Dough Knot Murder

by CeeCee James

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “What do we do? We don’t talk outside this room, that’s what we do.”

  “No one can hear us. They’re in the kitchen.”

  “You need to be more careful. I don’t trust that old man. He’s too snoopy.”

  “Please, that guy was a blue-collared worker his whole life. Just look at him. He’s beat down, you can see it in his eyes.”

  Oscar stiffened. As if sensing her owner’s indignation, Peanut let out a low growl. He reached down to shush the dog.

  Above him came the sound of the window slamming closed. He waited a moment, not certain if they’d seen him, before quietly creeping away.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Oscar fed Peanut her breakfast and then let the dog out for her morning walk. He eased himself into the porch rocking chair to watch her and was surprised by an unexpected scent of cinnamon. What in the Sam Hill? His gaze bounced down to the decking where a basket filled with giant scented pine-cones sat on the other side of the door frame. Another gift from Cecelia, he supposed.

  He gently rocked the chair and watched the dog meander through the melting snow, her nose down. A part of him wondered if he would see Roy or Troy later that day. Would they mention the possibility of spotting him the night before?

  He doubted it. They were the type of men who tried to keep things close at hand.

  Peanut wandered toward the bushes, still capped with wet snow, that grew near the front of the property. Her nose dug trenches in the snow as she sniffed. She buried her face in deep between the branches and her spine stiffened. A moment later, she disappeared into the foliage.

  Oscar stood up from his rocking chair. “Bear! You get back here!”

  A moment later the dog burst into intense barking. Frantic. Insistent. She worked her way back through the hedge, her ears raised in alarm and she ran towards him, yipping.

  “Bear! Dagnabbit, what’s wrong with you girl?”

  The dog torpedoed toward him in a yellow blur. Her eyes weren’t smiling any longer, rather bulging with fear.

  “What’s the matter with you, girl?” Oscar said softer and with more concern.

  He glanced in the direction that she’d come from. Were the bushes moving? Was someone over there?

  Oscar hurried inside. He grabbed his hammer, one with a solid oak handle, that he liked to carry with him. It would deliver some knocks, yes it would.

  Peanut ran straight through the open bedroom door.

  He eyed the room for a moment and then, deciding she was safe, returned to the porch while shutting the door tightly behind him. He’d take care of business, that was for sure. He pushed up his glasses and slowly made his way down the creaking porch steps. Frank and Georgie, who was Cecelia’s tour guide, had fixed them, but the second tread was stubborn and held on to its creak.

  “Anyone out here?” he called toward the hedges, gripping the handrail for balance.

  There was no answer.

  Slowly he traipsed over Peanut’s tracks to where she’d been startled. With the hammer end, he poked through the branches, but didn’t see anything. He’d have to go over to Cecelia’s side in order to see if there were any tracks. It was the kind left by human’s that worried him.

  Groaning, he eased himself straight and headed back into the house where he found the dog hiding under the bed. He could hear her gnawing on something. There was no way he could get down on his knees. Instead, he opted to sit on the bed, its springs giving out a rusty squeal.

  Leaning down, he yelled, “You have had it, little lady. Next time, I’m going to let the squirrel get you. You hear me? Come out of there this minute!”

  The dog crawled out. In her mouth was a bone, wrapped in a napkin. He wrestled it from her just as the phone rang.

  He scowled at the dog before making his way into the kitchen for the wall phone. His phone was one of those old-fashioned ones with the long cord, and he was rather proud of it.

  It was on its sixth ring by the time he reached it.

  “Oscar O’Neil,” a very indignant Cecelia hollered. “Your dog got into my garbage and dragged it to Tim-Buk-Tu!”

  “Cecelia, my love, this little dog couldn’t knock over a paper bag, let alone a heavy garbage can.”

  “Maybe so, but I saw her leaving the scene with evidence in her mouth!”

  He glowered at the animal. “Yeah, well she dragged that bit of evidence under the bed. But I swear it must have been that Golden Retriever up the road. I saw it around here last week.”

  “Sparky? Surely not. He’s the sweetest thing,” Cecelia protested.

  Oscar rolled his eyes, knowing Cecelia’s soft spot for the retriever. “Sweetest thing or not, he’s the one who was digging out the trash. I guarantee it.” He sighed. “But I’ll be over in a minute to help clean up.”

  “Oh, would you? Thank you, darling. I’ll save a homemade doughnut just for you.”

  Oscar could practically hear the smile in her voice as she hung up. Well, now he’d done it. He was about to spend the rest of the morning picking up bits of paper and bone. His back creaked as he reached to hang up the phone, and he winced.

  “Bones are already complaining,” he muttered before looking at the rubbish he’d rescued from Peanut. “Interesting,” he muttered.

  Then, giving out another groan that would rival a rusty gate, he pulled a thick phone book from a kitchen drawer. He still used them, despite Georgie telling him it was outdated.

  After a few minutes of huffing and squinting to follow a red-knuckled finger trailing down the alphabetical list, he finally found what he was looking for.

  Peanut came from the bedroom and sat at his feet, her happy dog face on again. “You, young lady, are a troublemaker,” he whispered as he slowly dialed the number.

  Peanut gave a yip back and tipped her head. Oscar was surprised to see her collar had slid off during her travels through the hedge, but at least that confounded bell was gone.

  A man answered on the other end. Oscar stared out the window as he asked, “Hello, may I speak with the concierge please?”

  After a brief conversation, he got off the phone. He stared down at Peanut. “That was very interesting. Now you be a good girl while I go clean your mess. I’ll be back soon.”

  The dog pranced after him as he pulled down his wool jacket from the hallway hook. He slowly shrugged into it and searched for his gloves. Of course, today of all days he couldn’t find them. He bent to scratch Peanut’s head whose twinkling eyes assured him she would be back on his bed pillow the moment the front door shut. Then, after carefully locking the door, he walked over to Cecelia’s front yard.

  He’d only made it halfway there when he could see that she wasn’t exaggerating. Chicken bones, paper, and energy drink cans littered the yard. Slowly, he began gathering the garbage into the can. He set the energy drink cans to one side. It had to have been that Golden Retriever. Either that or those bandit raccoons were back.

  He had the area cleaned up quicker than he thought. After replacing the trashcan lid—and this time making sure it was snug—he went around the side of the house with the energy drink cans and to search for a hose to use on his hands.

  While he was back there, he heard a voice that sounded like it came from the bench in the back yard under the maple tree. He paused to listen. It sounded like a woman, and after a few sentences, Oscar determined she was on the phone.

  “Am I out of the job or what?” Her words were whispered.

  He froze to listen. Which of the women was it? Sarah, or the new guest, Brenda?

  The whispering continued. “Yeah, but the guy’s not going to work with us like the kid.” There was a pause. “Okay. Got it.”

  Oscar waiting a few moments before casually peering around the corner. He was disappointed to find no one there. He hurried back to the front of the house.

  Both Brenda and Sarah stood together in the driveway.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said.


  “Where did you pop out of?” Sarah asked, surprised, jumping back.

  “I just finished dealing with that garbage mess and was looking for a hose to rinse my hands.” He held them out.

  “You picked all of that up? That’s why we’re out here.” said Sarah.

  Oscar glanced at his hands, still unwashed. “Well, it’s finished now. And now, I’ll be heading inside for my reward, a doughnut.”

  “That’s a great reward! They were amazing,” Brenda crowed, rubbing her hands to warm them.

  The snow started falling again. “Woohooo!” Sarah spun in a circle. “I love winter!”

  Oscar felt quite differently, and his feelings of unease only grew as he thought of what he’d overheard.

  Chapter 7

  Oscar entered Cecelia’s house to a barrage of Christmas carols that she had playing in the living room. He was stunned to see the lights on the tree actually blinking in time to the beat of the music.

  “How in the…?” He shook his head and gave up understanding, instead headed down the hall and into bathroom. After cleaning his hands, he walked to the kitchen for his promised reward.

  The picture frame on the bookshelf was crooked again. He stared at it, and then slowly glanced down the hall with his eyebrows lowered in puzzlement.

  After straightening it, he continued into the kitchen where Cecelia was rolling a crust for a giant chicken pot pie. Oscar went behind her and kissed her neck. “You look beautiful, my Cherie.”

  A throat cleared, and Oscar glanced over at the little breakfast nook. Frank sat there, finishing a plate of eggs.

  Oscar stepped back from Cecelia. She smiled at him, her plump cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. “Are you here to claim your prize?”

  “I am,” he said.

  She pointed a floured finger to the end of the counter where a doughnut sat on a plate. He took the plate and carried it over to Frank.

  “Any word on Steve?” he asked.

  Cecelia shrugged. “He seems to be coping. He’s asked to be alone, so, other than the time that Frank helped him dress earlier this morning, no one has gone in there.”

  “He had a coughing fit while I was in there,” Frank tacked on.

  Cecelia left the dough to stir the stock pot on the stove.

  Oscar watched with interest. A hearty beef stock scent permeated the air, and he licked his lips.

  “Not for you. This is some soup for Steve. And speaking of dinner, Don’t you think I’ve forgotten about my lasagna.”

  Oscar stuck a bite of doughnut in his mouth to avoid answering.

  “I should go see if he needs help now before I head out for my day,” Frank said and gulped down the rest of his coffee.

  “Let me join you,” Oscar said as he wiped his mouth.

  “Well, wait for me,” Cecelia added. “I’ll see if I can get him to take some of this broth.”

  A few minutes later, the three of them hovered outside the door.

  Frank knocked on the door, “Steve? Is it okay if we come in?”

  A weak, “Come in,” answered him.

  Frank glanced at the two people crowding behind him, before easing the door open. He took a step inside with Oscar and Cecelia close behind. The mug and spoon rattled on the tray in Cecelia’s hands.

  “How are you doing, Steve?” she asked. “We wanted to check on you. Look, I brought you some broth. Do you feel up to taking a few sips?”

  Steve painfully began to scoot up in the bed, his eyes puffy and red. Oscar wrinkled his nose at the still strong scent of aftershave, while Frank hurried over to help him. Cecelia set the tray on the dresser and went to Steve’s other side. Together, they supported him under his arms, while he moaned softly, until he was sitting.

  Cecelia fluffed the pillows and tucked the blankets and then brought the breakfast tray over. She plucked out its little wooden legs and set it over his lap.

  Steve’s glazed eyes locked onto her. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said humbly.

  “Were you able to get any rest?” Cecelia asked. “Has everyone been in here bothering you?”

  The bedridden man grimaced. “No one’s been in besides Frank this morning. I think on top of everything else, I’m getting sick. My throat has been sore, and I’ve been sneezing.”

  Cecelia nudged the mug closer. “Try the soup, Steve. My mother used to call it Italian antibiotics.”

  The man took the mug in shaking hands while everyone in the room pretended not to notice his frail state.

  Oscar’s gaze landed on a suitcase sat on the second bed. It was already zipped up. A pair of business shoes sat neatly by the bed. Oscar noted they were quite a bit bigger than his own size.

  “How are you doing, young man?” Oscar asked Steve.

  “Oh, as well as I could be. If you could just get me….” He pointed a crooked finger to the water on the nightstand. Next to it was a prescription bottle. Oscar grabbed the cup and handed it over, trying to take extra care since it was full. He went back for the bottle.

  “No, no, I don’t need those. Thank you,” Steve said, gently waving them back.

  Oscar set the bottle back.

  “Do you need us to call a doctor?” Cecelia asked, her eyebrows lifted. While waiting for an answer, she filled his water glass from the carafe sitting on the end table.

  “No. I’m sick of doctors. Haven’t been to one since my last rehab date. Broke my back in the car accident.” He threw the last bit at Oscar. “They can’t do nothing. I closed the insurance claim and need to learn how to live life.”

  “What are your plans now?” Oscar asked. “Did you find someone who can come up here to be with you?”

  The rim of Steve’s eyes seemed to redden even more. The poor guy’s eyes were bloodshot. “I’ll be going back home today. My brother will help me out temporarily. I called the certified nursing assistants agency, and they are sending someone here to come take me to the airport. Once I’m home, I’ll try to pick up the pieces as best as I can. First, I’ll give Mike a proper burial. Then, maybe I’ll hire a companion with the insurance money and do some traveling.”

  “That might be for the best.” Cecelia patted his leg. Realizing he couldn’t feel it, she jerked her hand away like it was a hot stove. “Meet some new people. Take a break from the memories.”

  “You were close with your son?” Oscar asked.

  Cecelia shot him a sharp look. He winced, realizing he would pay for that question later.

  “Very close,” Steve whispered.

  The room felt prickly with awkwardness. Oscar thought it best to make his escape. “If you need anything, please let me know,” he said with a nod to Steve.

  As he left, he heard Steve reassuring Frank and Cecelia that he was okay for the time being. The two of them followed Oscar into the hall.

  Cecelia arched her eyebrow as Frank finished shutting the door. “Not known for your smoothness, hmm?”

  “It was an insensitive question to ask,” Oscar conceded.

  Frank’s eyes darted between the two of them. “If you guys are done, I’m heading out now to meet Georgie. We’re supposed to have lunch.”

  “Well, that will be fun. Tell her hi from me. See you soon,” Cecelia said. And then to Oscar, “You leaving now as well? Or staying to help me with lunch?”

  Oscar frowned instead of answering.

  “What are you making that face for?” Cecelia asked.

  “What do you mean my face? This is the only face I have!” Oscar scowled more.

  “Pish-posh. You have the cutest face, but you’re not making it now. What are you thinking about?”

  “Before I tell you, do you mind if I visit the study? I’d like to check something.”

  “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “I have a gut feeling. I need to check it out.”

  “You and your gut feelings. I keep telling you to take antacid for that. You do what you need to do. I have to go check on my potpie.” With that, she
waved him off.

  He meandered into the study and shut the door behind him. It was cooler in here and dark. The only light came through the window, dim from the new snow storm. He walked carefully over to the desk and felt around for the desk light. He clicked it on and waited, wondering if anyone would come in. When everything remained silent, he reached for a folder that sat square on the blotter. Breathing heavily, he rummaged through it.

  There were several sheaves of papers. He pulled out the rental contracts. His rough fingers flipped through the papers until he found the one he wanted. Quickly, he scanned through the questions. His nostrils flared. He glanced at his watch and considered the time difference. Then he picked up the phone and dialed. He was discreet.

  Chapter 8

  Cecelia covered the dinner rolls and put them in the warm pantry to rise. Her potpie was bubbling, its warm chicken scent competing with the sweet fruitiness of two more pies, pecan and apple, that were in the oven. Christmas music played and snow softly fell outside. Everything was as it should be.

  Except it wasn’t. There was something she’d forgotten about… something she was supposed to have told Frank. Like an itch, it kept popping up to bother her. What was it again?

  She sighed and untied her apron to hang it up. Hopefully it would come to her later when she saw him again. She finished washing her hands, wondering what Oscar was up to. She thought she heard a bedroom door open and shut. Whose room was that? Steve’s? But it couldn’t be.

  A second later, a man’s gruff voice came down the hall. It wouldn’t have caught her attention, except it sounded angry.

  Her eyebrows lifted. Was that cursing? The words were low and mumbled and decidedly angry. She held her breath, trying to make out what was being said.

  “You promised that the money would be there. Why isn’t it there?” There was a pause. “Well I don’t care about your excuses. Get after them and get it in the account. I don’t want to hear any more excuses. What do I pay you for?”

  Cecelia tiptoed over to the door eavesdrop better. At that exact moment, the two business men pushed through the door, nearly knocking into her, and walked into the kitchen. Scrambling back, she reached for a dish and a towel. Too late, she realized she was drying a dirty dish.