Six Merry Little Murders

by Lee Strauss et al.

  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 and then glanced into the living room.

  Both Brenda and Bobby hunkered over their phones, looking a lot like they 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. 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 bar.”

  Cecelia bustled through the doorway. “Let’s finish getting you booked in. 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. The young woman glanced back into the living room before hissing. “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 whispered back, “What did they say?”

  “They said they got here too late.” Sarah bit her thumb nail.

  “Oh, that could be in reference to 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 concerned 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.”

  It was a well known Amish restaurant. “You’ll love it there. Make sure you get a bowl of their apple crisp!”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the front door. The door opened and Oscar walked through. “Everything’s settled at my house, so I came over to see how it’s going.”

  Sarah scooted past him with a wave goodbye.

  Cecelia answered, “The police just left, and I have two new guests signing in.”

  “Have you had a chance to check on Steve yet?”

  She shook her head. “You think I should? Sarah said he wanted some quiet time.”

  He rubbed his bristly chin and nodded. “Maybe a quick check in. You mind if I go with you?”

  She nodded, and they walked down the hall where there was a bedroom at the end, the only one she rented on the bottom floor. Cecelia let Oscar set the pace. She knew how his joints bothered him, and with the temperature drop, it was a bear.

  Cecelia lightly tapped on the door while Oscar adjusted a picture frame sitting on the hall’s bookshelf. As he straightened it, he noticed a pen poking out behind the frame.

  “Interesting,” he mumbled.

  From inside the room there came a feeble, “Come in.”

  She shot Oscar an anxious look, eyebrows puckered together, and twisted the doorknob. “Steve? Hello. It’s Cecelia and Oscar.”

  Steve lay in bed, the covers pulled up his chest. He opened red-rimmed eyes.

  “Oh, Steve, I’m so terribly sorry.” Cecelia rushed to the side of the bed. Oscar remained inside the door.

  Steve mumbled a stream of unintelligible grief-filled words. Cecelia sympathetically patted his arm and murmured words of comfort. She searched for tissues and handed him a few. Finally, he calmed to the point where his words made sense.

  “I’m not sure how long I can stay here. I’ve contacted a temp agency to hire someone to come help me,” he stammered.

  “Shh, you stay as long as you’d like.” Cecelia straightened his sheet. “I’m going to go make you some soup. Do you need any help now?” She glanced toward the attached bathroom. “I’ll get Frank in here.”

  “No, thank you. I can get in and out of bed, and into the bathroom by myself as long as my wheelchair stays in reach.”

  “Okay, but you’ll call me if you need anything?”

  “I promise. Thank you, Cecelia,” Steve smiled weakly.

  With a final pat on his arm, Cecelia moved the glass of water closer. She found his phone and placed it on the side table while Oscar stooped with a groan to pick up a dropped prescription bottle. He glanced at it and placed it on the dresser. Together, they headed out.

  As they shut the door Oscar whispered. “Did you notice that?”

  “Notice what?”

  “His room, the scent in it.”

  “Scent?”

  “Yeah, a very strong scent of aftershave.”

  She paused, her thin eyebrows raising. “No, I don’t think I did. I was much too worried about how he was doing. The poor thing. I’m going to make him that soup. And maybe some chamomile tea. That helps with everything.”

  The front door opened then and the two business men came in. Both men lowered their voices as they entered in the living room.

  “Wonder what they’re saying?” Oscar muttered.

  “The only thing on my mind now is my kitchen.” Cecelia walked into the room and spun around, taking inventory.

  “Did they leave it a mess?” Oscar asked.

  “No, it’s not too bad. I’m sure both Frank and Jefferson made sure of that.”

  Brenda poked her head into the kitchen and delivered the forms, then said they were heading upstairs to their room. Cecelia gave her a wave and then glanced up at the clock on the wall with a start. “Where has the time flown to? I suppose I should get dinner ready. Let’s see, I made some rolls this morning. If you could just bring them out to the table, dear, that would be lovely.” She bustled over to start a tea kettle and pulled out cutlets to prepare dinner.

  Oscar meandered over to the bread box and pulled out a basket lined with a red-and-white checked linen napkin. Inside were layers of fluffy buttermilk biscuits. He carried the basket into the dining room. From here he had a clear view of the crackling fireplace, part of the couch and one wingback chair.

  Roy and Troy were standing to the side of the couch. Roy, the taller one jabbed his index finger into Troy’s chest. He leaned close and growled, “We leave tomorrow. Just keep it together until morning.”

  As if sensing Oscar watching, Roy looked up. Roy immediately stepped away from Troy and raised his hand in greeting. “Nice to see you, Oscar. Dinner ready?”

  Oscar lifted the basket in his hand. “If you hurry. I might demolish it all since I’m pretty hungry tonight.”

  “Oh, we are. We are,” agreed Roy, with Troy smiling sheepishly. “We’ll head upstairs to get cleaned up and be right down.”

  The two men headed upstairs, their business shoes clacking loudly on the stairs. Oscar watched them go with a bemused expression on his face. He remembered the tattoo on Roy’s arm. “I’ve got my eye on you,” he muttered under his breath. Then he breathed in the scent from the biscuits. “Cecelia! Where’s the honey!”<
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  4

  After dinner that night, the stuffed guests slowly pushed themselves away from a messy table and meandered like bears nearing hibernation into the living room. The fire in the stone fireplace crackled welcomingly. Poor Steve was still in his room resting. Cecelia brought him the promised soup, but the last she’d checked, it had remained untouched.

  Oscar noticed as the guests sank into the easy chairs and plump couches scattered about the room, more than one cast the card table a sharp look. He wondered what had really happened there the night before.

  The group continued their small talk while Cecelia offered spiked eggnog, hoping to help everyone ignore the nervous energy that seemed to run along the walls like static electricity. After all, when a guest dies, it does tend to charge the atmosphere with stress.

  Oscar waved off the eggnog and carried his coffee to his favorite easy chair. He’d claimed it a while back and somehow every guest that had rotated through the doors seemed to subconsciously know not to use it.

  He settled in the worn cushions and sighed contentedly. It was an amazing chair, with the cushions already melding into his shape. Sighing contentedly, he leaned over his coffee and blew, causing his shoulders to bow forward like two bird wings. He took a slurpy sip and settled back, barely moving again and nearly blending into his surroundings. In fact, after a few minutes, no one cast him another look.

  The new guests, Brenda and Bobby, sat at the card table, not realizing how the others were avoiding it.

  “Anyone want to play?” Bobby asked the group.

  Sarah glanced at the two business men, before shrugging. “Sure.” She sat down across from him, and Brenda slid the deck of cards over for her to shuffle.

  The two business men glanced at each other. “Maybe another time,” Troy said. He then called out to Cecelia, who was pottering around with a tray of Christmas cookies. “That was a great dinner. And I got the trash can out to the road.”

  “Thank you for doing that, and I’m glad you enjoyed it. Do you both have meetings tomorrow?”

  “Not sure. Maybe one more day. I’ll know more in the morning.”

  “Well it would be nice if you can squeeze some sight-seeing in to your trip,” Cecelia added before taking the plates into the kitchen.

  Roy stood up and stretched. “Good advice. In fact, we’re going to head out for a bit. Find out if this town has any nightlife.” He glanced at Troy. “You ready?”

  “Have fun,” Sarah said, making the cards bridge in her hands.

  Oscar observed the men leave, wondering.

  “So, how are you doing?” Brenda asked Sarah, her voice low and full of sympathy.

  “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Sarah said shuffling through the cards.

  “This really affected you, then.”

  Sarah’s cheeks filled with a hot flush. “Yeah, he was nice.”

  Brenda said nothing, but watched Sarah.

  Sarah caught the look and sighed. “This is silly, but I thought he might be interested in me. I was expecting him to ask me out.”

  “Aww,” Brenda clucked her tongue.

  “Although, I never would have said yes.” Sarah paused, her eyes introspective as she shuffled again and again. Then she murmured. “Because he wasn’t always so nice to his father. I wonder how’s Steve doing, anyway?” Her gaze swept down the hall toward the bedroom.

  Cecelia came in with a plate of cookies. “He’s asleep now.”

  “Poor old guy. I wonder what he’s going to do? Will they be sending Mike’s body someplace to bury?” asked Brenda.

  Cecelia shook her head, wondering how Brenda knew his name. Did someone tell her? “I have no idea. I just hope there’s someone on the other end to help the poor man.”

  “You think he needs help to take care of himself?” Brenda raised her brows.

  “He’s still learning to work his wheelchair,” answered Cecelia.

  “Didn’t they just win a huge insurance settlement? I think they have money. He can afford to hire someone to help him. And I bet this new person will be nicer than Mike.” Sarah passed out the cards.

  Cecelia added more wood to the fire and then settled into her wingback chair opposite Oscar. “The poor man. My mother always said you should never have to bury your children. I’m surprised he’s holding up as well as he is.”

  “Do you know how they got their money?” Brenda asked.

  “Shh,” Cecelia held a finger up to her lips and glanced anxiously down the hallway.

  “Sorry. Earlier today, I heard Troy talking about it. I mean overheard.” Brenda shot a guilty look at Bobby.

  “And where did you hear them?” Bobby asked, frowning.

  “They were in their room.”

  “You eavesdropped outside their room?” Bobby rolled his eyes and distanced himself slightly in the chair.

  Sarah chimed in. “She probably couldn’t help it. They’re so loud, I heard stuff myself. Honestly, I don’t trust those two guys. That isn’t the first weird thing I’ve heard them say.” She placed a card and then leaned forward to whisper to the group. “You don’t suppose they are grifters? We don’t really know what business they’re doing. They leave all day for meetings but where are they going? Gainesville isn’t exactly a metropolis.”

  Oscar glanced up from his crossword puzzle. The people in the room still didn’t notice him sitting there.

  “Well, we saw them outside the bar today when we arrived into town. I recognized them later at the house. From what I saw, they seemed to be having a good time,” Brenda said.

  Oscar noted that Bobby tapped Brenda’s foot under the table. Brenda blushed and stared down at her cards.

  “Last night was awful. I wonder how Steve feels about the horrid fight now?” Cecelia added.

  “That was one of the most awkward experiences I’d ever had.” Sarah agreed. “And then the pacing in the room, back and forth pacing with those loud shoes.”

  “You could hear them from upstairs?” Cecelia asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, sorry. It came up through the heat vent. I swear it sounded like Mike was roller skating, he was stomping so much. And they were fighting. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but their tones were sharp and mean.”

  “Stomping like he was wearing hard-soled shoes?”

  “Yes, exactly like that. Business shoes. Did you hear it?”

  Cecelia shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Well, it was probably nothing, but they were fighting so much I swear I heard Mike call his dad by his first name when they were in the room. They actually kept me awake.”

  “That does sound terrible,” said Brenda. She won that hand and the other players groaned.

  “Ready for another game?” She gathered the cards.

  “Not me. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” Bobby said. “You coming, Brenda?”

  She glanced at him wide-eyed. Oscar thought he detected a note of surprise. Still, she quickly recovered, “Yes, definitely been a long day.”

  Sarah glanced at her watch. “You’re right, I should actually be getting to bed myself.”

  For all of the guests’ declarations that they were tired, it was with a rather weird uneasiness that everyone slowly rose from the table. Handshakes were exchanged, along with good nights. Slowly the living room emptied.

  Finally, Cecelia and Oscar were alone. She began gathering the glasses. “Well, what do you think of that?”

  “Interesting. Very interesting.”

  She shot him a sharp look. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Right now, I have lots of questions with very few answers.” He eased himself up, groaning. After stacking several plates, Oscar followed Cecelia into the kitchen. She filled up the sink while he reached into a drawer and grabbed a checkered dish towel to help dry the plates. They moved like a well-oiled machine. Afterward, Cecelia set about to making bread dough for the morning.

  “You’re still being very quiet,” Cecilia
noted.

  Oscar gave her a kiss before grabbing his hat. “The thought process is sometime a slow machine.”

  “I swear I have no idea what goes on in that old FBI brain of yours. Well, goodnight Mr. O’Neil. And by the way,” she pointed to the windowsill, now heavily lined with several inches of snow. “I like my lasagna with Gruyère and ricotta.”

  He stared out the window with bug eyes before yanking his hat firmly over his balding dome. At the door he turned back. “It will be the cheesiest lasagna you’ve ever had, madam.”

  “I’m a sucker for cheesy.” She grinned.

  He couldn’t think of a sufficiently smart comeback and instead hurried out the door shaking his fist at the still falling snow.

  5

  Oscar stomped back through the snow to his house, as a spring of anxiousness twisted in his gut regarding Peanut. She’d only been alone for a couple of hours. Still, it had been a rough day and the dog might have picked up on the stress. He tried to quickly unlock the door, his fingers feeling stiff and cold.

  There was no welcoming patter of nails racing along the hardwood. No happy bark. He hurried into the house, calling out, “Bear!” Concern filled him when she didn’t answer, more than he’d ever admit, and he at last resorted to calling her Peanut.

  Still no answer.

  Feeling slightly breathless he flipped on the kitchen light, and after a quick peek around, stumbled down the hall and into his bedroom. There he found her fast asleep on the bed, curled in a fat comma right in the center of his pillow.

  “Dag-nabbit dog, you scared me,” he whispered, easing himself down next to her. He stroked her head which awakened her. Then he had to endure a few minutes of doggy kisses.

  “Come on, Bear. Let’s go for our evening digestive walk.” With the snow, he didn’t want to chance losing her, so he buckled a leash to her collar— one that still jingled, he noted grumpily.

  This was the time of the day he always enjoyed the most, with the shush and darkness wrapping like a flannel robe around him. He enjoyed standing outside, his neck and back creaking with effort as he stared up at the stars. It was a quiet moment to mentally digest all the events that had happened that day. And he had some stuff that needed digesting.