Murder at the Ostrich Farm

by London Lovett

  "Absolutely," I said briskly, not to upset her any more. "I agree with your reasoning on that, and I wasn't really thinking about him. But is there anyone else here on the farm who would be trying to hurt you or Paul?"

  She bit her lip, leaving pink lipstick on her tooth. "I can't think of anyone. We are really just a big happy family here. Do you think the killer's motive was more about hurting Paul or me than killing Mrs. Freemont? What a horrid notion to think the poor woman died for no reason."

  "It's just a theory. I have to keep all options open." A truck crept its way slowly along the dirt path in front of the buildings. It kicked up a good deal of dust as it traveled toward the barn area.

  Ruby heard the wheels grinding over gravelly ground and looked back over her shoulder. "There's Arthur. Let's go have a word with him."

  I placed my hand lightly on hers to stop her march toward the supervisor. "Why don't you let me talk to him alone?" I suggested. "Like I said, I can handle his gruffness. I'll ask him about Paul's temper and see if he says the same thing he told the police."

  "That's a smart idea. I'm interested to hear what he says. I'll walk over and introduce you, so he doesn't bark and bite right from the start. I might be able to soften him up a little first."

  "Sounds good." We both looked toward the pasture fence. Kellan was still glued there, watching the lunch session. "Kellan, I'm going to go talk to the supervisor," I called to him.

  "Do you need me to go with you?" he asked. "Since he's gruff and all that," he added.

  I smiled. "No, I think I can handle it. Stay and enjoy the birds. I'll be back soon."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Arthur Jones had climbed out of the truck and just reached the front stoop of his office when Ruby called to him. Even with his leathery, suntanned skin, Arthur Jones managed a wide smile when he saw Ruby heading across the yard toward him. (Even though Ruby was not wearing anything close to a smile in return.) When his deep set eyes focused on the woman walking next to Ruby, his smile faded. A look of suspicion crossed his face. I could see I was in for a pleasant interview.

  "Arthur, this is Miss Starfire of the Starfire Detective Agency," Ruby said long before we reached his office. Arthur tried to contain a smirking grin but was doing a poor job of it.

  "A detective agency?" he asked in a tone that matched his smirk.

  Ruby wasn't having it though. She stopped a few feet from the step leading up to the stoop and stared up at him with hands on hips. "That's right. She is working for me. I've hired her to find out who killed Mildred Freemont-Keeler."

  His new expression was far less smug and far more sympathetic. Was it possible the gruff man had enough emotion in him to feel sorry for Ruby's heartbreaking situation?

  "Thought the police were working on that," he said.

  "Yes, but I've decided to pay for my own investigation. I've given Miss Starfire permission to interview employees." I was impressed with how confidently she handled herself under a rather unfriendly glower.

  "Did Mr. Dawson give permission for this?" he asked.

  "As a matter of fact, Father knows all about it." Ruby waved her hand toward the truck Arthur had just driven onto the lot. "I expected to see straw bales in the back. The boys told me you were on an errand."

  That statement seemed to fluster him. He shuffled some on his big works boots. "Didn't need straw." That was his entire answer. It seemed he didn't feel the need to fill her in on the details of his errand. She decided not to press the matter.

  Ruby nodded at me. "I'm heading back to the office, Miss Starfire. I've got a desk full of paperwork. If there's anything else you need, let me know."

  "Thank you." She walked away. I had to admit I was a touch nervous not having her at my side anymore while facing down the grouchy supervisor.

  "Well then, Mr. Jones, let's start with the location of this office. Would you say you have a good view of the farm from this office?"

  He lifted his face and scanned the area. "I'd say I can see everything but the main offices, since they're on the other side of the feather shop." He moved over. "You're welcome to stand up here and see for yourself. Only you don't have the height advantage."

  I was surprised by the invitation. Maybe he wouldn't be such a frosty interview after all. My heels scuffed along the rough wood of the stoop as I turned around to look about the farm. In the distance, I could still see Kellan plastered to the fence watching the birds. He was talking to one of the farmhands. They were laughing about something. Seeing the other farmhand reminded me of my meeting with Nate. He would be heavy into his leather cleaning task by now. I needed to see him next.

  I was standing much closer to Arthur. He looked more intimidating up close, but I swallowed and forged ahead. "Would you say that it would be impossible for anyone to walk past this office without you noticing?"

  His big square jaw moved side to side. "Yep. If I'm sitting at my desk, I can still see out this window." He pointed to the square window on the left side of the door. The shade was drawn.

  "But I see the shade is down," I said.

  "Yeah, that's because I'm not in the office. I'm out here talking to you." The smirk had returned. I ignored it.

  "So you always open it when you're working at your desk?"

  "Have to. There's only a bulb in the ceiling, and it doesn't work too well. You're welcome to see the inside of the office. You can even sit at the desk, and I'll open the shade. You'll see that there's no way anyone can walk past here without me seeing them."

  "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to do that."

  "Sure thing." The smirk was really starting to irritate me. It was obvious he thought I was just a silly woman pretending to be a detective. I would let him go on thinking that, smirk and all.

  His office was no more than a twelve by twelve space but plenty was crammed into the small area. One side was dedicated to the normal things one would see in an office, a desk that was hardly big enough for a man his size, the cabinet that I could only assume held paperwork, a telephone and writing materials. Shoved into the corner on the opposite side was the same style cot as the one in Paul's bunk, a squat two drawer dresser and a large trunk that seemed to take up a good deal too much space. Unlike Paul's bunk, everything was neat and put away.

  The snap of a shade rolling up startled me, and I spun around. He smiled at his little accomplishment.

  I pointed to his chair. "Do you mind?" I asked.

  "Go right ahead. I probably sit a whole head higher than you, but you'll soon see that I have a view of the entire area."

  The chair was one of those squeaky old leather ones with wooden arms that were worn to a smooth finish. I sat up straight and gazed out the window. He was right. I could see everything, even from my lower vantage point. "Yes, I see you have a clear view of the yard."

  "Sure do."

  I stared down at the papers on his desk. There were a few lists and orders for barn supplies. "Of course, you aren't always staring straight out the window. I mean, occasionally you have to drop your face to finish paperwork."

  He nodded. "True but it's easy enough to notice movement outside the window, even if I'm looking down."

  "I suppose." He was certainly working hard to assure me that Paul never walked back to his bunk on the day of the murder. But I thought I'd bring it up again, just to make sure. "So on the afternoon when Mrs. Freemont was murdered, you were here, in this office?"

  "Sitting right there." He pointed to the chair I was sitting in.

  "And you never saw or noticed Paul Wilkins walking past to his bunk?"

  He shook his head once. "Just like I told the cops, no one walked past during that time. If any of the men had returned to their bunk, I would have seen them."

  I stood up and walked out from behind the desk. "I see. Can I ask you something?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you think Paul Wilkins had a bad temper? One that was volatile enough to cause him to murder someone out of anger?"

 
He rubbed the side of his neck. "He had a temper, that's for certain. Most people don't think so. I know Miss Dawson never saw it, but I know his type," he said, cryptically.

  "What type is that?"

  "The kind who stews silently, giving the appearance of always being calm and easy going, but when no one's expecting it—boom, they blow up like a bomb." He slipped past me and circled around to his desk. "Now, is there anything else you need from me?" He led me to the door before I had a chance to answer, his way of telling me the interview was over.

  I was still digesting his description of Paul's type. "Yes, that's all, Mr. Jones. Thank you for your time."

  He followed me out of the office and shut the door. My plan to make a quick turn and circle back to the barn was foiled as he lumbered a few feet behind me, finally splitting off to head to the office building as I continued on to the pastures. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jasper, Daddy and I had seen firsthand the incident with Mrs. Freemont, and while visibly shaken, Paul kept calm and didn't so much as raise his voice back at the woman. Was it possible that we had totally misread the scene? Was Paul actually simmering beneath the surface like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kellan had moved from watching the ostrich feeding session to the ostriches and their jockeys practicing for races. I waved to him and pointed back over my shoulder to let him know I was heading back to the barn. With both Ruby and Arthur Jones occupied inside the office building, I had my first opportunity to find Nate. I only hoped that I wasn't too late and that he hadn't gone on to another chore on the farm.

  Kellan put his hands around his mouth to create a megaphone. "Do you want me to come with you?"

  I shook my head to let him know he could stay and watch the race training. He was certainly getting a firsthand view of everything at the farm.

  I circled around to the side of the barn where Nate had mentioned a second door. Unfortunately, there were four evenly spaced doors running alongside the outside of the barn, which meant that there were technically two second doors depending on which side you started.

  I decided not to waste any more time and picked one. The latch was folded over a metal ring, but one twist of the ring and it was unlocked. I had to dig in my heels and pull hard to get the heavy door open. I slipped into the small opening I'd managed to create with my weak pull. It was much darker inside than I expected, and it smelled dank and musty. The heavy door clanged shut behind me. It took a second for my eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the shadowy darkness of the room. A noise drew my focus to the right corner of the space. Slowly, shadows turned to silhouettes and figures, one figure to be exact.

  I purposely swallowed back the scream that badly wanted to be set free. I didn't want to scare the ostrich. My heart drummed in my chest and my throat went dry. He eyed me suspiciously as if I was in there to deliver some kind of punishment. My mind raced back to earlier in the day when Nate's string of curse words brought us into the barn. Egor had been behaving badly. He was being confined until he calmed down. There was no doubt in my mind that I was standing face to face (or face to neck to be more accurate) with Egor, the troublemaker.

  I kept up a forced kind smile, hoping he'd decide I was a perfectly harmless visitor. I didn't dare turn my back on him and his dangerous feet. I'd picked up enough tidbits of information on our farm visit, prior to the murder, to know that ostriches kicked with their feet when cornered, and in the tiny space, we were both, for lack of a better word, cornered.

  The smile was frozen on my face. I didn't take an eye off the bird as I reached for the small handle, but the door was so heavy and solid there was no way I could open it from behind. The bird started bobbing its head up and down on its long neck. It seemed as if its neck was ballooning. A weird sound bubbled up from its throat, and its big dark eyes skewered me angrily.

  I spun around and pulled at the door. I shook it hard but it wouldn't budge. It seemed my attempts at opening had somehow closed the latch. I was locked inside with Egor, the very unfriendly ostrich.

  I could barely think over the pulse pounding in my ears. "Nice bird." I lifted my hands to show that I had no punishment devices or leather leads or anything else Egor might find offensive. "I'm just here by accident," my voice squeaked out of my dry throat. Gosh, they were big up close. Egor's neck started moving side to side as if he was trying to size me up from all directions. One foot with its two giant, clawed toes scratched back through the straw on the floor as if he was gearing up for a sprint.

  I turned around and shook the door again. "Help, please," I half cried through the imperceptible crack on the door. A terrifying string of sounds came from behind. I could hear Egor moving around in the straw. I closed my eyes and held my breath. The bizarre thought of being part of a newspaper headline Poppy Starfire killed by Egor the angry ostrich flashed through my mind. I sensed the bird coming up behind me and briefly considered dropping down on the ground to play dead, something I'd heard people did in bear attacks. But this was not a bear and we weren't in the wilderness. It was just me and Egor and two hundred square feet of space.

  A sharp poke on my shoulder shocked me enough that the scream I'd been squelching erupted like lava from a volcano. I shook the door, certain my scream had triggered Egor's kill instinct. I pushed and pulled on the handle, which, I was slowly learning, was more for show than use. This time Egor's sharp beak poked at the back of my calf. I shrieked and pressed myself up against the door.

  "Help!' I cried.

  The door swung open. I stumbled forward and landed against a hard chest. Kellan held me with one arm while he waved frantically with the free one.

  "Whoa, stay right there, birdie," Kellan said with amazing confidence, considering the opponent he was facing down. He still held me against his side as he managed to push the door shut, all the while keeping angry Egor on the right side of it.

  The shake in my knees wobbled all the way through my body. My heart was only starting to get back to its normal pace.

  Kellan tightened his arm around me. "You're shaking, Duchess. Why on earth did you decide to climb in the ring with ole Egor?" He slowly released me. I found myself somewhat disappointed when his arm fell away.

  "Trust me, if it had been a ring, then I would have been able to see Egor and I would have stayed well clear." I glanced around. There was no one in sight. "The truth is, earlier when we saw Nate trying to put his ornery ostrich away—And by the way, that bird is definitely not a gentleman. I've got two poke marks to prove it."

  "Hate to say it but you're probably lucky to get out of there with two poke marks."

  "How did you find me?" I asked.

  "I was walking across the yard to see if you needed my help with anything, and I heard you scream." He placed a hand against his chest. "Nearly gave me a heart attack. It took me a few minutes to figure out where the scream had come from. Then I heard you yell help, and I found the right door. What about Nate? Why were you over here with a mean ostrich?"

  "After Miss Dawson walked out of the barn, Nate told me to meet him at the second door on this side of the barn. He said he saw something that just wasn't right, and he wanted to tell me about it."

  Kellan stepped back and scanned the doors. "I think that's the second door. The one you went in was the third."

  "All depends which side you start at," I said in my defense.

  "True, but in my mind, that's the start of the building, so that door is number two." He pointed it out.

  "I won't quibble with you considering you just saved me from a horrible death by ostrich."

  "I doubt he wanted to kill you. Maybe he just wanted to play." Kellan headed to the door he considered to be the second one. He knocked on the heavy wood several times, but there was no answer.

  The latch was already open, which meant someone was inside or the last person to leave left it open. "I might have already missed him. If he was here, he would have heard me shaking the door." Just to
double check, I pulled open the heavy door. Flashes of my seconds of terror came back to me. I had to take a deep breath to calm myself.

  The space was the same size as the stall with the ostrich, only a lone light bulb hung from the ceiling. Its glow was muted by the dust on the bulb, but it was easy to see everything inside. The strong odor of leather cleaner permeated the room. One wall held long strips of leather and the specially designed saddle pads and driving tack they used for the ostriches. A work counter split the room nearly in two. I circled around the counter and stumbled back with a gasp.

  Kellan caught me before I crashed into the wall of leather tack. "Holy smokes, is the guy dead?"

  I gathered my wits and crept closer. Nate, the young farmhand, was facedown on the ground looking as lifeless as a rag doll. His face was turned away from us and his arms and legs were splayed in unnatural positions as if they were already limp and dead before he hit the ground. I tiptoed around to get a look at his face and once again stumbled back a few steps. Nate's eyes were partially open and nearly colorless. His head rested in a pool of dark blood. His lips had taken on a ghostly shade of gray.

  "So—" Kellan stood where I'd left him. "Is he dead?"

  I felt some of the color returning to my face. "I'm no doctor, but it appears so."

  Chapter Thirty

  The Dawsons, both father and daughter, looked beside themselves with shock and grief as, for a second time in one week, police and ambulances swarmed their bucolic, little farm. At least this time, the site wasn't crowded with frolicking visitors out for a wholesome day of family fun. But for the second time in the same week, I was there, once again stunned by the sight of a murder victim at Dawson's Ostrich Farm. This time, the newspaper reporters wasted no time getting to the farm to take pictures. George Dawson was too distraught to argue with them.

  Naturally, my mind dashed into investigator mode. Nate seemed to know something, but he had told me in secret to meet him in the tack room. Who else knew he'd seen something, something incriminating? It seemed to me that Nate's murder proved that Paul Wilkins was innocent. Whoever killed Mildred had motive to silence Nate as well.