Murder at the Ostrich Farm

by London Lovett

  Ruby glanced around the room. The other girls had slowed their tasks and were watching us. "Actually, Wanda," Ruby said quietly, "if we could see you outside for just a moment."

  Wanda's pink cheeks blanched.

  "You're not in trouble," Ruby said quickly, and waved for her to follow. "Miss Starfire just has a few questions."

  Wanda followed reluctantly. We stepped back out into the warm summer sun.

  "I'll leave you to it," Ruby said. "I think you'll get a more accurate answer without me standing around." She privately winked at me and headed off toward the offices, leaving us with her befuddled employee.

  "I don't understand," Wanda said. "Have I done something wrong?" She rubbed her hands together nervously. "It's not true. I didn't take home that hat to wear at a party. I never did it."

  I lifted my hand to stop her from blurting out any more confessions. "No, no this has nothing to do with the shop." I motioned toward Jasper. "Mr. Starfire and I are investigating the death of Mildred Freemont-Keeler, and we were hoping you could clarify a few things."

  Wanda may have been a skilled flirt when it came to rich men, but she certainly had the nerves of a scared rabbit. "I don't know anything about it. I was just here in the shop. I thought they arrested Paul for it."

  I sucked in a quiet breath. "Miss—I'm sorry, what should I call you?"

  "Wanda's fine." She rubbed her hands together again.

  I placed my hand on hers and smiled. "You have to believe you are not in any kind of trouble."

  Jasper cleared his throat and stepped forward. He was a good two inches shorter than Wanda, but he stretched up tall to make up the difference. He flashed her one of his charming smiles, and I knew the British accent would follow.

  "Miss Wanda," he said, "pretty name, by the way." The compliment seemed to make her relax. "There was a tall, good-looking bloke here on Saturday, Roy Freemont. We heard that he had picked you out of the crowd as a special favorite. It's easy to see why." His smile broadened, and Wanda returned one. "Do you remember Mr. Freemont? Whatever you tell us stays right here between us. Miss Dawson doesn't need to know a thing about it. After all, we're here to put together events of that day, not to get a sweet, hardworking lass like yourself in trouble."

  I had to hand it to him, my brother was a master. Wanda lowered her hands and her rigid shoulders dropped. "I was talking to Mr. Freemont. He came into the shop with his parents, and, well—" A blush rose in her cheeks. "He told me I was pretty. Then Miss Dawson told me to find something else to do. Roy's mother wasn't happy we were talking, and boy, I can tell you, he didn't like being embarrassed. I heard him curse under his breath as I walked away."

  "Was that the last time you saw him?" Jasper asked.

  Wanda's face dropped, and she began wringing her hands again.

  "Remember, we aren't going to tell any of this to Miss Dawson," Jasper said in a nice, reassuring tone.

  Wanda nodded and swallowed hard. "The truth is, we met on my lunch break. There are a few tables out back of the shop for break time. Before he left the store with his parents, he stopped by to ask what time I got off for lunch. We made plans to meet at the tables out back."

  "What time was that?" I asked.

  "My break starts at a quarter past one. I get an hour for lunch."

  "Did Roy Freemont show up for the lunch date?" Jasper asked.

  Wanda held back a smile. "He was waiting for me outside the shop. Bought me a lemonade and sandwich."

  "Was he with you for the entire lunch break?" I asked.

  "He was with me for the whole hour. He told me it was the best part of his day so far." She blushed again, which made me wonder what they had for dessert. Then I blushed, so I stopped wondering.

  "How did Roy Freemont seem?" I decided to get in one last question. "Was he still upset with his mother for the incident in the feather boutique?"

  Wanda pursed her mouth and twisted side to side in thought. "No, I don't think his mother came up once. It seemed like he was in a good mood but then I don't know him that well."

  "Have you spoken since?" Jasper asked.

  "No, but then I wasn't expecting to. Especially not with how the day ended, his mother dead and all."

  Jasper and I exchanged 'guess we're done here' glances.

  "Thank you for your time, Wanda," I said. "Oh, one last thing. Did you say the lunch tables are behind this building?"

  "Yes, just follow the hedge. There's a sign at the end of the building that says employees only past this point. That way we have free tables for lunch, and we don't have to wait for the visitors to finish their meals."

  "I see. We're just going to walk back there for a moment, if that's all right," I said.

  "Sure thing." She smiled at Jasper.

  He tipped his hat politely, then she turned around and went inside the shop.

  Jasper and I headed along the pathway that led to the tables behind the building. Jasper's sore muscles had grown more limber throughout the day, and he was walking at his usual surefooted pace.

  "Guess that takes Roy Freemont out of the running," he said as we turned the corner past the employees only sign.

  "It seems that way." Behind the shop, mostly hidden by a thick shrub of privet, sat three small tables with accompanying benches. I sat on a bench and glanced around the farm. "The shrub blocks the view from the pasture and most of the farm and vice versa. I suppose that was on purpose to give the shop girls a chance to relax at lunch without visitors asking them questions or bothering them." I turned full circle. The top of the large barn was about the only thing visible from my seated position.

  I hopped up. "Let's take a quick tour of the barn area. I want to see the layout of the back lot. Ruby said Paul was in his bunk during the murder. Let's see where that bunk is located."

  The barn had an employees only sign just like the one on the shop. It didn't put us off our stride too much since we weren't really interested in the barn. I wasn't even certain what I had planned to get out of our short trek around the back of the property. For the most part, I just wanted to get an idea of the layout. One thing was for certain, the murderer didn't jump a back fence or come through a back gate. George Dawson had taken great care to make sure his flock was protected from intruders, both human and animal. Coyotes occasionally came down from the Foothills to hunt for easy prey like backyard chickens and rabbits. I couldn't imagine the scrawny wild dogs could be much match for a six foot ostrich, but a pack of them could probably do some real damage. An eight foot brick wall, covered with a thick tangle of ivy vines, lined the entire back border of the property. The one gate that seemed to be wide enough for truck deliveries was made of iron and locked tight with a padlock.

  We walked past a small wooden shed with a sign that read "Farm Supervisor" on it. The door was shut, which was probably a good thing. I was sure Arthur Jones would not be terribly welcoming to strangers wandering around the back lot. He seemed to be somewhat of a grump.

  Jasper had walked ahead of me. He waved me forward. "Looks like these are the sleeping bunks for the workers." Six small ramshackle sheds were situated in a line behind the office. They didn't look cozy or comfortable, but they were a good distance from the center of the farm where most of the noise and activity took place. It seemed entirely possible that someone could take a short nap in the middle of a busy day.

  I looked back at the supervisor's office. It was twice the size of the bunks and most likely doubled as both an office and sleeping quarters for Mr. Jones. There was a front window that gave him a good view of the farm.

  "I wonder where the supervisor was when Paul walked back to his bunk?" I said. "Arthur has a nice view of this whole area. How did he miss seeing Paul?"

  "Unless the supervisor was out somewhere, you know, supervising. Or maybe Paul never walked back to the bunk and we're looking for a killer who is already in jail." It was the first time either of us had stated the entirely plausible scenario out loud. It made my stomach tighten with worry
.

  "Let's hope that's not the case, Jasper. Let's get out of here before someone sees us."

  We walked back toward the front of the farm and the offices.

  "Uh oh, seems like we might have overstayed our welcome," Jasper muttered from the side of his mouth.

  I looked across the yard to see who had caught his eye. George Dawson was walking toward us, looking perplexed and less than pleased to see strangers wandering around his farm.

  "You there!" he yelled, a good fifty yards before he reached us.

  "Never a good sign when some bloke yells 'you there'," Jasper mumbled, unhelpfully.

  My mind skittered back and forth about what to say to George Dawson. We'd made a promise to Ruby not to tell her father that she had hired us to investigate the murder, so we needed to come up with a rational excuse for trespassing on his farm. I was just about to pull out a very gauzy excuse about getting lost and looking for directions when Ruby came bursting out the door of the office building.

  "Father," she said in a tone that was a mix of cheer and worry. "Father, you've returned." Jasper and I reached them. Ruby smiled politely at us. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith were just leaving. You see, Mrs. Smith bought one of our boas, but it turned out she was allergic to the feathers." I was somewhat disappointed in her excuse. I'd hoped that she would tell him the truth so that we could ask him a few questions. But since she was the client, we had to go along with the ruse. And Jasper always enjoyed a good ruse.

  "That's right, she had a rash all over her neck after she wore the thing," Jasper added. Apparently, he hadn't considered the fact that it would be easy enough to disprove his claim with a mere glance at my neck. Mr. Dawson's scrutinizing gaze fell below my chin. I squirmed a bit and considered giving Jasper a sharp elbow for his silly comment.

  "I don't see a rash," Mr. Dawson said.

  I needed to step in before Jasper dug us a deeper hole.

  "It's on the back of my neck, under my collar," I said shyly. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't show it to you."

  Dawson seemed satisfied enough. "Ruby, did you give them their money back, or maybe they could pick something else from the shop?"

  Jasper patted his billfold in his pocket. "It's all taken care of. Thank you again, Miss Dawson, and I hope we didn't intrude too much on your time."

  We nodded good-bye and headed out of the farm.

  Chapter Twenty

  Several long trips on the Red Line and hot hours at the ostrich farm had left us feeling wilted and thirsty. We took a detour into Duffy's Soda Fountain for an egg cream. It was late in the afternoon, and aside from a couple sharing a malt at the end of the counter, the stools were wide open.

  Jasper hopped up on the stool and pressed his palms against the cool marble counter. "I want to stretch out on this block of stone. It's nice and cold to the touch." Duffy had turned on the overhead ceiling fans adding a nice breeze to the shiny mix of chrome, glass, marble and polished maple. Duffy and his bother Derek, the local druggist, kept an immaculate store. A person could stop in for anything from a soothing syrup for a sore throat to a tiny toy train for a toddler.

  Duffy walked out from the backroom and a grin broke out on his heart-shaped face. "Well, if it isn't the local private investigators," he said cheerily. I had yet to see the man in a foul mood but then who could be grumpy surrounded by ice cream and jars filled with candy. Duffy tossed a white rag over his shoulder. "Are you guys working on anything good, or is it still top secret?"

  "Ah, you know, we're always in the middle of top secret stuff," Jasper joked. "Now, how about two egg creams for a couple of thirsty detectives?"

  "Two egg creams coming right up." Duffy pulled two glasses off the shelf behind him and plinked them down on the counter. He ladled chocolate syrup into the glasses and reached for the seltzer water to make up the egg creams that contained neither eggs nor cream. But all Jasper and I cared about was that they were going to be crisp and refreshing enough to wash away the temporary case of doldrums brought on from the hot trolley ride.

  Jasper took a strong whiff of the air and crinkled his nose. "What's that bitter smell, Duff?"

  "Sorry about that. Derek is making up a batch of cough syrup. He's boiling the bark from an elm tree. It's a special elixir he makes for what he likes to call the summer croup. He says it's brought on by a mix of plant pollen, car fumes and dry air. That's why I've got the overhead fans going. That stuff always stinks up the place." He set two frothy, chocolaty drinks in front of us. "Enjoy."

  Jasper had already grasped his straw. "Oh, I intend to."

  The first few sips of the fizzy chocolate drink helped lift my mood.

  Jasper sighed with satisfaction. "Now, why the heck do they call them egg creams? Doesn't make sense."

  "Maybe fizzy chocolate drink just didn't sound catchy enough. Either way, this is delicious. I'm already thinking clearer and feeling less like a wilted daisy. The trolley was so hot and crowded, I couldn't think straight." I sat up and slapped the counter. "Think straight."

  "Yeah, I heard you the first time." Jasper shook his head. "Maybe you're not thinking all that straight yet."

  "No, listen. We're going at this whole thing with a very straight approach. Someone killed Mildred Freemont-Keeler, and we are looking for a person with motive who had the opportunity to kill her."

  "Sounds like a solid plan to me," he said between sips on his straw.

  "Yes, only the person with the best motive, unfettered wealth, is Roy Freemont, and he has an alibi. He was with Wanda during the time of the murder."

  Jasper had come to the bottom of his glass, but he moved the straw around to get every drop. I pushed mine over to him. "Here, finish mine."

  "Thanks." He removed my straw and pushed in his own. "Don't want any sister germs. Anyhow, what about Walter? He had good motive. He no longer has to listen to his wife harp about what a coward he is."

  "Yes, that's still a motive, but it's certainly not a strong one. And it's especially weak when you consider Mildred's death has now left him virtually penniless."

  "Good point. I think I could have put up with her bullying if it meant lots of clams in the bank account."

  "That's why I'm wondering if we're going about this all wrong. What if the killer wasn't trying to kill Mildred?"

  "Maybe you didn't get a good look at the woman. She wasn't the kind you could easily mistake for someone else." He finished my drink too and made a loud sucking sound when he reached frothy air. I knuckled him on the shoulder, and the straw nearly went up his nose.

  "Hey, what's that for?" he asked.

  "I'm trying to talk business here, and you're lost in the world of egg creams as if nothing else exists except that glass in front of you. Now pay attention. I've got a theory, and I think it's a good one."

  He made a point of turning toward me. "I'm all ears, sis."

  "Good. Here's what I'm thinking. Ruby thinks Paul was framed for the murder. We're looking for a person who had good motive to kill Mildred and who used Paul to cover their tracks. Mildred made such a spectacle. Everyone at the farm witnessed the incident at the ostrich cart. What if someone was watching the scene and thought, this is my chance. I'll give Paul the motive to kill Mildred and make double sure he gets pinched for it."

  Jasper blinked at me in confusion. "Aren't we just back at square one, where it seems as if someone framed Paul to cover for their murder of Mildred Freemont?"

  "It would seem that way, yes. But what if Mildred was just a tragic pawn in someone's plot to destroy Paul?"

  A wry grin tilted Jasper's mouth. "Then tell me this, oh wise one. Why didn't the person just rub out Paul instead? Why go through the trouble of killing Mildred?"

  "Because this way they destroy Paul's life and keep the police off their scent. It's a sort of murder by proxy, if you will. Paul is still alive, but if he's convicted, he'll spend the rest of his life in jail."

  "Which is almost worse than death," Jasper added. He rubbed his chin in thought. "If you
're right, then we need to be looking for someone who had motive to destroy Paul." He pointed at me. "Like Eugene Strump, the guy who threatened to kill him. Revenge is always a good, solid motive."

  "Exactly, now you're on the trolley," I quipped.

  Jasper put up his hand. "No, don't even joke about being on the trolley. I don't want to sit in one of those cramped, suffocating Red Cars for a long time."

  "I'm with you," I said. "Back to Eugene. He is one of my possible suspects. Since so many people witnessed him threatening to kill Paul, it makes sense that he would look for a more complex way to get revenge on him. The only problem is—was Eugene Strump at the farm on Saturday?"

  "That should be easy enough to find out. If he used to work there, people would have recognized him." Jasper pulled out his billfold to pay for the drinks.

  "Unless he was wearing a disguise because he knew people would recognize him. I'm certain he wasn't welcome on the grounds after the stealing and death threats."

  "Yeah, but how did he know Mildred Freemont would just happen to make a big scene, embarrassing Paul and giving him motive to kill her?"

  We stepped off the stools and waved to Duffy, who was helping another customer.

  "I haven't worked that out yet," I said.

  We stepped outside onto the sidewalk. The sun was reflecting off the cement. I could feel the heat through my shoes and stockings.

  "You mentioned Strump was one of your suspects." Jasper unlocked our office door.

  We walked inside. The office was stuffy and hot from being sealed up all day. "Wowza, like walking into a lit furnace." Jasper shoved a rubber doorstop under the front door to prop it open. "Who else is on the list?"

  I placed my notebook on my desk and sat in the chair. "Why, that should be obvious," I said. "Who else had good motive to ruin Paul's life?"

  It took him just a second to figure out the answer to my question. He snapped his fingers. "The old man. Mr. George Dawson."

  "Exactly."

  Chapter Twenty-One