a furry kick and a puff of fur.

  Who could that be? Oscar wondered, stomping after her. He reached the door with Bear running in circles around his feet.

  “Watch it, ya billy-pup. You’re going to trip me.”

  The dog ignored him. She continued to jump, with every third leap bringing her eye level to a skinny window next to the door. That was her power move, and she added an extra-intense note to her bark to show it.

  Oscar wrenched the door open.

  On the other side was a short man. He glanced dully at Oscar while weakly grasping the door frame. The man wore jeans and a thin jacket despite the cold temperature. His feet sported gray sneakers. As Oscar watched, the man slowly slumped to his knees. The stranger gasped, “Water.” Then he collapsed onto the worn straw welcome mat, one hand landing on Oscar’s freshly-slippered foot.

  Chapter 2

  Footsteps pattered rather frantically down the hallway, and a breathless Cecelia patted his back. “Oscar,” she puffed. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “Stay back,” he warned. Knees creaking, he lowered himself down to nudge the man on the shoulder. “Buddy, what’s the matter with you? You okay?”

  “Oscar?” Cecelia’s voice wavered. “Oh, my stars! What’s going on? Is he hurt?”

  Feeling his joints screaming, Oscar leaned down even deeper to feel the man’s neck. Seconds ticked by. Sighing, he slowly stood and glanced at Cecelia. “Call 911.”

  She peered down at the sprawled figure. “Lord have mercy. Oscar! I know who that is! He’s a guest at my bed-and-breakfast!”

  “You know him?”

  Her voice wavered. “Yes, yes. I know him. That there is Mike McElroy. Both he and his father have been with me for two days now. They were supposed to leave tomorrow.”

  Oscar shook his head. “Well, he’s not going home now. Or, you might say he’s already arrived.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Deader than a doornail.”

  Cecelia stuffed her knuckle into her mouth. “Oh, my word. The poor man! What am I going to tell his father?”

  “Let’s get the phone. This a job for the police to handle.”

  The ancient clock on the wall ticked, its glass face cracked from the time one of Oscar’s teenaged sons accidentally hit it with a tennis racket. He thought about his sons now—over twenty years had passed since he’d last seen them. What were they doing? Would they ever forgive him?

  His face flushed. He couldn’t think about that now. He sucked back the emotions and glanced across the kitchen table at Cecilia. “How you doing?”

  “Well, to be honest, I feel like I can’t breathe until the emergency personnel get here. I even thought about opening the kitchen window. I swear it’s like some strange sort of claustrophobia.”

  Oscar nodded. “It is pretty odd. And here we are, staring at each other like two store mannequins.”

  “I don’t even know how to act.” She sighed and stirred her tea, cold and ignored except to be used to spin her spoon again and again. “This is all so sad. It’s bringing to mind how important it is to make an effort to not fight with your loved ones. Poor Steve—that’s Mike’s father. The two of them fought like cats and dogs from the moment they checked in to my place. Even something as simple as beverages caused them problems. For example, at breakfast this morning Steve asked his son if he wanted some coffee, and Mike answered that he hated coffee and only drank energy drinks and to leave him alone.” She shook her head. “Those drinks are such a nasty habit. I bet they contributed to Mike’s bad attitude."

  Then Cecelia flushed with self-reproach, realizing that the man she’d just said had a bad attitude was lying on the front stoop.

  After that, the conversation between Oscar and Cecelia petered out with the silence only being broken by the clock and the tapping of Cecelia’s spoon.

  Finally, the sounds of sirens came down the street, making the couple sigh in relief. Yet the two were soon flung from one bizarre set of circumstances and into another as the surreal calm they’d been trying to swaddle themselves with was shredded with emergency personnel scuttling about the porch and through kitchen.

  It was a rather nice surprise to Cecelia to see that one of the officers was her grandson’s police partner.

  “Evening, Ms. Wagner,” said the young officer, nodding his head. His name was Jefferson, and his body was shaped like a Slim Jim jerky stick. His clean-shaven face was serious now. Come to think of it, no-one had ever saw him smile much.

  Officer Jefferson asked, “So you’re saying this man was a guest at your bed-and-breakfast?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the thick hedges that divided Cecelia’s place from Oscar’s home.

  Cecelia patted her bun, searching for stray hairs, as she nodded. “Yes, both he and his father. Oh, my stars. His father doesn’t even know what just happened. One of you all need to go tell him.” She stood on her tip-toes to see out the window. “I’m surprised there are no guests wandering about outside right now, wondering what the commotion is over here.”

  “It’s actually not so surprising. On cold days people tend to stay inside. Now, exactly how would you describe the father and son’s r
elationship?”

  Cecelia shrugged and glanced at Oscar who had appeared behind her. Peanut was in his hands and he absentmindedly stroked her. The dog had settled down like she knew being in his arms was her place of safety.

  “Go on and tell them,” he encouraged, knowing how she didn’t want to badmouth the deceased man again.

  Her gaze flicked up at the officer. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No tea for me,” Officer Jefferson said.

  Cecelia dumped her cold tea, slowly refilled it with water, and then stuck it in the microwave. She thought she was being subtle, but it was obvious she was taking a moment to regroup her thoughts and consider how she would answer the officer.

  Finally, she began. “Well, I’d say they were a bit combative, the two of them. Fathers and sons often are.” She winced slightly after saying that, knowing how Oscar had no contact with his own boys.

  Oscar gave no reaction as he gently set the dog back on the ground. Peanut immediately scurried over to sniff Officer Jefferson’s shoes.

  “What types of things did they fight about?” Officer Jefferson asked. He had his pad out and was taking notes.

  “Steve—that’s the father—Steve is recovering from a car accident he was in about six months ago. It was horrific, and he is now in a wheelchair. They had just settled with the insurance company and were out here as their first trip away from all the hospitals and stress.” She shook her head. “Those poor men. I think the stress was getting to them, and that’s why Mike was feeling impatient with his father.”

  “Hey, can I help?” A familiar face poked his head into the kitchen. It was Frank, Cecelia’s grandson.