Murder at the Ostrich Farm

by London Lovett

  Mrs. Dewberry had been gazing out the window as the last birds of the day were finishing their seed feast. She waved briefly and I waved back. Then her kitchen curtains dropped.

  The pleasant greeting from my neighbor had nearly made me forget Samuel's last comment.

  I peered up at him. "Samuel, I could never live anywhere happily without my cats." His allergies had put him in a sour mood, but I certainly wasn't going to let him take it out on Cleo and Antony. I patted his chest. "Come now, let's not ruin the evening with this. I'm looking forward to dinner."

  He grunted something under his breath, then reluctantly nodded. He led me along the pathway to the street where he had parked his fancy car. He opened the passenger side, and I climbed into the lush, upholstered interior.

  Samuel leaned down into the car before closing the door. "I hope you don't mind, she needs a pint of oil. I need to stop at Sinclair's Gas before they close up for the night. They have the highest grade oil."

  I smiled up at him. "That's fine. I'm just glad you're talking about the car and not me." I always found it funny when men referred to their cars with human pronouns. It was hard to know why Samuel had decided that his Rolls Royce was a she and not a he, like Jasper's Runabout, Charlie. Perhaps it was because the Rolls was so top to bottom pretty.

  Samuel climbed in. It seemed as if the earlier tension caused by the cat allergies had eased. I was glad. I just wasn't in the mood to sit through a long meal with a grump.

  "How was the day at the ostrich farm?" Samuel said it with just enough condescension that it erased any points he'd earned for asking about my day.

  "It was wonderful, right up until the murder," I said, plainly, as I smoothed my dress.

  His face snapped momentarily my direction. "A murder? How on earth did the day end with a murder?"

  "It ended because of the murder not the other way around. I think. Anyhow, it was some wealthy matron who was strangled, of all places, behind the display of Egyptian pyramids in the ostrich pen. I'm sure you'll be reading all about it in the paper tomorrow. Naturally, the farm closed down for the rest of the day."

  "Pyramids in an ostrich pen? Strangled matron? It almost sounds as if you dreamt up the whole thing."

  "No, I assure you I was entirely and utterly awake for all of it." I peered out the window. A layer of haze was already moving in to clutter the Sunday morning skies, but the moisture and the late sunset were the perfect ingredients for a watercolor sky of pink, orange and blue.

  "Who was this wealthy matron?" Samuel asked as we turned the corner onto the street that would lead to Sinclair Gas. The Starfire Detective Agency was just a few blocks from the fill-up station. I found myself stretching up to see if my friend, Kellan, was working. His uncle owned the station. Kellan and I had met accidentally when he stepped into the detective agency, not for help or advice on a case but to avoid the patrol car that just happened to be rolling past. It seemed Kellan had a talent for attracting trouble, and staying out of it took some effort too. Since that morning, when he'd hid behind the giant lettering on the front window of the agency, Kellan had become friends with Jasper and me. He stopped in occasionally to chat or to invite us next door to Duffy's Soda Fountain for a malt. Jasper and Kellan hit it off so well, peas in a pod as Daddy liked to put it, they often hung out together on weekends.

  "I believe her name was Mildred Freemont."

  Samuel turned so sharply as we entered the station, I had to clutch the edge of the seat to keep from sliding into the door. "Mildred Freemont?" he asked, without apologizing for nearly ejecting me from the Rolls.

  "Yes, did you know the woman?"

  "She socialized in the same circles as my parents," he said.

  "Yes, I should have guessed that." I looked toward the garage and office behind the two fuel pumps. The office window was plastered with so many advertisements, it was impossible to see inside. But I didn't need to. The door opened and Kellan strutted out with his usual easy-going smile and confident stride. Samuel stepped out of the car to talk to him.

  Kellan had mentioned to me, long before this evening, that he was not too fond of Samuel. Samuel tended to be rude whenever he came in for work on his car. The two men stood in the center of the lot discussing oil . . . apparently. There could not have been a more stunning contrast between them, Samuel with his tall, lean build neatly packaged in a pristinely tailored suit and stark black hat and Kellan, a few inches shorter but with broad shoulders and an athletic physique, all packaged scruffily in a loose fitting chambray shirt, sleeves rolled high to reveal grease stained arms and a stretched out, tattered fedora to top off his wavy brown hair.

  Kellan hadn't noticed me sitting in the passenger seat, which was probably a good thing. Samuel tended to get snippy when other men talked to me. Particularly if it was Wyatt Blaze, the man who Samuel considered himself in a battle with for my affections. Wyatt had far less serious aspirations when it came to our courtship, but Samuel despised him anyhow.

  Conclusions had been made, it seemed, and Kellan disappeared back inside as Samuel returned to the car. I rolled down the window, realizing the whole thing could take just long enough in a hot car to wilt my pin curls.

  Kellan strolled back out with a can of oil and a metal funnel. He lifted the hood of the Rolls and walked around to my side to get a better angle on the engine. I lowered the short brim of my hat, but my disguise fell short.

  "Hey, Duchess, out for a night on the town?" Kellan's face was leaning just outside my window.

  "Yes. Samuel and I are going to dinner," I said curtly, hoping it would be the end to the conversation.

  "Fancy, fancy," he whistled. "You know something, Duchess, you look absolutely right sitting in the front seat of a Silver Ghost." The day Kellan snuck into my office to hide from the police, I was wearing one of Birdie's special designs, a peacock blue dress far too fancy for daywear. From that point on, even though he'd seen me in much less fancy attire many times since, he had stuck with the nickname Duchess. I didn't hate it.

  "Can we get on with this?" Samuel said sharply as it finally dawned on him that the mechanic was chatting away with his passenger. "We have a dinner reservation," he added.

  Kellan tipped his hat. "Yes, sir, Mr. Langston, getting right to it." Kellan leaned into the engine compartment for a few minutes, then emerged without the can. "Just letting it drain so every drop goes in, Mr. Langston." I couldn't help but feel that the way Kellan said his name was tinged with sarcasm.

  Kellan returned to my window while he waited for the oil to drain. He leaned his forearms across the window ledge. His bright smile looked extra white in his suntanned and slightly greased face. "Heard you were heading out to an ostrich farm today." He lifted a grease stained finger and brought it extremely close to my nose. He closed one eye. "I can see at least two new freckles, so I guess you were standing in the sun."

  His face was so close, I turned forward and left him staring at my profile. "I was wearing a hat, of course, so I think your count is off."

  "Nope, I'm sure of it. I could even point out the two new ones if you want me to."

  I couldn't stop a smile. I turned to him. His face was still so close, our noses nearly brushed against each other. I leaned back. "So I'm supposed to believe that you have memorized every one of my freckles?"

  A far more serious expression washed over his face. He gazed at me with his dark blue eyes. The lopsided smile disappeared for a second. "Every single one, Duchess," he said quietly, in a tone that sent a rush of something through me. I just wasn't sure what.

  "Holden!" Samuel barked over the top of the car. "Get your greasy arms off my car and stop talking to my date."

  Kellan winked discretely at me and straightened. "Sorry about that, Mr. Langston." He bent over into the engine compartment and emerged with the empty can and funnel. "She's good to go," he said as he lowered the hood.

  "Fine. We're late so put it on my tab."

  "Will do." Kellan managed to sneak in one more w
ink and smile as Samuel got back into the car. I found myself quickly winking back.

  Samuel started the Rolls and swung around the pumps to head back out to the street. We drove past Kellan. He stared right at me, boldly, not caring at all if Samuel saw. I didn't hate that either.

  Samuel drove out of the station lot at a much greater speed than necessary. I found myself, once again, hanging on to the edges of the seat to avoid being tossed about. I was just about to ask him to slow down when he jumped into a rant.

  "I don't know why Sinclair employs that kid. He's arrogant and unprofessional and lazy. I know he's some nephew or something like that, but he doesn't do his business any favors employing Holden."

  I didn't even bother to look over at Samuel. I already knew his angry face. He'd worn it just minutes before when he was complaining about my cats. "I know Kellan, and he is none of those things, arrogant, unprofessional or lazy."

  I could feel him scowling at the side of my face. "He has some nerve leaning into this car, talking to you, while he's supposed to be providing a service."

  I laughed dryly, even knowing it would anger him more. "Yes, that is some nerve indeed. Kellan is good friends with Jasper, and I consider him one too. It was perfectly reasonable for him to chat with me while he was waiting for the oil to drain from the can." I finally turned to him. His nostrils were flared, just as I expected. As handsome as the man was, anger never looked good on him. "I think maybe this dinner date was a mistake. I'd like you to take me home, Samuel."

  "What? No, I've made reservations and everything," he said sharply.

  "You've worked yourself up into a lather tonight, and frankly, I'd rather not sit through a meal with you in this foul mood. Please take me home, Samuel."

  He smacked his steering wheel and then, with hardly a glance back, he whipped the Rolls around and headed back toward my house. I was relieved he didn't put up more of an argument, but he had to see that there was no way to salvage the evening. And after the long day, I was in no mood to sit across from his angry scowl at a dinner table. Delicious pastries or not.

  My stomach grumbled with both hunger and nerves as we reached the sidewalk in front of my courtyard. It seemed we'd come to a final blow in our relationship, if one could even call it that. I needed to let him know, even if he didn't see it for himself.

  Angered or not, still the gentleman, he climbed out of the car to open my door. That might have been only because he didn't want the car door to hit the curb, but I liked to think it was out of chivalry.

  "I'm sorry the evening turned out like this, Samuel." I finally found the courage to peer up at him. His face was a mixture of rage and disappointment. I had to convince myself that I didn't see hurt there too. It made what I had to say easier. "Samuel, I appreciate your persistence and am so honored by your attentions, but I wonder if it's best we don't see each other anymore."

  His face smoothed into a stony mask. "I don't understand."

  "I just think you'll be happier with someone else, someone who doesn't own cats or live in a tiny bungalow. Someone more suited to your station in life. We come from two different worlds, don't you think? You have to see that."

  He adjusted his hat and stared down at the sidewalk a few seconds. The tiny muscle in his jaw flickered. "Are you saying we're through?"

  My entire chest filled with heavy stones. I had no idea how hard this would be. "I don't think you're happy with me, Samuel. And I don't think I can ever make you happy."

  He nodded curtly. "Should I walk you to the door?"

  "No, I'm fine. And again, I'm so sorry."

  Without another word, he swept around to the driver's side, climbed inside and peeled away from the curb in his fancy Silver Ghost.

  I watched as his car disappeared around the corner, then an unstoppable wave of emotion passed through me and tears rolled from my eyes. I headed back to my cozy cottage and my best snuggle buddies, my cats.

  Chapter Nine

  After several hours of tossing and turning, picking up my book, only to read the same sentence again and again and then throwing the book aside to toss and turn again, I finally drifted off into a surprisingly dreamless sleep.

  A cup of tea and piece of marmalade toast helped revive me, although it would take more than tea and toast to erase Saturday completely. I hoped a Sunday at the park for a game of football with my brothers and their friends would help me forget all about it. I wasn't entirely sure how or if it had ended with Samuel, but it seemed it was for the best. He needed someone doting and more akin to his lifestyle. There had to be a hundred girls who were a far better match than me. And while it made me sad to think I might not see him again, and I'd shed a good many tears (until Antony and his fat belly rolled off the sofa and I laughed out loud) but I wasn't kidding myself. I was going to miss him, and riding around in a Rolls Royce and sitting at the nicest restaurants wasn't all bad either.

  Jasper knocked. "Hey, let's go!" he yelled impatiently before I even reached the door.

  I swung the door open just as he'd reached up to knock again. His hand fell forward and he stumbled inside. "Jeepers, warn a guy when you're gonna rip the door away from his knuckles." Jasper was wearing a clingy green jersey, a leftover from his days playing ball in school. He'd never made the football team. His slight stature made it impossible, but he was agile and athletic and fast, so he joined every team he could. He and Max tended to be obnoxiously competitive, even when it came to a game in the park. He pounded a fist into his palm. "Let's go. Max and the guys are going to be there soon, and I don't want to miss out on a second of game time."

  I plucked up my straw bag, the nice spacious one I always used for a day at the beach. I peered inside. "Let's see. Blanket to sit on. Book to read. Sunglasses—"

  "Yeah, yeah sunglasses to read. Let's go, will ya?"

  "You're so impatient." I fastened the bag and hung it over my arm. I turned to lock the door and spun back around just in time to see Mrs. Dewberry sitting in her window. I mimicked drinking a cup of tea to let her know I'd be available for our tea chat.

  I nearly had to skip on my low heels to keep up with Jasper's hurried pace. Charlie was chortling and spewing smoke at the curbside. "You still sitting outside her kitchen window pretending to have a tea party?" Jasper asked as we reached the sidewalk.

  "We don't pretend. We sip tea and occasionally she opens her window and we exchange a few words. As far as I'm concerned, that's a tea party. There just isn't any table or chairs or doilies."

  "Yeah? Well, seems to me those are sort of necessary for a proper tea but then what do I know? I'm just an Englishman." He pushed up a clownish grin, then raced around to the driver's side.

  "Did you and Daddy have a relaxing evening?" I asked as he settled into the driver's seat. "Sure did. Doc made some burgers and we ate the rest of his cookies while we listened to the radio. How was dinner with Mr. Big Cheese?"

  I shrank back in the seat, disappointed he asked about my night. Although, I should have known. Jasper had been dreaming of having Samuel as a brother-in-law since I started dating the man. If only my brother could see past the shiny Rolls Royce and fancy clothes . . . like me.

  Jasper looked my direction, then put his eyes back on the road. "Why are you hunching down like that? You didn't—" He shook his head. "Don't tell me you told the guy to buzz off."

  I took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "Not in so many words. Actually, in far more words. In fact, I might have even been rambling because I was feeling a little emotional, and you know how that can make me blather on."

  "Man oh man, then I'm never going to get to sit behind the wheel of that Rolls Royce."

  "That's your main concern?" I laughed. "You're wasting your disgust then because you were never going to sit behind it. His mood turned sour after an allergic reaction to my cats. Then Kellan and I had a short conversation, which apparently upset Samuel."

  Jasper rubbed his chin. "Why would you be talking to Ace while you're out to dinner with Lang
ston?" He turned the corner.

  I squeezed his arm. "Stop at the newspaper stand. I want to see what the paper says about the murder at the ostrich farm."

  "We're already late."

  "Oh please. It'll take me ten seconds. And back to our conversation, Samuel had pulled into Sinclair's for a pint of oil. Kellan was working, so we chatted, and boy, you'd think Samuel caught us kissing or something. He was so grouchy after that, I was no longer hungry. I asked him to take me home and that was when I mentioned to him that maybe we just weren't meant to be."

  "Phooey, that's it then. No Rolls Royce for me," he said under his breath.

  "Yes, well sorry to ruin your dreams. The paper, please." I pointed to the stand.

  I fished around in my straw bag for my coin purse. Jasper reached into his pocket. "Jeepers, you and your bottomless purses." He held out a dime. "It's on me and hurry up, will ya?"

  I hopped out, grabbed a paper, dropped a dime in the tray with hardly a glance at the newsie and climbed back into the car. "Fast enough?"

  "Not bad but next time work on your return. There was a little slow down as your heels hit the crack in the sidewalk."

  "Like to see you move faster in a pair of kitten heels." I picked up the paper. "Here it is. Plastered across the front page, Murder at Dawson's Ostrich Farm."

  "No kidding? Front page? I guess that makes sense with the victim being some high falutin' member of society and all."

  "Not to mention that George Dawson's farm is known all over the country. People travel long distances to see his feathered marvels. It's a double whammy for the newspaper world." I read the first few lines aloud. "The police have made an arrest in the murder of high society matron Mildred Freemont-Keeler. Mildred's first husband was the late Roger Freemont of Freemont Shipping and Imports. Mrs. Freemont-Keeler was visiting George Dawson's famous Pasadena ostrich farm when she was brutally strangled to death in the ostrich pen. An earlier altercation between Mrs. Freemont-Keeler and a handler, Paul Wilkins, along with evidence collected at the scene led the police to their suspect." I got louder and read faster. "Paul Wilkins, a twenty-eight-year old native Californian has been arrested and charged with Mrs. Freemont-Keeler's murder."