However, the group of women sitting around the oak table looked cheery enough as they sipped cold drinks and nibbled on little cakes and tea sandwiches.
One of the women looked up from their conversation and smiled graciously. "Hello, dear, are you lost? Do come sit and have a cake, then we can sort it out for you."
Chairs creaked and scraped as everyone at the table turned their attention my way.
"You look so familiar," a woman with a rolled brim hat decorated with a blue ostrich plume said over her glass of tea. "But I can't place you."
The first woman motioned to an empty chair. I walked over and sat down. Immediately, a pretty porcelain plate was piled high with bite-sized sandwiches topped with everything from thin slices of ham to crisp slices of cucumber. A perfectly square piece of cake with strawberry filling was tucked on the side of the sandwich pile. An ivory linen napkin with the letters SGVWC embroidered in lavender was passed my direction. Another woman got up to fetch me a glass of iced tea. It was like being cared for by a dozen wonderful grandmothers all at once. They made me feel so welcome and nostalgic for my own grandmothers, I could have sat there with them all afternoon.
"You'll have to excuse the terrible heat in the room," the first woman said. "This building gets very hot in the summer. Once July arrives, we can only meet in the evenings. Otherwise, we'd bake like buns in an oven."
It turned out I was hungrier than I realized, and the sandwiches were fresh and tasty. I had a few good bites without realizing that the entire table was watching me with sweet granny-ish smiles.
"These are delicious. Thank you."
"Now, dear," the woman to my right said. "Where were you headed when you got lost?"
The looks of concern that drifted my direction made me almost want to just make up some sad story of losing my way on a walk to my grandmother's or something that was far more endearing than the truth. But I hadn't journeyed five miles east to San Gabriel to sit with nice old women and eat goodies.
I swallowed a bite and took a long drink of tea. I still had their rapt attention. "Actually, I'm not lost. I'm a private investigator, and I'm looking into Mildred Freemont-Keeler's tragic death."
Mouths dropped and the looks of sweet, granny concern turned much colder. "You can't be serious?" the first woman who had asked me to sit said with genuine disbelief.
The woman to my right patted my arm. "Cora is right. You don't expect us to believe a spry young thing like yourself is a private investigator."
I reached into my purse and pulled out several business cards. They were passed around the table. Spectacles came out and oohs and my-mys followed.
"Miss Starfire," Cora chirped from the end of the table. "I'm afraid you're too late. The police have already made an arrest. There was an incident at the ostrich farm on Saturday," she started.
"Yes, the incident with Paul Wilkins, the ostrich handler," I said.
"That's where I saw you," the woman with the ostrich plume said excitedly. "Your father was the doctor who examined Mildred." She paused and bowed her head, "God rest her soul," she muttered and the others echoed her sentiment. "I saw you standing out in the field with him." With that, she sat back with satisfaction, crossing her arms as if she'd just solved a grand mystery.
"Yes, that's right." I cast a friendly smile her way. "Miss Dawson, the owner's daughter, has hired me to check on the details of the mur—" I paused.
Cora, who was apparently at the head of the table for good reason, spoke up. "It's all right, Miss Starfire. We all know she was murdered. It's a terrible word, but there isn't any nicer way to put it, is there?"
I shook my head slightly. "No, I suppose not."
The woman to my right placed her hand on mine again. She was quickly becoming my favorite. "How can we possibly help with your investigation? We left shortly after the police arrived. I'm afraid it was too hot and with the terrible event, most of us were feeling quite faint. Nina, over there, had to go to the hospital for fluids and something to calm her nerves." She motioned to a quiet, little woman who weighed no more than a hundred pounds and had dots of rouge on her cheeks. Nina grinned weakly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "I'm sure it was a terrible ordeal for all of you. I'm wondering if any of you saw Mildred after lunch. I know she sat with you to eat, but I understand she left the group early."
"Mildred said she was going off to make sure Walter wasn't losing her money," a woman to my left said. They laughed lightly at that remark.
"Yes, I heard she met Walter outside of the races. But none of you saw her after that?"
The women spent a few moments looking questioningly at one another. Shrugs and head shakes followed. "That's the last any of us saw of her," Cora spoke for the group. "We stayed to have some dessert and coffee. We lingered overlong for lunch, I'm afraid. Most of us were tired by then."
"Our feet hurt," Nina added. "I think we were sitting with our coffee cups under the shade of the tree when the yelling started." She broke off and pressed her fingers against her mouth. The woman next to her patted her back for comfort.
It was disappointing to say the least. Not one of the women had seen Mildred after lunch. I decided to dig a little deeper into Mildred's family ties. "How are Walter and her son, Roy, doing? Have you spoken to either of them since Saturday?"
Another round of head shakes. "Of course, we'll be holding our own special memorial here at the club," the woman to my right said. "We're going to plant an orange tree and have a bronze plaque with her name placed under it."
"I still think a nice bench would be more appropriate," one of the women said. Before a debate could take shape about it, I interjected a quick question.
"What kind of man is Roy?" I asked. I'd seen the women fawn all over him when Mildred was standing nearby, but that might have been for show.
"He's very handsome," Nina said coyly. "Very tall and handsome."
Or so he thought, I mused.
The woman to my right leaned closer. "I thought he was very arrogant. And you know, now he'll be a very rich man," she added quickly before the curt rebukes of her assessment of Roy Freemont began.
I stopped their quarrel with a question. "But surely he has to share the fortune with Walter Keeler, his stepfather?"
The women shot sideways glances around the table again.
"Unless things have changed," Cora spoke up, "Mildred left us with the impression that her entire fortune would go to Roy. He is, after all, the rightful heir to the Freemont fortune."
"So Walter lost his wife and his elegant lifestyle?" I asked. "Or perhaps he was wealthy too?"
"No, not at all. Walter's a tailor by trade. I'm sure he'll have to go back to work now." Cora pointed to my plate. "You haven't touched your cake. It's delicious. Evelyn's specialty," she motioned to the woman on my right, who was beaming about her cake.
"I'll have to try it then," I smiled at Evelyn. "It looks delicious." It seemed I wasn't going to get too much information out of the women, but I was enjoying a nice lunch. And aside from the visible verbal abuse, Walter's motive for killing his wife had just turned upside down.
Chapter Eighteen
Jasper was moving much more like Jasper and less like a grandpa as he headed toward me down the sidewalk. A westbound trolley bustled past us, signaling that we needed to hurry to catch it.
"I've got something to tell you," Jasper said as he reached me.
"That's our trolley so talk and walk," I said.
He spun on his heels and walked along next to me. "You know how I was going to stop in at the market to buy a snack?" He reached into his pocket. "That reminds me, I bought you a packet of Hydrox cookies." He held up the rumpled package that I was sure held nothing but cookie dust after its storage time in Jasper's pocket.
I pressed an arm against my full tummy. "No, thanks, the woman's club just piled me a plate high with tea sandwiches and cakes. Couldn't eat another bite."
"Ah, that's typical. Here I am filling up on Hydrox a
nd warm cherry punch or whatever that concoction was at the market soda fountain counter and you're over in the clubhouse snacking on tea sandwiches and frosted cakes." He made sure to switch on his British accent to make it sound even grander than it actually was.
"Back to what you were about to tell me. Did you find out something about the case? Something about Mildred?"
He opened the packet of cookies and pinched out a broken piece. "Not about Mildred, but I just happened to sit at the counter next to a guy named Morris, or maybe it was Norris. Anyhow, the guy just happened to ask if I'd heard about the murder at the ostrich farm." He ate his bite of cookie and continued. "And since I had, I said yeah, I heard about it."
I peered over at him. "Brilliant response. Was he there as well?"
"No, he wasn't, but coincidentally enough, the guy worked at the farm until just recently when his uncle needed a truck driver for his business. I forgot what kind of business he said."
"Does it matter at all to the case?" I asked.
"No, not really. So anyhow, Morris or Norris just happened to be at the farm on the day that guy Eugene got fired. He saw the whole thing, including Eugene threatening to kill Paul."
We reached the stop and sat on the bench to wait for the trolley to reach us.
"That's great. Did you ask him how Paul reacted to the threat?"
Jasper shook his head. "What kind of a dummy do you think I am? Of course I asked. And Morris or Norris-"
I stopped him. "Let's just call him Morris for brevity's sake," I suggested.
"Right, so this guy Morris said that Paul took it real well. Morris said Wilkins wasn't the type to lose his temper, but apparently, he was pretty upset about the whole thing. He was scared too. He thought Eugene might just carry out his threat. Morris said Paul complained to Arthur Jones because it was Jones who let Eugene know Paul had turned him in."
"Not very nice of Jones," I said. "As a supervisor, he should have taken full responsibility for the firing. Placing blame on Paul was pretty rotten."
Jasper tossed a piece of cookie to a pigeon. "Rotten indeed. But Morris said that's the way it was around there. Jones was a hard man to work for."
"Then Ruby had every right to be angry with Jones today. I wonder why he'd feel the need to lie about Paul's character." Four more pigeons had joined the cookie feast. "If you keep feeding them, we'll soon be surrounded."
Jasper folded up the package and shoved it back into his pocket. "What did the women tell you? Or were you too busy snacking on treats to even ask questions?"
"I asked some questions. Just didn't get any big answers. None of the women saw Mildred after she left the lunch. But I found out who benefits the most from Mildred's death."
"Yeah, that's easy," Jasper quipped. "Walter gets to bathe in her money and all without having to listen to her yammer at him and call him names."
"Nope. Walter won't be bathing in her money. She left her fortune to her son, Roy."
"No kidding? Lucky bloke."
The Red Car was a block away. It shambled toward us at a snail's pace.
Jasper groaned. "Jeepers, I sure don't look forward to sitting in that hot trolley for the ride back home."
We watched the car roll into the stop. I flipped through my memory to Saturday at the farm. I saw Roy more than once. He was the sort of man who had a big presence, mostly because he was dressed much finer than the average visitor, but also because he strutted around with that typical rich man arrogance. He also had an eye for the ladies and, in particular, one of the shop girls. Mildred was so disgusted by his flirtations she asked Ruby to find something for the girl to do to keep her away from Roy. Her name was Wanda, and something told me Roy didn't stop his advances just because his mother interfered.
We stood from the bench and the few remaining pigeons scattered. "Actually, Jasper, let's stop in Pasadena on our way back home. I want to have another look around, and there's one more girl I want to talk to."
Jasper wasn't too pleased. "Yeah, I guess, since we're already out here, but man oh man, I sure hate that trolley ride."
Chapter Nineteen
It was late afternoon but there was still activity happening at Dawson's farm. The man we'd met at the entrance gate in the morning waved us through.
"I suppose I should let Ruby know we're back. I don't want to anger a paying client," I motioned toward the offices. "I'm sure we'll find her inside."
"So you think this girl, Wanda, that you told me about on the trolley, might know what Roy was up to after he left the races?" Jasper asked.
"We need to know where he was at the time of the murder. I'll bet the police zeroed in on Paul so fast they didn't even bother to interview or establish an alibi for the one person who would benefit the most from Mildred's death, her one and only heir. My only hope is to find someone who might have had more than a brief interaction with Roy Freemont, and from what I witnessed inside the feather boutique, Wanda fits the bill."
We walked into the office building. A phone rang in the distance. I heard Ruby answer it. She took a message for her father. Apparently, George was still out for the day.
Ruby came out from the back office and seemed surprised to see us. "I didn't expect you to return today."
"I hope it's all right. I didn't phone first because we were in San Gabriel and then on the Red Line."
"Yes, of course. Not a problem."
I pointed to my own neck. "No scarf yet?" I asked.
She blew out a sigh of frustration. "I've looked everywhere. I don't know why I keep losing things. I'm starting to wonder if I'm losing my mind."
"You're too young for that," Jasper said, always knowing just the right thing to say to a woman in distress.
Ruby blushed. "Thank you." Her brows squeezed together. "Were you able to find out anything important from the women at the club?"
"None of the women saw Mildred once she left the lunch, but I did find out that all of Mildred's money was left to Roy, her son."
Ruby's eyes rounded. "Really? Lucky man. I suppose it makes sense considering he is the Freemont heir. Still, poor Walter Keeler."
"Yes, in a case like this, I try to prioritize people by possible motives," I explained. "A large fortune is always a possible motive."
Ruby's eyes widened again. "Do you mean to tell me Mildred was strangled by her own son?"
"Oh no," I blurted. "So far the only thing we have is motive. There is still a long way to go to connect him to murder. I was hoping to talk to one of your shop girls."
"Wanda," she said quickly. She laughed. "Don't look too surprised. I'm not clairvoyant. Let's just say Wanda likes to flirt and most especially if the man is wealthy." Ruby looked up at a clock on the wall. "The girls are off in half an hour. If we hurry over to the shop, you'll have just enough time."
We headed along the path that ran parallel with the pasture fences. Most of the ostriches were huddled in a group under trees. As we passed the large gate on the fence, I noticed a row of leather halters and leads and a large padlock. A question popped into my head. It was one so obvious, I was ashamed it hadn't occurred to me earlier.
"Miss Dawson, do all the gates into the pasture have padlocks?"
"Yes, every one of them." She pulled out a large set of keys. "It's for safety reasons, of course. It keeps curious visitors from entering the animal pen." She laughed lightly. "Plus, some of our birds are Houdinis." That word caused Jasper's posture to straighten and his ears to perk. I hoped hearing it hadn't triggered another full day of Houdini trivia.
"So the birds can escape if you don't lock it?" Jasper asked, reasonably.
"Yes, they can be quite clever, and they have an extraordinary reach with their long necks," Ruby said.
I stopped and squinted at the fence line closest to the pyramids, but the sun was too harsh to see anything clearly. "Are there other gates? Or is this the only one?"
"There are actually three gates. This main one and one on each side."
The path running along
side of the pasture where the pyramids were situated was shaded and nearly obliterated from view by a copse of leaf-laden mulberry trees. With most of the activity taking place at the front of the pasture, it be would be easy enough to walk through that gate unnoticed. But was it possible to drag a body through the gate and into the pasture without anyone noticing? It seemed unlikely, which probably meant that the killer strangled Mildred behind the pyramids. That begged the obvious question—why was Mildred in the ostrich pasture at all?
"Are there leather halters and leads hanging near each gate? Like the one used to kill Mildred Freemont?" I asked.
It seemed to dawn on her that most likely the killer grabbed the leather lead right off the fence. "Why yes, now that you bring it up, I can't believe I didn't think of it. The killer didn't have to search far for a murder weapon. The handlers leave the halters nearby in case two animals are fighting or one is sick. That way they can lead them easily out of the pasture."
"Yes, that makes perfect sense," I said. "It also means any person on the farm on Saturday had easy access to the murder weapon. Not just the handlers. But only employees with keys had access to the pasture."
We turned up the paved pathway that led to the feather shop. Ruby's set of keys jangled as she unlocked the shop door.
Mary seemed to recognize me and cast me a slightly bewildered smile. Wanda was on a stepladder draping long feathery boas over the piece of wire stretched between the walls.
Ruby leaned her head closer. "I don't want to startle her. I'll wait until she comes down off the stepladder."
"Good idea," I agreed.
Wanda was curvy with a head of bouncy blonde curls. She climbed down the stepladder and noticed people standing in the shop. Her eyes rounded. "Miss Dawson, I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there." Her blue eyes flicked curiously at Jasper and me, then she looked back to her boss. "Is there something I can do for you?"
Murder at the Ostrich Farm Page 10
