Murder at the Ostrich Farm

by London Lovett

  "Wilkins," he said sharply.

  "Yes, sir," Paul answered.

  "I need someone at the cart photographs. There's a long line of people waiting. Hitch up Emerett."

  "Yes, sir, I was just going to get a cold drink. I just finished with the feeding show," Paul said politely.

  "No time for that. People are waiting." The supervisor spun sharply on his heels and lumbered away to let Paul know the conversation was over.

  "Hey, Wilkins, I'll bring you over a lemonade," Nate offered as Paul reluctantly left the line.

  He waved without looking back. "Thanks, buddy."

  Chapter Five

  Jasper had scouted out an empty picnic table shaded by a sprawling mulberry tree for our lunch. The table was across from the place where people were climbing into the back of an ostrich cart for souvenir pictures. The photographer stood behind his tripod, looking hot and somewhat temperamental as he told people which way to turn and when to smile at the camera. It was not an easy task considering the ostrich was looking antsy and not happy to be part of the commotion. Paul Wilkins stood nearby, holding the end of the lead to make sure the bird didn't decide to gallop away with an unwitting passenger bouncing around the wooden cart.

  Jasper plucked his second sandwich out of the basket. "Told ya we should have eaten these an hour ago. They're warm."

  Daddy peered sideways at him. "You don't seem to be having any problem inhaling them. And save room. I've got my famous oatmeal raisin cookies hidden in the bottom of the basket." Cooking and baking were two of the hobbies Daddy had taken up after he stopped practicing medicine full time. It was an odd habit for a retired doctor but between cooking, building birdhouses and caring for his cactus garden, he seemed to be leading a pleasantly satisfying life. I was glad of it. He'd experienced more than his share of tragedies and triumphs during his years as a doctor.

  "That little one reminds me of you, Poppy, when you and your mother were dressed for a spring party," Daddy said with a wistful flutter in his voice.

  I blissfully nibbled my sandwich and followed each savory bite with a sip of ice cold lemonade, one that wasn't too sour or too sweet. There were even slices of real lemon floating around in the cup to make it extra delicious. The three of us watched as an adorable little angel, a little girl of three or four dressed in a rose colored smock and hand embroidered collar, was helped by Paul and her doting father up the steps to the cart. Her father lifted her up and over the lip of the cart. Her mother looked on anxiously as dad helped her settle into a nice pose in the middle of the cart. The little girl kept turning to look at the tall necked bird in front of her, even as her father tried every funny hat trick and dance step to get her to turn her face toward the camera.

  "That's it, I'm not having kids." Jasper dropped a leftover crust on the ground for the sparrows that had gathered to clean up picnic crumbs.

  His statement caught Daddy's attention sharply. "Why on earth would you say that? I expect loads of grandchildren from all of you." He looked pointedly at me.

  "What are you looking at me for?" I asked, incredulously. "He's the one who said it."

  "Just letting all the interested parties know of my grandfatherly expectations." Daddy looked at Jasper. "What about that sweet scene over there makes you not want to be a father?" Just as he said it, the little girl's father had taken to hopping around on one foot while waving his hat in the air and calling out 'Cindy Boo, look at Pops'.

  "I rest my case." Jasper took a long, noisy gulp of lemonade and ended it with a satisfied sigh.

  I'd finished my sandwich, and Daddy caught me staring longingly at the basket.

  "Guess you're ready for one of those oatmeal cookies," he said and shuffled around for the tinfoil wrapped treats. He unfolded the foil. "I put in extra raisins."

  "Oh, this should be a treat," Jasper said. Daddy and I quickly discovered he wasn't talking about the cookies.

  It seemed Mildred Freemont-Keeler had decided to get a picture in an ostrich cart. She wasn't dressed or, for that matter, built for the adventure, but she seemed quite determined. It was more than apparent that the woman always got what she wanted. Her son had wandered off, possibly not wanting to witness what was certain to be an attention grabbing moment. Her husband, who looked as unsure as Mildred looked sure, stood off to the side holding his wife's handbag and sun parasol in his hands. It seemed he was going to leave poor Paul Wilkins all alone in the seemingly impossible task of getting Mildred, in all her bulk and layered skirts, up the steps and into the cart for the picture.

  "We shouldn't be watching," Daddy said with eyes glued to the scene in front of us.

  "Yeah, well, go ahead and look away if you want," Jasper muttered. "I can narrate the whole darn thing for ya."

  It was Paul who I felt most sorry for. He reached for her hand while she was still just climbing the three short steps up to the cart. She rudely swished it away and snapped at him that she was perfectly able to climb steps. But her confidence slipped away once she realized it was going to take some limber moves for her to actually climb into the cart.

  Nate was nearby and noticed the predicament Paul was in. He kindly rushed in and took hold of the lead to keep the ostrich still while Paul assisted Mildred. By now, the event had attracted more than a few spectators, including several of the other women from the club, all of whom seemed quite worried and slightly alarmed at what was happening. They whispered behind gloved hands and lowered hat brims, but none of it stopped Mildred in her quest for a souvenir photo.

  Mildred fell short on her first attempt to hoist herself into the cart. The ostrich grew more agitated. He dropped his bead-like head and scratched angrily at the dirt.

  "This might be the highlight of the day," Jasper said, before taking a big bite of cookie.

  "Jasper Starfire," Daddy said quietly, "you should never laugh at someone's expense."

  Jasper lowered the cookie and pointed to his mouth. "No laugh. Not even a chuckle." He looked at me for back up. "Did you hear a laugh, sis?"

  "Don't drag me into this. You know what Daddy meant." Right and proper words considering I couldn't look away from the spectacle.

  Paul had decided to climb the short stack of portable steps to lend a hand to the woman. The line for pictures grew longer, and the crowd of onlookers spread wider. Walter stepped forward as if he was about to suggest she give up on the idea but then he shrank back into the shadow of the buildings and sealed his mouth shut.

  There was a moment of calm with the sun shining down harshly, a breeze ruffling the trees and a simultaneous holding of breath around the farm. Paul bravely threw himself into his task. It was hard to know where Mildred and her voluminous skirts and girth ended and her chivalrous helper began, but it seemed success was at hand until the ostrich decided to take a good long step forward. Pandemonium followed. Arms and legs, both Mildred's and Paul's, flailed. Skirts ruffled and bunched and crinkled. Then a shriek followed that was piercing enough to send every bird, flying and flightless alike, into a panic. The trees overhead cleared, and the ostriches in the field trotted to the far corner, as far away from the unsettling sound as possible.

  Daddy, Jasper and I stood straight up from the picnic bench. A few seconds of stunned silence followed the shriek. Then Mildred Freemont, who had finally gotten both feet back on the raised platform, pushed Paul so hard he flew off the small landing. He was agile enough to swing his feet underneath himself and avoid injury.

  "He touched me in the most indecent manner!" Mildred bellowed as she pointed down at Paul. He stared up at her, white with shock. The commotion had brought more people, including Ruby and George Dawson, out from a nearby building. The grouchy farm supervisor, Mr. Jones, lumbered around the corner and headed toward the chaos.

  Paul had finally recovered enough to respond to the accusation. "I was only trying to keep you from falling out of the cart. It was purely by accident," he said in a shaky tone.

  Curiosity drew my attention toward Ruby. She looked
terribly upset, but it was hard to know if she was particularly upset because Paul was being accused or if she was just upset in general.

  George Dawson made his way to the portable steps. He motioned hastily for Nate to lead the ostrich and cart away. "Mrs. Freemont," he said as he reached the first step. He offered a hand for her to take. "Let's get you inside for something cold to drink. It's very hot—"

  Mildred pulled her hand out of his reach. "What will you do about this, Mr. Dawson? Your man here touched—" She paused and lifted her chin. "He touched my bosom."

  The bystanders gasped, or at least, most of them did. Jasper chuckled and kept chuckling until Daddy elbowed him in the side.

  I rolled my eyes at my brother. Jasper held up his hands. "What? It's a funny word? It sounds extra funny coming from those prim and proper lips. I'll bet that's one of the first times that woman has even uttered the word bosom."

  "Jasper," Daddy said in a low hiss. "Enough of that."

  George Dawson stood at the bottom of the portable steps staring up at the woman who seemed determined to make a big case out of an accidental brush of the hand. Her husband had shrunk even farther into the shadows. I didn't envy the poor man's drive home. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of her son, Roy, but once he realized his mother was causing a ruckus in the center of the farm, he slinked away.

  "Well, Mr. Dawson, what do you have to say for your man, here?" she asked. "He touched me in a scandalous manner, and I insist you do something about it. It seems to me he should lose his job."

  "Well—well, Mrs. Freemont, I don't—" George looked toward Paul. "Wilkins, what do you have to say for yourself?"

  Paul's skin had lost some of its golden tan. He turned his face up to Mildred. "I am sorry, ma'am, but I assure you, it was entirely an accident. I would never have meant to touch you in such a manner."

  "I'll say," Jasper mumbled. "What guy in his right mind would?"

  Daddy had given up on his reprimands. It was easy to see that Paul was telling the truth, and it was hard not to feel terribly sorry for the poor man.

  Paul turned back to his boss. "Mr. Dawson, I was helping her into the cart, and the ostrich moved forward. She was about to fall off the landing so I grabbed her. It was an accidental brush of my hand. Nothing more." Paul inadvertently shot a glance in Ruby's direction, which only seemed to anger George.

  "Wilkins, I think you owe Mrs. Freemont a more sincere apology," George said.

  Paul was reluctant, but he moved closer to the steps to offer his second apology. Mildred wanted nothing of the sort.

  "An apology is not enough. After all, my dignity has been marred." With an imperious wave of her hand, she stomped down the steps. "Walter!" she bellowed. "Bring me my parasol before I succumb to heat exhaustion."

  Walter came creeping out of the shadows like a scared rabbit, clutching her purse and parasol.

  Mildred ripped the parasol from his hands. He cowered for a moment, apparently worried she might crown him with it. "What type of husband hides when his wife has been most brutally compromised by a ruffian!" she shrieked. Walter stretched his skinny neck up and looked angrily toward Paul.

  "Never mind." Mildred opened her parasol with a snap and handed it to Walter to hold over her head, not an easy feat at his height disadvantage. It seemed her ire was now focused on her cowering husband.

  Ruby stepped forward to help out the situation. "Mrs. Freemont, as father suggested, let's get you inside, out of the sun, for a cold drink. Then we can discuss the matter further."

  Ruby's gracious tone was forced, but it seemed to convince the woman. Mrs. Freemont shot another withering glare at Paul, who wore an expression that was part shock and part anger. It would be difficult to hold one's tongue and civility when being accused of something shameful, particularly when it was done in front of an entire crowd of people. But Paul had done an admirable job of it.

  Mrs. Freemont was lead away, her skirts rustling and parasol fluttering. Her protestations and complaints could still be heard as she entered the office building. Walter Keeler shuffled in behind her, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere in the world than at Dawson Ostrich Farm.

  "Well, I think we've seen enough of the darker side of life," Daddy said. "How about a walk through the gardens?"

  "I'd love that," I said.

  Jasper clapped Daddy lightly on the back. "Not for me, old chap. I'm off to the races. I've been told to get there early for a good seat."

  Daddy's brow arched. "Just don't lose too much money. Last month you ended up short, remember? My wallet is not your personal bank account."

  "Don't worry about it, Doc. I can feel a win in my bones. I'll be walking outta here with a fat wallet, I just know it." He removed his hat and bowed before hurrying off to the ostrich race track.

  Chapter Six

  The Dawson farm was so vast, even with a great deal of land enclosed for the animals and another section covered with outbuildings, there was still a large wilderness area with crudely cleared walking paths and a wide variety of trees and shrubs. Daddy, always a man of science, took great pleasure in telling me the long, scientific names of the foliage, all of them so long they were impossible to repeat, let alone remember. Still, it was nice spending time alone with him. It was rare for us to be without one of the boys hanging around, mostly because Jasper still lived at home and my brother, Max, spent more time there than in his own place.

  After meandering and talking and laughing for a good half hour, Daddy and I sat on a stone bench across from a sprawling deep green shrub that boasted azure blue blooms and a sweet scent. Dozens of painted lady butterflies twittered amongst the blossoms, making it seem as if the shrub was vibrating.

  "This plant, Ceonothus, or more easily remembered as California Lilac, always attracts butterflies. I'm going to plant some in the backyard," Daddy said.

  "That's a splendid idea. One can never have too many butterflies floating about the yard." In the distance, a bell and roaring cheers signified the start of another ostrich race. Daddy took off his hat. The boater had left a red line around his forehead. The skin above the line was white but below was the pink of a sunburn. His freckles, the same spray I wore on my nose and cheeks, were darker from so much time outside in his garden.

  He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow and decided not to replace his hat right away. "The breeze feels nice on my head," he said as he pushed the handkerchief back into his pocket. "It's going to be a hot summer. Of course, since we're in California, that is not some grand, profound prophecy."

  I shuffled my shoes over the thin dirt beneath my feet. "I, for one, look forward to it. Not so much the hot days but I love the balmy evenings. Then I can open my windows and enjoy the night breeze. Sometimes, when the wind is carrying just right, I can smell the ocean. I know it's a good twenty miles away, but I swear the salty scent comes right through my window and fills the house."

  Daddy looked over at me. "You're enjoying having your own place, aren't you, Poppy Blossom?"

  I wrapped my arm around his. "I miss you, of course, but I do like having my own little cottage."

  He chuckled. "You're just like your mother. I don't know if I ever told you this but when your mother and I first got married, we lived with her parents."

  "In Grandpa and Grandma's tiny bungalow? Oh my, that must have been close quarters."

  "Like we were living on top of each other. But we had no choice. I was still finishing medical school, and we were broke as two people could be. Your mother spent evenings sketching out pictures of houses with picket fences and porches and beautiful gardens. She'd tell me, one day, Henry, we're going to live in one of these houses, and I'm going to put up checkered curtains and toss floral pillows on every piece of furniture. It will be our place."

  His words made my throat tighten. An image of my beautiful, wonderful, adoring mother standing in her kitchen with the red checked curtains floated through my head. We both grew quiet as we stared absently at the butterflies an
d silently basked in our memories.

  In the distance, the roar of the crowd watching the race dulled to a low murmur. "Let's hope that one ended well for Jasper," Daddy said.

  Suddenly, a terrified shout echoed over the farm. It was immediately followed by more loud voices. The chaos seemed to be coming from the far side of the farm, near the ostrich pens.

  Daddy looked at me with rounded eyes. "I sure hope that hullaballoo doesn't have anything to do with your brother."

  We hopped up from the bench and headed in the direction of the loud voices. We hiked along the walking paths as quickly as our feet could carry us. Whatever was happening, it was easy to surmise from the agitated hysteria rolling over the otherwise pastoral setting, it was something catastrophic.

  Daddy swiped his forehead with his handkerchief and pressed his hat on his head as we left the serene garden area and headed for what seemed to be pure pandemonium. Even the birds seemed to sense that something wasn't right. The flock was huddled in a far corner of the pasture, circling each other and kicking up dust with their big feet. Another glance showed they had been fed mounds of cut roots and other goodies. It was possible they were just excited about their meal.

  We hurried past the racing track. The officials had stopped the race, and the spectators were standing on benches trying to see what was happening at the other end of the farm. I could see Jasper amongst them, standing on tiptoes and shading his eyes with his hand to get a better view.

  "Jasper is still at the race," I said between breaths, just to put Daddy's mind at ease. Not that I thought any of it had to do with Jasper, but my brother did manage to find trouble in the most unlikely places.

  As we rushed toward the scene, I tried to make out some of the words. Two were easy to distinguish from the others and being repeated more than any. She's dead.