Murder at the Ostrich Farm Read online

  I couldn't stop the groan from rolling out. I slumped against the seat. "You don't say?"

  Daddy put the paper down and folded it up. "How did the key stay in his hair when he was suspended upside down?" he asked, a perfectly logical follow up question. Only I was hoping there wouldn't be one. Now it was highly likely we'd be discussing Houdini until the trolley pulled into the stop.

  "I didn't say he used either of those tricks in New York," Jasper pulled a stick of gum from his shirt pocket. "I just meant in general."

  "And with his arms bound tightly in the straightjacket, he couldn't have reached the key in his hair or in his shoes," Daddy added to his counterargument.

  Jasper shoved the gum in his mouth and muttered over it. "Didn't say it happened in New York, Doc. Just making conversation."

  Daddy sensed that he'd upset Jasper, and being the perfect angel of a father that he was, he decided to restart things on a more positive spin. "So, Poppy Blossom, Jasper tells me you two uncovered an insurance scam. You're both doing the Starfire Detective Agency proud."

  Daddy's praise helped. Jasper chewed his gum rapidly to soften it. "Yeah, how about that? Those two old crows thought they could pull a fast one over us."

  I only wished I could have felt as satisfied as Jasper about the whole thing. I couldn't help but feel as duped as the insurance company on this one. Daddy, who never missed a thing, seemed to read my thoughts. Or, more likely, the frown on my face.

  "What are you thinking about, Poppy Blossom? You look as if something is bothering you."

  His question caught me off guard. I shook my head slightly. "It's nothing, except I can't help but feel a little insulted by the whole thing." I sat forward and raised my voice to be heard over the six women sitting nearby, a mature, overdressed for summer group with lavender nametags announcing they were members of the San Gabriel Valley Woman's Club. I'd gleamed bits of their various conversations and caught the word ostrich more than once. It seemed they were heading to the same destination, and their chats became more animated as we neared the farm.

  Daddy's dark red brows lifted. He spent so much time in the sun, tending his cactus garden, his nose had taken on a permanent pink hue. "Why insulted?"

  "It seems the Martins hired us because they thought we were too young and inexperienced to uncover their fraudulent activities. Not that it was difficult to do. The only reason it took three days was because, Susie, the housemaid who had the goods, so to speak, had taken three days off to nurse her ailing mother. Once we interviewed her, it was easy to uncover the plot. The Martins were quite ham-handed about the whole thing. Apparently, they'd forgotten to brief their housemaid on what to say. The maid had observed the master of the house, Mr. Martin, carrying an old hat box up to the attic, a place he never went. After shuffling around up there for a half hour, he climbed back down the ladder without the hat box. When Susie asked if he wanted her to straighten out the attic, he snapped back with unusual irritation, according to the maid, warning her not to go into the attic at all. Naturally, it was the first place Jasper and I went after interviewing Susie."

  "That sap Martin didn't even take the time to hide the hat box properly. We found it in an old cabinet, and sitting right inside was the diamond necklace, plain as day and sparkling as a glass of champagne," Jasper said.

  Daddy returned his attention to me. "Then why so down about it all, Poppy? It sounds like you two solved this with hardly lifting a finger."

  "Nope, just the lid on the hat box," Jasper quipped. "I don't know why she's in such a twist about it. I thought we wrung those phony baloneys out pretty darn good. They looked like ghosts when we told them we'd found the necklace. I don't think they'll pull a stunt like that again, and the insurance company already dropped them."

  "They certainly were ham-handed," Daddy added. "Otherwise, they would have picked a pair of inept, bumbling detectives, instead of you two."

  I forced a smile. I didn't want last week's case to put a shadow on the glorious day ahead, but I thought talking about it might help ease my mind. "The truth is, Daddy, I'm disappointed in myself. Uncle Shermy always says you've got to size up each client to make sure they're not cherry picking details and that they are honest and trustworthy. Mr. and Mrs. Martin came into the office and immediately showered us with compliments, telling us how they'd heard about our work and that we were the best in the business. I let the flattery go to my head and completely overlooked Uncle Shermy's rule."

  "It's true, Doc, they did come in tooting a horn about how the Starfire Agency came highly recommended. Poppy just melted like butter."

  My face spun Jasper's direction. "Says the man who nearly proposed to a girl after she complimented the tilt of his cap."

  Jasper used his cap to wave off my comment as silly, even though he had gone on and on about her sweet smile and the classy way she talked for a good hour afterward.

  "All right you two, let's not revert back to a teenage tussle again. Once in a day is plenty." Daddy sat forward and pushed up the brim of his boater. "Looks like we've arrived at the ostrich farm. I can see the arched entrance up ahead."

  "Can't wait to come face to face with one of those crazy lookin' birds," Jasper nearly shouted as he twisted in his seat hoping to get a glimpse of an ostrich.

  "Ornery birds, those ostriches," the elderly gentleman in the seat across the aisle said as he stretched himself out of his long nap. He straightened his bow tie and turned his head side to side to loosen his neck. His chin had been resting against his chest, and his head had bounced from side to side for the past hour. It seemed a good neck stretch was a necessity.

  "Have you been to Dawson's farm?" Daddy asked the man.

  "Only once. It was in the middle of summer, and my kids, just little pumpkins at the time, still in short trousers and bloomer dresses, complained that it was too hot and the birds were too scary. Those ostriches aren't cuddly little chicks or chatty little parakeets, that's for certain. Just stay clear of those sharp beaks." He motioned to my hat. "Saw one lady lose her bonnet when a nasty bird mistook the fake flowers as a treat. Yanked it clean off her head when she got too close to the fence. It was tied under her chin, so she made quite the scene with her screams. She even tried to skewer the bird with her parasol. In the end, she lost both the bonnet and the parasol." He leaned forward and the scent of stale pipe smoke drifted our way. "And a sliver of her dignity too, I think."

  Jasper laughed and slapped his thigh. "Gosh, I wish I'd been there to see that."

  Daddy lowered his brows in disapproval at Jasper. Although, I had to admit, I was with Jasper on this one. It would have been quite a spectacle, and the only victims were a bonnet and parasol, and, perhaps, the bird who had decided to grab the wrong flower treat.

  The trolley chugged and slowed and squeaked to a complete stop. The woman's club members bustled into action, pulling on gloves, straightening skirts and adjusting hats. It seemed about half of the riders were staying on board to travel farther along the line. Obviously, not a big fan of ostriches, the man with the funny bonnet story had relaxed back to continue his nap. Daddy smiled at me. "Well, should we go meet these big birds?"

  I patted my hat lower on my head to secure it. "I'm ready."

  Chapter Three

  Jasper whistled a tune and walked briskly ahead of us, anxious to get to the main attraction, namely ostriches. The ostrich farm stretched out over nine acres, half of which had been fenced off for animal pens, while the other half was used for various buildings, including a feather boutique, souvenir stand, food and drink hut, offices, a massive red barn and a large brick building that Daddy and I surmised was the factory where giant ostrich plumes were cleaned, dyed and turned into fashion accessories. The landscaping surrounding the facilities was an eclectic mix of California natives, valley oaks lending nice amounts of shade, Manzanita shrubs to line pathways and keep feet on trails, exotic additions like the towering palms that were now so familiar in the California landscape and, for Daddy's extra
enjoyment, desert succulents to add texture and dimension to the building fronts. The fields and white fencing resembled every other farm one might pass on the road through the valley, only instead of onions, strawberries, vine twisted beanpoles and grazing dairy cows, the pastures were filled with ostriches. The owner had added an interesting folly to the otherwise flat landscape, three large pyramids, impressive small replicas of the Egyptian pharaoh tombs. I'd read in an advertisement that the owner thought the birds looked more at home in front of a pyramid. I was certain the shrub covered Foothills and San Gabriel Mountains were nowhere in sight in the vast Egyptian landscape.

  There was so much to see, it was hard to focus on one spot, but Daddy was instantly drawn to a patch of good sized cacti planted just a few feet from the place where visitors had their pictures taken in the back of an ostrich cart. He wandered over to get a closer look at a barrel shaped, particularly prickly specimen.

  Jasper, who had gotten ahead doubled back and ended up at my side. "Figures. The place is alive with the biggest, weirdest looking creatures from the bird world, and Doc is inspecting a cactus as if he didn't just walk through a front yard that is crowded front to back with them."

  A loud chorus of greeting and a small cloud of dust kicked up by exceptionally long skirt hems roared up directly behind us. After a good deal of primping and chattering, the woman's club had exited the Red Car. It seemed they'd met up with another member, a woman named Mildred, according to the exalted greetings they showered on her. A man, much smaller in stature and with feet shuffling like a nervous child, stood directly to her right. A well proportioned young man, mildly handsome and highly polished standing nearby, became the center of attention and the recipient of gushing praise. The young man, who appeared to be named Roy, according to the boisterous exultations of the women, seemed utterly indifferent to their glowing reviews, but that didn't stop the women from going on about how tall and fashionable he looked.

  "Blimey, I thought we'd gotten away from those cackling hens when we got off the train," Jasper muttered.

  I elbowed him. "You think all women who talk too much are cackling hens," I complained.

  Jasper pulled off his cap to smooth back his already smooth hair. The sun was already beating down on us. "Just like you always refer to any confident man as a strutting rooster."

  I laughed from the side of my mouth. "Guess those chicken analogies come in handy."

  The farm workers were easy to spot with their uniform of pale gray chambray shirts, blue suspenders, gray trousers and black caps emblazoned with the Dawson name. One swept past carrying a broom and dustpan.

  "Listen, mate," Jasper said, sticking his hand out to catch the man's attention.

  He was young, maybe eighteen like Jasper. He stopped and moved the dustpan under his arm to free his hand. He lifted the nametag on his shirt. "Actually, it's Nate not Mate." The boy thought Jasper was misreading his nametag. It was an easy mistake since mate wasn't an American saying but rather a remnant of Jasper's early life in Britain. His accent had mostly disappeared, but it slipped out now and then and I always loved to hear it.

  "Right, Nate, great to talk to you, Nate. Could you possibly point a chap in the direction of the ostrich rides?" My brother was laying on the accent just for fun now. Jasper hooked thumbs around his suspenders. "Mind you, I'm not wearing my riding breeches, but I fancy a little jaunt around the park on one of those tall fellas with the fluffy feathers."

  The kid became more befuddled with each word. I rolled my eyes at Jasper and looked away to hide my smile. The club women had split up. Several, including the highly admired Mildred, had disappeared into the cool, dust free atmosphere of the shop.

  "Sorry, sir," the worker said, "but only trained riders can sit on the ostriches. And by trained, I mean trained on an ostrich. Horse experience doesn't qualify. But you're welcome to take a short trip in the back of an ostrich cart."

  Jasper's shoulders dropped along with the cockney accent. "You're fooling with me, Nate. You mean we can't actually ride on an ostrich?"

  The kid looked truly apologetic as he shook his head. "Sorry about that. We used to let people ride, but there were too many accidents and the birds were getting really angry. Nothin' worse than an angry ostrich."

  "Ratz," Jasper said. "Next you'll be telling me they cancelled the ostrich races too."

  Nate's face brightened. "Nope, those are still happening. Highlight of the day too. See that dirt area over there surrounded by benches." Nate pointed past the last fenced pasture where a dirt track had been carved out in the grass and long wood benches had been set in a semi circle. "Get there early so you can snatch a good seat." He nodded politely to me and headed off with his broom and dustpan.

  Jasper's mouth was pushed out and curved down as if he was torn between pouting and frowning. "Sure thought I'd get to ride one of those ostriches."

  Daddy returned from his cactus survey. "The owner, George Dawson, is about to give a short lecture on feed and care of the ostriches. I'd like to hear it."

  "Yeah, me too, I guess," Jasper said with a kick at the dirt.

  "What's wrong with him?" Daddy looked at me.

  "He thought he was going to be able to ride one of the ostriches around the farm. Apparently, they don't allow that anymore," I said.

  "Sounds like a good decision." Daddy lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "There are plenty of other things to do. Come on, I think the lecture is about to start." In the distance, a fifty something man was standing under the shade of an oak holding the end of a long leash that, in turn, was holding onto a young ostrich. The bird didn't seem too pleased to be the center of attention. His two big toes scratched at the dirt, and he lowered his head to look for nibbles on the ground.

  "You know, Daddy, I think I'll head into the shop and look around. I promised Mrs. Dewberry I'd bring her a leaflet of information about the ostrich farm, and I might buy a little souvenir for Birdie."

  "And you'd like to get out of the hot sun," Daddy added.

  "Yes, that too. You can fill me in on all the care and feeding details when we sit down to eat that picnic lunch." I looked at the basket in his hand.

  "I'm already thinking about those deviled ham sandwiches. I ate breakfast early," Jasper said and then shot me a sideways glance. "Because I thought we were going to get an early start."

  "Don't start on that again, son," Daddy said. He crooked his head in the direction of the man and his ostrich.

  I peeled away and walked to the shop. A rush of cool, fresh air swept over me, coaxing a sigh of relief from my lips before I could stop it. A girl standing at the checkout counter heard me and laughed. "Don't worry, Miss, everyone's been sighing just like that when they walk inside. And it's only starting to heat up out there. Can I help you find something?"

  I stood in the nicely cooled building and glanced around at the dozens of glass front cabinets and counters, each positively bursting with plumes of every size and color. A long wire had been strung across the room, near the ceiling. The entire length of it was draped with long fluffy boas in every shade of pastel and even a few bold pinks. They resembled the tails of fantastical animals as they swayed in the slight breeze coming from the overhead fans.

  I smiled at the girl behind the register. Her nametag said Mary. "I think I'll just browse for now. Not really sure what I'm looking for." I noticed a stack of folded pamphlets that shared photos and stories about the Dawson farm. "Actually"—I reached for a pamphlet—"is it all right if I take one of these? I promised a friend I'd bring a visitor's information guide."

  "Absolutely, that's why we print them. Word of mouth from friends and acquaintances is our best form of advertisement." Mary reached under the counter and pulled out another stack to place next to the original. "It sounds pretty crowded out on the farm. I better make sure to have plenty of them available." She ducked behind the counter again and emerged with a box. "We have some beautiful postcards too. Three for a nickel. Feel free t
o browse through them."

  "Thank you." I picked up the first card in the box. It showed one of the workers in the signature black cap riding on the back of an ostrich. "This might be a fun way to show my friend the beautiful farm." I could write Mrs. Dewberry a letter on the back of a postcard, only I'd have to keep it brief.

  Loud voices temporarily pulled my attention away from the box of postcards. The members of the woman's club had congregated around a wall of hats, each adorned with ostrich plumes. They chatted excitedly about the designs and had the poor salesgirl running back and forth to pluck each hat down for closer inspection. The woman, Mildred, who they'd fallen all over themselves to greet, was sitting on a chair at the rear of the store. She was flanked on her right side by the older man, who, while not well matched in any way, appeared to be her husband. The young man, Roy, her son I presumed, had left her side to chat amiably with one of the girls on the sales floor. Mildred didn't look too pleased about the entire situation.

  I leaned in toward Mary. "Who is that terribly important looking woman sitting in the chair? Is she someone famous?"

  Mary peeked Mildred's direction but made a point of avoiding eye contact. "Not terribly important but terribly rich, if that can be considered terrible." She spoke in a quiet hiss, wanting to get out all the details but not have them carry through the cavernous room. "I only know because Peggy, over there"—she motioned lightly with her chin to a woman wearing one of the long boa's around her neck to display it for a customer—"told me Mildred Freemont would be visiting the farm as part of a woman's club." This time she shifted her chin toward the women at the hat wall, although they hardly needed pointing out. "From what Peggy said, the woman was married to Roger Freemont of Freemont Shipping and Imports. He died a few years back, and Mildred inherited his fortune. That's his heir, Roy Freemont, the man Wanda has poked her claws into over by the fans." Mary's face dipped. "Sorry, that was a catty remark. It's just that Wanda can smell wealth a mile away." Her face turned pink. "There I go again."