It seemed every visitor had congregated near the far corner of the farm. People were pressing up against the pasture fence, stretching necks and leaning side to side to get a look at something near the decorative pyramids. The flock was at the opposite end of the pasture, nibbling on the mound of roots and fruit, not giving a care about the chaos on the other side.
"What's happened?" Daddy asked a man standing near the rear of the group. We stretched up trying to peer over the sea of bobbing heads and hats.
"The workers found a woman unconscious behind the pyramids," the man answered. "I can't really see what's going on."
Daddy took hold of my hand and started pulling me through the crowd. "Excuse me, please. I'm a doctor," he announced as we avoided elbows and a few angry scowls. The magic word doctor seemed to catch fire quickly. Soon people were telling others to clear a path, that a doctor was making his way to the front.
We reached the gate to the animal pen. I could see now that several of the workers had formed a semi-circle around the ostriches to keep them corralled at the pile of food. The young farmhand, Nate, was standing sentry at the pasture gate, not letting anyone past. He looked slightly nervous about being given such an important job. Nevertheless, he put up a hand to stop our progress.
"I'm sorry, I can't let you in," he said confidently. "Mr. Dawson's orders."
"I'm a doctor," Daddy said with a touch of urgency coupled with pride. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance."
Nate had been given an important enough job that he seemed to come to the quick conclusion that he had authority to make a big decision. He unlatched the gate. "All right, come on through, but I'm not sure if there's much you can do. Miss Dawson called for an ambulance and police. They'll be here soon."
Daddy was still gripping my hand. Without a second of hesitation, I stayed close at his heels. Nate didn't bother to stop me or ask questions. We raced across the pasture to the three pyramids. George Dawson was pacing and frantically wiping the sweat from his brow. The farm supervisor, Arthur Jones, stood nearby, looking uneasy and far less self-assured than usual. We neared enough that we finally got a view behind the pyramid. Walter Keeler, Mildred's quiet, nervous husband was being comforted by Ruby Dawson, who looked just as stricken as her father. Roy Freemont stood twenty feet away, resting his palm on the back fence, his hat in hand and his head hung low.
George spotted us. "This area is off limits to visitors," he barked before we reached him.
"I'm a doctor," Daddy announced. "I thought I might be of some assistance."
George's mouth pulled in, and he shook his head slowly. "You can look, but I don't think there's anything you can do," he said grimly.
Daddy started toward the back of the pyramid. He stopped and looked over at me with concern. "Are you certain you want to go with me?"
"Yes," I said, without a second thought. My time as a private investigator had exposed me to the occasional crime scene, but as sure as I answered, I was also sure I needed to steel myself for whatever lay behind the pyramid.
Her black pumps were the first thing we saw as we turned the corner of the pyramid. Mildred Freemont-Keeler, the woman who just an hour earlier had made quite the scene at the souvenir photograph stand, was curled halfway on her side with round eyes staring up from a waxy white face. Her mouth hung limply open. Her white fingers were curled around her string of pearls, and wrapped tightly around her neck was the leather lead from an ostrich's halter. It took no doctor or medical expert to conclude that the woman was stone cold dead.
Daddy removed his hat, held it against his chest and placed two fingers on Mildred's limp wrist. He lifted his fingers and bowed his head momentarily before pushing back to his feet. He pulled out his pocket watch as he walked toward me.
"It's two-thirty," he said quietly. "She's still warm and not just from the sun. I'd say she died some time after one." He gave me a grim nod and walked over to tell Mr. Dawson the news.
Chapter Seven
From all evidence, it appeared that Mildred Freemont-Keeler had been strangled to death by the leather ostrich lead. It was a strip of leather that resembled the reins of a horse bridle. It was one of the tethers the ostrich handlers used to lead ostriches around the farm and to hold them steady while visitors were having their photographs taken in the back of carts.
Daddy and I had been allowed to linger at the heart of the activity for a few minutes after his declaration that the woman was dead. A short time later, a blaring siren echoed off the mountains, signaling that the police and ambulance had arrived. George Dawson looked close to collapsing with worry, heat and fatigue, so Ruby stepped into place to take charge. She looked just as mystified and stunned, but the heat had not gotten to her yet.
"Arthur, please hurry to the entrance and lead the police and ambulance this way. Let your boys know that they'll need to keep the birds corralled down at the far end of the field while the emergency crew moves in. We'll need someone to clear the farm." Ruby looked around desperately for more of her employees. Her face smoothed some and there was a sigh of relief in her posture as she spotted Paul at the gate. He looked somewhat bewildered. It seemed Nate was just filling him in on the details, as if he had missed the entire alarming event.
"Miss Dawson," I spoke up. "Is there something my father and I can do? We could let your people know they need to clear the farm."
"Yes, I do think we should close down for the day." She looked at her father for approval. He nodded weakly. His cheeks were far too red, and there was a great deal of sweat pouring down his face.
"Mr. Dawson, as a doctor," Daddy said, "I insist on taking you inside for a drink and to cool off. It won't help the situation if you get sick from the heat. It seems Miss Dawson has everything well in hand, and my daughter, Miss Starfire, can get word to the employees to shut down for the day."
George Dawson was in no shape to argue. Daddy took his arm and led him away from the scene. I was about to follow, when Ruby stopped me. "Thank you so much for your help. If it's not too much trouble, could you find Teresa in the main office. Let her know that she should make an announcement over the loudspeaker that we need all employees to assist in getting the visitors cleared from the farm."
Some of the onlookers had begun moving away from the scene. It seemed some people had decided on their own that they didn't need to see or hear any grisly details about the poor woman's death, especially if they had children in tow. It was, after all, supposed to be a fun-filled summery Saturday at the ostrich farm. There was no place in that scenario for an unexpected death.
Jasper caught up with me the second I emerged from the leftover spectators. He took hold of my arm and quickened his pace to keep up with mine. "What's going on? Sally said that lady who busted that guy's chops about touching her—" he paused, "well, you know. Sally said she was dead, maybe murdered."
Daddy and Mr. Dawson had reached the small brick building that housed the offices. They went inside. I stopped just short of entering and turned to Jasper. "Sally is right. And who exactly is Sally?"
Jasper grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "The cutest little brunette who was selling sodas at the races."
I rolled my eyes. "I should have guessed. I've got to go inside and find someone named Teresa. She has to make an announcement for people to clear the farm."
As I said it, a scraping sound came from the overhead speakers hung around outside. A throat was cleared, or at least that seemed to be the sound coming through the rough speakers. "At this time, Dawson Ostrich Farm would like everyone to exit the park. We apologize for cutting short your day. To compensate, we will be handing everyone a half off coupon to be used on your next visit. Thank you very much." The speaker turned off with the same grating sound.
"Well, I guess I don't have to find Teresa." I turned back around at the sound of someone yelling for people to get out of the way. Arthur, the supervisor, was leading through the police car and an olive drab box truck with a large red cross painted on the side.
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"Looks like help is here. Too late for that though," Jasper noted. Employees were sweeping through various sections of the farm, driving weary and somewhat irritated visitors toward the exit. "What a day, huh? Never expected this when we climbed on the trolley this morning." Jasper pulled out a small roll of dollar bills. "At least I got to collect on my last bet before they shut the races down."
"Nice. I guess you'll be taking me to lunch this week," I said.
"Maybe, if you play your cards right, I'll even get you a double malted at Duffy's."
I pinched the roll between my thumb and forefinger. "How much did you win? Can we both retire?"
"Not quite. This roll is ten dollars," he boasted, but I knew there were two sides to every gambling bet.
"Uh huh and how much did you wager?"
His mouth slid side to side, which meant he didn't want to say. "Eight dollars," he mumbled.
I laughed. "Maybe I better buy you the double malted."
A group of people shuffled past us. We stayed near the shade of the building and out of the way of the main stampede of people. No one seemed to notice two stragglers lagging behind, but I was sure that would change soon enough.
"We'll have to wait here. I don't want to lose Daddy in this rush of people. Everyone who came on the Red Line will be trying to board at the same time, so we might as well dawdle and take a later trolley."
Jasper looked around. "Where is Doc, anyhow?"
"He took a very heat exhausted George Dawson into the office for a drink and to cool down. He looked close to collapse. His daughter took over." We both gazed out as the police climbed out of the car and headed toward scene at the pyramid. Two medics worked to get a gurney out of the back of the ambulance.
"Don't need to rush, boys," Jasper muttered under his breath. "Victim's not going anywhere."
"Jasper," I said in an admonishing tone.
"What? Hey, you saw that lady in action during lunch. She wasn't exactly a sweetheart." He elbowed me lightly. "Do you think it was that poor bloke she berated in front of everyone? He looked properly embarrassed about it. Downright devastated, I'd say."
Paul had joined the other farmhands in keeping the birds corralled and calm while the police did their work. Ruby had stayed with Walter and Roy out in the field but a slight distance away from the body. Neither man looked overly distraught about the nightmarish turn the day had taken.
"It's hard to tell what happened to Mildred Freemont, but it does seem there might be a few motives floating around. Don't forget her husband was equally humiliated during the ostrich cart fiasco. Although, something tells me the man was used to being humiliated and berated by his headstrong wife."
One of the workers, a cute brunette, and Jasper's new friend, I suspected, was heading our direction. Jasper discretely lifted his hat and smoothed his hair back. "There's Sally."
"Gee, couldn't have guessed that with the instant grooming session," I quipped. "Oh, Birdie's gift and my postcards. I need to rush over to the shop before they lock it up. I left my package. Wait here for Daddy. I'll be right back."
With the lot basically empty, it was an easy trek to the feather boutique. I reached the door but found it was locked. I moved my face closer to the front window and peered inside. Mary was just cleaning up her counter. I tapped on the window to get her attention. Fortunately, she recognized me. She came hurrying over to let me inside.
"I was hoping you were coming back for your package. I wrapped it up nicely in a green bow."
"Thank you so much. I nearly left without it." I followed her across the shop floor. The building was much bigger when it was void of customers.
She circled back around the counter and pulled out the little box, complete with Kelly green bow. The postcards were in an envelope. I touched the satiny bow. "It's perfect. My friend will love it." I lifted my eyes and saw that Mary's attention was glued to the scene outside.
"Never had anything like this happen here before," she said.
I turned to look out the window. The medics had reached the pyramid and were, no doubt, preparing to move Mrs. Freemont. "I should say not."
"I just hope it's not someone who works here. That would be terrible for the farm and for all of us. There were rumors all day about some incident at the souvenir photograph stand about how the woman"—she lowered her face as if in prayer—"God rest her soul. About how she was yelling at Paul and wanting him fired when all he was trying to do was keep her from falling out of the cart. But Paul's a great guy, so nice. He could never do something so horrible." She took a deep breath and smiled. "Well, I should finish up."
"Of course. Thank you so much for wrapping this."
Mary led me to the door and locked it behind me. Jasper had finished talking to Sally, and he was handing a business card to another girl.
"What was that about?" I asked as I reached him.
"A true gentleman never tells about private conversations with pretty women."
"I don't care about your private conversations. In fact, I'd pay not to hear a thing about them. I just wondered why you handed that girl a business card."
He patted his chest proudly. "Oh, that, well your partner is always working hard to drum up business."
"And you wanted to let her know that you're a private investigator," I added.
"Yeah, that never hurts with the ladies. But I told her to hand it to Miss Dawson. You know, in case she wants someone to find the killer."
I tilted my head side to side. "I'm sure the police will take care of it but good thinking. You never know."
Daddy walked out of the building with that touch of pride he wore whenever he had used his medical expertise to help someone. "Dawson is feeling much better." He rolled down his sleeves. "I suppose we should head back home. It's been quite a day."
Chapter Eight
It had been such a long day, I was sorely regretting saying yes to a dinner date with Samuel Langston. He had rung me up at the beginning of the week to make plans for the weekend, a dinner date at an exclusive restaurant in town. Samuel and I had been dating off and on, but for the past few months, it was more off than on. He was busy with his successful car dealership, and I was busy with the detective agency. Finding time to see each other was a chore. It probably didn't help that enthusiasm from my side was lacking. Samuel was certainly a nice catch with his good looks, flourishing business and a wealthy family. I knew he wanted to make our relationship a steady thing, but I just wasn't seeing sparks. Jasper thought Samuel was the big cheese (mostly because Samuel drove a Rolls Royce and dressed the part), but Samuel could hardly give Jasper the time of day whenever they met. Jasper fussed over him and complimented him and stared up at him with a glassy gaze, and Samuel paid my brother no attention at all. It made the possibility of Samuel winning my affections basically impossible. Yet, the man persisted, and I occasionally said yes when he asked me to a nice dinner and movie. After all, a good social life was important for an independent woman. Not to mention that the place Samuel was taking me had been touted for making the most delicious dessert pastries.
Daddy, Jasper and I had hardly spoken three words on the crowded, seemingly endless journey home. The day at the ostrich farm had started well enough, but it certainly hadn't ended smoothly. I'd spent the first few minutes of the ride home trying to figure out who killed Mildred Freemont but was quickly lulled into a drowsy nap by the rhythmic, monotonous chugging of the trolley on the tracks. Jasper and Daddy got off three stops before me and both of them looked more than ready for a quiet dinner and to settle down in front of the radio for the night. If I hadn't made plans with Samuel, I might have gotten off to join them for a restful end to a long day. Instead, I found myself having to shower and dress for a night out. Hopefully, the pastries were worth the fuss.
Cleopatra and Antony had finished their daily watch over the outside bird feeder and had retired to the sofa. I poured them another bowl of kibble, which caused Antony to hop off his favorite cushion and prance to h
is bowl.
I headed back into the bedroom for my hat and to check that my stockings were on straight. I'd opted for a simple navy blue frock of Georgette crepe. It had simple pleats and was adorned with a large blue bow at the hip. A knock at the door hurried me along. I put on a small brimmed hat of hemp straw and rolled my lips in to spread my lipstick evenly. Samuel knocked again.
"Coming," I called and scurried down the hallway to the door.
Samuel was wearing one of his finely tailored wool tweed suits and his black Hamburg hat that always made him look much older. His dark hair was slicked back, and a blue silk handkerchief peeked out of his coat pocket.
"Evening, Poppy." He smiled and took off his hat as he stepped inside.
"Hello, Samuel, I'm ready. I just need to grab my shawl and handbag." I left him standing in the center of my tiny front room. I shuffled through my drawer for my dark blue silk shawl. A loud, sudden sneeze startled me.
"Bless you," I called out.
Samuel sneezed again. "It's these cats." Another sneeze. "You know I'm allergic," he said rather grumpily.
I pulled the shawl over my arms, grabbed my black beaded bag and headed out to the front room. Samuel had moved as far away from the cat-strewn sofa as he could get, which in my small house, wasn't saying much.
He had pulled his blue silk handkerchief from his pocket and was holding it over his nose and mouth. His brown eyes had started to water.
"I'm so sorry, Samuel. Can I get you something?"
"You could get these cats out of here," he grumbled behind the handkerchief.
I glanced around. "Where would they go? Besides, their fur and dander is everywhere in this house. I'm afraid the best way for you to avoid it is for us to leave." I held up my purse with a grin. "I'm all ready to go."
Samuel turned and gladly reached for the door. "Don't know how you can stand to live in this shoebox anyhow. If we were married, I'd buy you a real house with a proper sized living room. And no cats," he added as we stepped outside.
Murder at the Ostrich Farm Page 5
