by CeeCee James
At the sight of Frank’s concerned face, Cecelia breathed in relief. “Oh, Frank, it was Mike. Did you see him? I’m not sure what happened. Could it have been a heart attack? He always drank those energy drinks. He was so young.”
Frank glanced at Jefferson and then back at his grandma. His lips pressed together. “From what I’m hearing there’s a strong suspicion he was poisoned.”
Shocked, Cecelia reeled back into Oscar, who caught her elbow. Peanut caught the excitement and pranced about barking. There were several chaotic moments with Oscar yelling, “Bear,” while the dog raced between everyone’s legs.
Finally Frank caught her. He locked her wiggling body down with his elbow, quickly averting his chin as she tried to give him kisses. “Unfortunately, the police need to go over to your place, Grandma. They need some samples of the food to rule out where Mike might have come into contact with it. In fact, if you could make a list of everything you saw him eat, the coroner would really appreciate it.”
Cecelia’s mouth puckered as though she might cry. “What are you saying? Are you saying it’s my cooking? I can’t see what he would’ve eaten that was bad. Everyone had the same oatcakes, and fruit. I saw him eat a doughnut, and he did ask for a cup of Greek yogurt. You know how he was about protein. And those darn energy drinks. I never saw him without one.”
The paramedics had finished loading up the body, and the ambulance headed back onto the road.
Frank nodded, scratching the dog’s ears. “All right, well, we’re heading over to give the news to his father. Maybe you should wait a few minutes before you join us. Don’t feel obligated if you don’t want to come right away. I can show the detectives around the kitchen.”
He set the dog down and left with the rest of the policemen.
Oscar and Cecelia looked at each other as silence descended again.
“You okay?” Oscar asked.
Cecilia puffed out her chest and crossed her arms. “How can my own grandson think I’d be okay waiting here? With strangers poking around my kitchen? I hardly think so. Besides, I have a responsibility to the other guests. Steve is kind of fragile. I don’t know what he is going to do. Poor guy, he’s all alone now.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “How comfortable is he with the wheelchair?”
“Not very, even with Mike’s help. That was a big part of their fight. Last night Mike threatened to put his father in a nursing home if he didn’t get his act together.”
“Did anyone else hear him say that?” Oscar asked.
“Oh, for sure. The whole argument was very uncomfortable. We were all playing rummy—well you know. You were there.”
Oscar did know. If he recalled correctly, Mike was the reason they’d all played rummy. Steve had wanted to play poker. Mike had been very upset because he’d never played poker before.
Their bickering might have stood out more to Oscar except that his attention had been captured by another one of the guests, a businessman named Roy. When Roy had accepted his cards, his sleeve had raised up, exposing the man’s thick wrist. It also showed an interesting tattoo, one of a bull that Oscar had seen many times as an FBI agent. He’d been tempted to ask Roy about it, but then the game swept along at a furious rate, Roy’s sleeve slid down, and Oscar realized he was actually quite tired. Oscar had left soon after that, blaming the fact that Peanut was lonely, when really his lumbago was acting up. Not to mention he needed to catch his Wheel of Fortune.
In leaving early it seemed that he’d missed Mike berating his dad. “Tell me more,” Oscar said.
“Well, Mike was furious because Steve bumped the table, jogging everyone’s drink. Glasses splashed, and more than one was knocked over. Everyone jumped back. It was a sight, I tell you, and that round ended because no one was certain whose cards were whose by the time everything was mopped up. I’ll never forget how beet red Mike’s face was when he proceeded to scold his father that he was a perfect example of why they put old animals out to pasture. Mike said it was time for Steve to find someone else to help him, because he wanted to go their separate ways.”
“What a kid,” Oscar said disapprovingly.
“It was horrid. Steve said they were stuck together, and Mike said he’d find a way to get away.” Cecelia shook her head. “I know that poor young man just died, but last night I can tell you that everyone at that table gasped.”
“I would have come unglued.”
Cecelia nodded. There was no doubt Oscar would have put Mike in his place. “We were all so shocked that he would be so rude and disrespectful to his dad. After that, Mike stormed out of the house, leaving all of us to try to pick up the pieces. Honestly, the night was ruined with everyone heading to their rooms.” Cecelia sighed. “Before I finished cleaning the kitchen, I did take a minute to speak to Steve myself. ‘Does he always talk to you like this?’ I asked him. ‘Because that’s not okay.’ Steve told me no, in that adamant way of his, and slowly pushed his wheelchair back into their room. I’m not sure when Mike returned.”
Just then, through the window Cecelia saw Frank heading back their way.
Chapter 3
Cecelia walked out onto the porch to meet him. The crisp air smelled of pine and frost with just a hint of smoke from a neighbor burning a pile of leaves.
Frank walked with lowered eyebrows and matching frowning lips.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, crossing her arms against the chill.
He crunched over the gravel driveway. “It’s kind of a mess over there. We discovered Steve sleeping in his wheelchair. Apparently, he was waiting for Mike to return from his walk, and they had plans to visit the local pub this afternoon. It was a horrible shock to the poor guy. I asked for Doctor Reynolds to come by and take a look at him.”
“Oh, the poor dear.” Cecelia clucked her tongue and shook her head.
Before she could ask more, Frank continued, “Grandma, I do have some more bad news.”
“More bad news?”
Her grandson stared at the ground, his hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was kneading dough. Finally—with a look of ripping off a bandaid—he raised his head and blurted, “There’s talk that they might try to pull your license to serve food until we figure out what killed Mike.”
“Talk? Who’s talking?”
“One of the other cops. He’s new, a transfer from Pittsburgh. I swear he’s chomping at the bit to make a name for himself and show us “small town cops” how big city folks do it.” Frank rolled his eyes. “I don’t think it will come to anything, but I still want you to be prepared.”
“Oh, Oscar, what will I do if that happens? What kind of bed-and-breakfast doesn’t serve breakfast?”
“We’ll figure it out.” Oscar patted her back to reassure her. Inside, he was uneasy. He knew how those little wahoos could get when they wanted to make a reputation for themselves in a new precinct.
“As for your other guests,” Frank continued, “So far no one has checked out. Sarah told us that she has plans to visit the Amish village later today. Roy and Troy were intercepted as they were heading out for their business meeting, and said they last saw Mike at breakfast. As you can imagine, everyone is quite shocked.”
“And there is a doctor with Steve?” she asked.
“Along with Sarah. When I left, she was getting him some tea.”
Well, that did it. It was easy to see from the expression on Cecelia’s face that she wasn’t about to tolerate another woman squirreling around in her kitchen. “I’m heading over,” Cecelia said, arms crossed. She marched down the stairs and crossed the lawn, her steps firm.
While she walked, she thought about the guests. Sarah was a nice girl and would be very helpful in comforting Steve. Roy and Troy had kept to themselves the entire time that they had been at the house. However, Cecelia knew that they weren’t too happy with Mike’s treatment of Steve. Last night, she’d overheard them outside when Roy had been smoking a cigarette. He’d muttered how “Mike’s a punk kid,” and “
when I was growing up, you never treated your elders that way.”
Troy had agreed and said that someone needed to teach that kid some manners.
Cecelia rubbed her brow as she walked. Was there something else he’d said? Something about insurance? She’d been so upset about Mike and Steve’s fight that she hadn’t paid enough attention.
Oh well, she supposed it didn’t matter, now. It wasn’t likely that they’d be suspects anyhow.
Coincidentally, she was met by one of the businessmen, Troy, who stood on the front porch smoking. His face was glum, and he gripped his cigarette between nicotine-stained fingers.
“I supposed you’ve heard, eh?” He squinted at her as smoke clouded around his head like a demented halo.
Well, she was hardly going to tell him that it had been both Oscar and her who’d discovered the body. She responded with a stiff nod.
“Did you see that car?” He stabbed the cigarette in the direction of a blue sedan tucked along the side of the house. She glanced over with a jolt of surprise. She’d actually missed it.
“Your new guests are here. Some guy and his gal. They’ve been wandering around this place for hours,” Troy took another drag before stubbing the butt out next to the rose bush. Cecelia wrinkled her nose. Normally the smoking section was in the back of the building, away from the doors. But, since these weren’t normal times, she’d overlook it.
“Thank you, Troy,” she answered, continuing up the steps.
“Is there anything you need from me?”
She paused while opening the screen door. The green Christmas wreath, with its clumps of red ornaments and bells, waggled with the movement. That was quite nice of him. Unexpected. “Would you mind emptying the trash and maybe dragging the can to the end of the driveway? Tomorrow is pick up.”
“Absolutely. It would be my pleasure. By the way, those ribs you made for lunch were out of this world.”
“Aw, I’m glad to hear it. Thank you again, Troy.”
As she entered the house the warm scent of cinnamon and fresh-cut pine sap greeted her. Now what should she do first? Talk to the new guests or go comfort Steve? And were those cops still in her kitchen?
A loud clatter came from the kitchen, answering her question. She puffed her cheeks in a frustrated sigh. But she’d hardly headed that way when her attention was grabbed by laughter in the living room.
She peeked inside. The new guests were sitting at the table, playing cards that were laid across the cheery red runner in a suspicious pattern of Hearts.
Cecelia sniffed. Well, they’d certainly made themselves at home, especially if they’d been here for hours. Nothing to do about it now.
She walked into the living room with a smile. “Hello, there. I’m Cecelia, the owner of Baker Street bed-and-breakfast.”
The man stood at the sight of her and held out his hand. “Bobby. Sorry, I know we arrived early. We’d been hiking all morning, so it was nice to sit down in this wonderful place. And then we saw the cookies and doughnuts, and, well, they called our name.”
“It’s perfectly fine. That’s what the pastries are there for.” Cecelia shook the woman’s hand as well. “We do have a bit of an emergency that we are in the midst of right now.”
Bobby’s face fell. “I know, we heard. I’m so sorry.”
Silence descended in the room, rivaling that of a library. The young couple glanced at each other. Cecelia tried to interpret the glance. They must be worried they were going to get that room.
She rushed to reassure them. “First of all, the dreadful thing that happened to the poor young man occurred off site. His room is downstairs, and the room you reserved is upstairs. Obviously, things have changed now. Perhaps you don’t want to stay anymore? With the circumstances, I’ll be happy to reimburse your charges. I leave it up to you.”
“Oh, no. We definitely want to stay,” Brenda said. She carefully picked up the cards and shimmied them back in the box.
Bobby gave an easy grin. “Yeah, it seems that all the hotels are packed. And the day is getting kind of late now. We felt pretty fortunate to get a place at all.”
“Everything usually is booked at this time a year,” Cecelia admitted. “It’s funny. Since it’s Christmas time, you’d think that people wouldn’t want to leave their homes. But in reality, it seems many folks want to celebrate where they don’t have to do the work. And I love sharing Christmas with others.”
She really did. She’d had guests for every Christmas the last few years since she’d had the bed-and-breakfast. Every year she made her special Christmas Star bread, and she had fun placing a small present on everyone’s bed each morning of the week leading up to Christmas. The presents were only tokens, such as a bar of scented soap or a sample size lotion. Occasionally, she’d give a tiny package of wildflower honeycomb from the hives down the street.
Plus, she had a chance to decorate. She waved a hand now in the direction of the front window which was festooned with fresh green garland and red ribbons. And then in the general direction of the buffet, where the couple had already discovered a silver pump pot of hot cocoa, a jar of marshmallows, homemade doughnuts, Christmas cookies, and a box of sweet peppermint candies. “As you can see, I quite enjoy celebrating it. I’m pleased you will be staying, and hope to make your holiday special.”
“I think it will be. We really didn’t want the headache of setting up a tree. After all, it’s only the two of us, so can you blame us? Look at how cozy this is.” He smiled appreciatively at the Christmas tree with its soft white lights and the row of stockings over the fireplace.
More clinking and clanking came from the kitchen. Cecelia cringed, but forged on. “There are a few guests who are checked in, and you might meet them tonight. There’s a woman staying down the hall and two business men in the room directly across from you.”
“Was that one of them outside just a minute ago?” Brenda asked.
“Yes. They’ve been at meetings every day since they checked in, but in the evening we have a good time. Everyone lodging here is a fun group. Although, I think tonight might be more somber.”
A pot falling made its tinny interruption. Cecelia sighed. “Let me go get the final paperwork for you to sign.”
“Oh, I thought we filled everything out online,” Brenda said.
“I only need a few more things, such as what vehicle you’re driving, verification of your credit card, and a signature on the rental agreement.”
“Sounds great.” Bobby smiled.
Cecelia left for the study to get the admission form. On her way, a troop of policemen passed her in the hallway, their boots leaving mud clumps that made her frown. Jefferson held a box filled with what she assumed were food samples. He wouldn’t look at her, instead turned his face toward the ground as if ashamed.
One of the cops moved in her direction. He was short, and bristly, and someone she didn’t recognize. “Ms. Wagner, We’ve finished for today. Depending on what the coroner says, we’ll let you know if you can keep your food service license.”
Cecelia opened her mouth to respond, but he stopped her with a stiff hand. Staring her down, he reached into the box and pulled out a jar of her homemade jelly.
Her eyes flew open. That was one of her special jars!
“I noticed no expiration date on this. That’s against the health code,” he said.
“Well, it’s written right there with last year’s summer!” Cecelia cried as she pointed.
“That’s not a complete expiration date.” He dropped the jar back in the box and then helicoptered his hand to direct the other cops to move out.
Cecelia watched them leave the house, shooting negative thoughts at the pompous little man, and then glanced into the living room.
Both Brenda and Bobby hunkered over their phones, looking a whole lot like two people who were pretending they’d heard nothing.
She shook her head. Would that be all it took? A jar of jelly in the fridge without an expressed expiration date?
She’d always just marked them with the year of that summer’s harvest. Sighing, she hurried into the study and grabbed the application and a pen and headed back.
As she approached the living room again, she heard Brenda say, “Odd that the host said the man on the porch was at meetings all day. You know we saw them hanging outside that one bar.”
Cecelia bustled through the doorway. “Let’s finish getting you booked in. Here are your keys. Will you be staying in for dinner?”
“That sounds perfect,” said Bobby as Brenda perused the paperwork.
Just then, Sarah, the woman from room 202, walked to the living room doorway. She was a young woman, on winter break from college. At the moment, Sarah’s forehead wrinkled with a worried expression, and she clung to the door frame. When she saw she’d caught Cecelia’s eye, she said in a low voice, “I’m so sorry to disturb you. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” Cecelia continued to the new guests, “I’ll leave you two to read over the contract, and I’ll be right back.”
At the doorway, Sarah gently drew her around the corner. Cecelia wanted to thank her for helping with Steve, but before she could begin, the young woman whispered, “I don’t want to alarm you, but I heard those guests say something strange before you came in.”
Strange was not a word Cecelia wanted to hear right now, especially in light of poor Mike. She glanced toward the living room before whispering back, “What did they say?”
“They said they got here too late.” Sarah bit her thumb nail.
“Oh, that could be in reference to so many things,” Cecelia waved her hand dismissively.
Sarah shook her head, adamant, and whispered, “They said they were too late, and the boss wasn’t going to be happy with what had happened.”
Cecelia frowned. This might be something Frank would be interested to know. “Alright, hon. I’ll pass it on.” And then with a smile, “Thank you for taking care of Steve. How are you doing? Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m good. Steve seems to be handling all of this quite well. He asked for some time alone, so I’m going to keep my plans to head out to Sunnyside.”