Murder at the Ostrich Farm

by London Lovett

  The police had taken both our names, something Kellan was not keen to divulge. He wasn't terribly surprised when they decided to question him first. "I'm just the kind of guy the coppers like to zero in on," he muttered as they called him over to chat.

  The employees had gathered under the shade of some trees, consoling each other and holding onto handkerchiefs. A repeat of Saturday's scene must have been mystifying and horrible for them. Another vicious attack and another person dead. It seemed a very unstable killer was working in their midst.

  "Miss," I heard a voice from behind and turned to greet the police officer walking toward me. He was a young man in his late twenties with a shaved head beneath his uniform cap. He seemed to be sizing me up as a possible murderer as he approached, but his weak smile, by the time he reached me, seemed to indicate that he'd taken me off the suspect list. After all, my crepe de chine dress would be covered with blood if I'd hit someone over the head.

  He quickly flashed his badge. "I'm Officer Peterson. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He pulled out a notebook and pencil. "First, your full name and age."

  "Poppy Starfire. I'm twenty-three."

  His raised a brow and looked at me, but this time his scrutiny felt less wholesome. He glanced across the yard to where Kellan was being questioned by not one but three officers. His shoulders were hunched and he looked uneasy. I felt a twinge of guilt and empathy. After all, I'd put him in the uncomfortable position. "Is that your fella?" Officer Peterson asked.

  I lifted my chin. "I hardly see how that has any bearing on the murder."

  He was properly chastised, cleared his throat and returned to a more conventional line of questioning. "I understand you found the victim."

  "Yes, that's right." I decided to just feed him as much as he needed and no more. It gave me an opportunity to learn more about the way police questioned witnesses and even possible suspects.

  "Do you work here at the farm?" he asked.

  "No, I've been hired by Miss Dawson. I'm a private investigator." That statement caused his face to pop up. He did everything short of laughing out loud.

  "Oh, I see. So you're one of those make-believe detectives?"

  "Do I look make-believe because I very much felt like flesh and bone when I climbed out of bed today."

  He pulled his mouth tight. "Fine. You're a private investigator. What exactly are you investigating?" He added a smirk that reminded me of the same irritating expression Arthur Jones wore during our interview. I was just about at the end of my purse strap with smug men for the day. And what a day it had been.

  "I'm investigating the murder of Mildred Freemont-Keeler," I said succinctly.

  He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to stifle a laugh, then lowered it. "I'm sorry, Miss Starfire, but you're wasting your time. We've already got the murderer. He's sitting in a jail cell waiting for trial."

  "You have him? Is that so? And you don't think it's terribly coincidental that another person has been brutally murdered here on the farm? Yet your alleged killer is sitting, as you say, in a jail cell. Seems to me the murderer is not locked up but still milling freely about the farm." I wanted to put him in his place. At the same time, I wanted to give myself a tiny pinch for volunteering my own theory. I should have just let the big shot police puzzle it all out for themselves.

  "Miss Starfire, you need to let the police do the investigating. After this, why don't you head to the safety of your home." He was truly condescending, but I pushed aside the irritation and decided he could do with a nice dose of condescension too.

  "It strikes me as odd that you singled me out for an interview, and rather than ask me what I noticed or saw when I found the victim, you're lecturing me like a father. By the way, my own father is not nearly as bossy."

  His thin lips pulled in and temporarily disappeared. I couldn't tell if it was a way to fight back what he really wanted to say or if he was just taken aback by my brazen attitude. It might have been a combination of both.

  His expression grew much sterner. He lifted his notebook. "Right then, why don't you tell me why you happened to be in the same room where the victim was killed?" It seemed odd questions and fatherly lectures were over. I'd pushed the right button to get him back to investigating the murder, which had been my goal all along. How else would I learn what the police asked at such a time.

  "The victim, Nate, had pulled me aside at one point to let me know that he had seen something that didn't seem right. He knew I was investigating the Freemont-Keeler murder, and he wanted to speak to me about it. We didn't have time at the moment he pulled me aside because, it seemed, he didn't want Miss Dawson or anyone else to know. He told me to meet him in the second room from the end (a vague description that will live in infamy in my memory). He told me he would be oiling the leather ostrich tack. It took me nearly two hours to carve out a free moment to see him. When I went inside, I found him dead."

  "And your fella?" He motioned with his head toward Kellan. A few of the ostrich handlers had joined his questioning session. They were the men who were training the birds for racing. I hoped they were there to give a full and clear alibi for Kellan. I didn't want to cause him any problems. I was sure that when he politely volunteered to drive me to Pasadena this morning, he never expected to be interrogated by three police officers.

  "Kellan was out watching the men train the ostriches, and he came looking for me." I wasn't about to divulge my terrifying and mostly embarrassing ostrich story. I'd already been on the receiving end of too many of his smirks. "We both entered the tack room and found Nate on the floor. Then we ran to get help. Mr. Jones was the first person we met. He went straight into his office to call the police."

  "How well did you know the victim?" he asked.

  "Not well at all. I don't even know his last name. He was at the farm on Saturday when I visited with my father and brother."

  His pencil stopped scratching the paper and he looked up. "Saturday? The day Mrs. Freemont was murdered?" There was enough suspicion in his tone to let me know exactly where he was heading with his question.

  "Yes, I know, I was here for both murders, and it seems awfully coincidental." I waved my arm around to point out all the other people standing about the place. "They were all here too."

  He took a cursory glance around. "Yes, because they work here."

  "Well, I do too. At least I am today. I told you I'm working for Miss Dawson. Saturday was purely for pleasure, which it was . . . until, well, you know." I snapped my fingers. "And I have a perfect alibi because my father and I were out walking the gardens on the far end of the farm when Mrs. Freemont was discovered. My father is a doctor. He was the one to confirm that the poor woman was dead." I took a breath. "Why am I defending myself anyhow? Like you said, you have your man."

  "No need to be so defensive, Miss Starfire. Just a routine interview. I'll just note here that you were at the farm during both murders."

  I twisted my mouth around and was ready to say something but decided to hold my tongue. I'd already blathered on like the kid caught with the last cookie from the jar. I didn't need to incriminate myself further.

  He flipped shut his notebook. "That's all for now. You'll probably want to head home soon. Let the official investigators handle it from here." He winked and walked away before I could let him know what I thought. Which was probably for the best.

  Kellan was still being questioned. My heart sank at the sight of him standing there with his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders to some of their questions.

  "Miss Starfire," Ruby called as she scurried over to me. The woman had aged ten years in one week. This new murder seemed to really have taken its toll. The first time I saw her she seemed like one of those crisply put together women, self-assured, attractive, never a hair out of place. That well managed veneer had shattered. She looked as if the slightest thing could cause her to crumble into a million pieces.

  Ruby slipped me a piece of paper. "It's the address
of the citrus farm where Eugene Strump works. Although, with what has happened today, I don't know if it's important or not. Do you think the murders are connected? What do you think happened? Who would murder Nate? He was a harmless young boy who was always in good spirits." She sobbed once at the end of her string of questions.

  I led her farther away from the action to the shade of a tree. "When we saw Nate in the barn this afternoon with Egor"—just saying the name sent a chill up my spine—"After you walked out, Nate pulled me aside and told me he had seen something, something that didn't seem right."

  Her puffed, tear strained eyes rounded. "Do you think he knew who killed Mildred?"

  "He didn't say that, but he seemed worried about what he saw. One thing is certain, Paul definitely didn't kill Nate. The police still haven't connected the murders, but this will help clear Paul's name. Now we just need to find out what Nate saw that was so profound, the poor kid wound up dead."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kellan was considerably more quiet on the drive home but then we were both dog tired from the day. The sun was setting and the road was quiet as Charlie chortled past sage bushes, oak trees and the occasional farm.

  "I hope you'll still be speaking to me after this especially awful day," I finally managed to squeak out.

  His blue eyes looked vibrant in his suntanned face. He had gained a great deal of color while he was out watching the ostriches train. "Are you kidding, Duchess? I had a great time. Well, up until the time that the coppers decided to grill me on everything from my shoe size to the name of my first grade teacher. It's Mrs. Dooley, by the way, and she was a real taskmaster."

  I laughed. He was amazingly good-natured about it all. "I'm so sorry that they gave you the third degree like that. They had no call to be so nosy. You did nothing wrong. In fact—" I fiddled with the hat in my lap. It was out of character for me to be even the least bit shy. "I never got a chance to thank you for saving me from my predicament. So thank you."

  He kept his eyes trained on the road. "It was my pleasure. And thank you for inviting me along today. I've never seen ostriches, except in pictures. I learned a lot about them. They are a real neat bird. Like I said, I had a great time."

  "I'm sure Daddy will have something cooking on the stove when you drop me off. Why don't you stay for dinner?"

  "Nah, I've got to meet some friends at a diner. My turn to pay," he said. "I lost a couple of poker games."

  "I see." I smiled. "You do lead a colorful life, Ace."

  He flicked his gaze my direction. "Friends usually call me that, and, of course, I consider you a good friend. That is—if that's all right?" he asked.

  "I'd be devastated if you didn't." The words formed before I even had a chance to think of my response.

  His teeth glowed white in his tanned face. "That's good to hear, Duchess. Anyhow, as I was saying, my friends call me Ace, but I have to admit, I kind of prefer it when you call me Kellan. I like the way you say my name." He finished quieter than he started, as if he were feeling a little shy too.

  "That's good because I prefer to call you Kellan. It's a nice name and it fits you."

  He nodded. "Although, Ace kind of fits me too."

  "Nah, I don't see it," I teased. We both laughed and the earlier awkwardness disappeared. We had a lively chat the rest of the ride home.

  Jasper, who looked less miserable than in the morning, was tucked on the sofa surrounded by empty tea cups, a hot water bottle and a knitted quilt. Jazz music scraped out of the radio's speaker as my brother moved his feet side to side in a couch dance.

  "Hey, where's Ace?" he asked before blowing his nose. The cold seemed to have moved from his throat to his sinuses, and he was sounding a touch nasal.

  "He's walking to the Red Car. Said he had to meet some friends at the diner because he owes them a dinner."

  Jasper smiled weakly. "Yeah, that's right. He told me about that poker game."

  I heard pots and pans and the usual noises coming from the kitchen. I took a deep breath. "I smell Daddy's chicken soup."

  "Yep, he thought it would be good for me to have some. It's not really soup weather, but far be it from me to turn down Doc's delicious chicken and dumpling soup."

  I nearly jumped up and down like I used to do when I was young. "He's making dumplings?" I dropped my purse on the end table. "Soup weather or not, I'm staying. All I have in my icebox is milk and half a tuna sandwich."

  "Sorry, sis, you've got to be sick to have any," he said with all seriousness and then laughed. "How was the day at the farm? Anything exciting happen?"

  It was my turn to laugh, only mine sounded just slightly hysterical because it had been that kind of a day. "Oh, I don't know if it was too exciting, unless you count me getting locked in a small dark stall with an angry ostrich and—" I tapped my chin as if I had to think about it. "Oh, that's right. And remember that nice guy, Nate? You asked him about riding the ostriches when we first got to the farm on Saturday. Well, someone murdered him."

  Jasper reached forward to turn off the radio. The knitted quilt rolled off his shoulders. "So the killer is still there on the farm?" He shook his head. "Wait, why were you locked in with an ostrich? Man, oh man, was someone trying to kill you? I knew I should have gone with you today." His voice grew louder with each sentence.

  Daddy walked out of the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was holding a soup ladle. "What's all the commotion about?"

  Before I could answer, Jasper offered a brief, incomplete and mostly alarming summary. "Poppy nearly got killed today."

  "What on earth happened, Poppy?"

  "It's all right, Daddy. I wasn't nearly killed, unless you count being poked on the shoulder and the back of the leg by an ostrich beak a near death experience. I went to see someone in the barn and got mixed up by the doors." I laughed lightly, hoping to wipe the expression of pure terror off Daddy's face. "I managed to end up inside a dark stall with an ostrich named Egor, not the friendliest bird on the farm. I couldn't get the heavy door open, but Kellan swooped in and saved the day. I was no worse for wear other than a few skips of a heartbeat and a new healthy fear of giant birds. Anyhow, Jasper left off the truly alarming part of the story."

  Daddy sat down hard on his easy chair. "There's more?"

  "Yes, after Kellan rescued me from the ostrich—"

  Jasper snickered quietly. "Someone is smitten with her new hero," he muttered

  I flashed one of my angry sister glares at him. "Not true. I'm just glad he was there."

  "And she's being awfully defensive about it," Jasper continued.

  "Jasper!" Daddy barked. "Drink the rest of you tea and let your sister finish."

  "Can't drink any more tea, Doc. I think there's more honey lemon tea than blood coursing through my veins right now."

  Daddy rolled his eyes. "Then keep quiet and let your sister talk."

  I managed a quick, sisterly smug grin for Jasper before continuing. "When Kellan and I found the right door, the room where a farmhand named Nate was supposed to be oiling leather, we found the poor man dead on the floor. It seemed someone had hit him over the head."

  "Blimey," Jasper sat back against the couch. "I talked to that guy a few times on Saturday. I think he was only eighteen or nineteen."

  "That's terrible," Daddy said. "It seems that farm is not safe for anyone. It also seems as if the police have the wrong man. Unless the two murders are unrelated. Are they certain it wasn't an accident? Maybe the boy slipped and hit his head on the edge of a work table or something."

  "I believe they were treating it like a homicide. They questioned Kellan for a long time. I felt terrible for him."

  "Ahh, those coppers, they just don't leave Ace alone," Jasper complained. "You get in one or two scuffles and suddenly you've got a target on your back."

  Daddy's brow arched. "It was probably more than one or two scuffles. Kellan is a wonderful young man, but it seems he's had his share of troubles." I caught just a hint of his father
ly lecture brow. He made a point of staring straight at me as he spoke of Kellan's troubles. I couldn't help but feel it was his gentle way of warning me against developing any feelings past friendship for Kellan. It was too outlandish of a notion to even consider, so rather than defend myself, I decided to ignore his thinly veiled warning altogether.

  I turned sharply back to Jasper to give Daddy a tiny hint of my attitude about his unnecessary comment. "Anyhow, I hope you're up to peeling yourself off this couch tomorrow because I've got an address for the citrus farm that has employed Eugene Strump."

  Jasper looked confused at first. "Oh yeah, Strump, the guy who threatened to kill Paul Wilkins. Seems like that's just us chasing our own tails now that there's been another murder."

  "If they are connected, which I suspect they are," I added, "then you're right. It's a dead end, but I want to make sure that Eugene had nothing to do with framing Paul. And it seems more likely that he was framed because there was no way Paul had anything to do with Nate's death."

  "We'll have to see how Jasper feels in the morning." Daddy got up from his chair. "Soup's on for you two sleuths if you're hungry." He headed back to the kitchen.

  Jasper sat forward more, knowing we were more at liberty to discuss the investigation without Daddy listening in. "Exactly why were you snooping around the tack room and the ostrich stalls?"

  "Guess I forgot to mention the important part." I lowered my voice. "Earlier in the day, Nate pulled me aside, out of earshot of Miss Dawson. He told me he'd seen something that just wasn't right, and he thought I should know about it."

  "Something that wasn't right?" I leaned back out of the germ zone as Jasper paused to blow his nose. "What do you think it was? Did he give you any clue?"

  "Nope, not a single clue, but he seemed pretty upset."