Chapter 18. Ruffled Feathers
RUFFLED FEATHERS
WHITNEY
After we paid our bill, Deborah relinquished the hostess stand to the high school student who’d come in for her weekend shift.
She led us down a short hall and out a back door marked with a sign that read EMPLOYEES ONLY PAST THIS POINT.
We descended the back steps and found ourselves between the two large greenhouses.
Deborah turned into the one on the right and showed us an impressive garden containing tomatoes in several varieties, peppers, squash, zucchini, peas, radishes, cucumbers, green onions, potatoes, and more.
At the far end were herbs, including two rosemary bushes, basil, cilantro, dill, thyme, chives, and mint.
The other greenhouse contained fruit trees, avocado trees, and berry bushes.
“You’ve produced quite a crop,” Colette said. “You must have a green thumb.”
“Not me,” Deborah said. “My sisters get the credit for all of this. While I was off taking classes at culinary school, my older sister studied agriculture and my younger one majored in food science. Between the three of us, we’ve got all the bases covered as far as supplying the restaurant and preparing the food.
Our CPA advises us on the business stuff. ”
We exited the far end of the greenhouse and continued through a gate into the pasture. Ruby met us halfway, her tail wagging.
I pointed to the empty pole where the female scarecrow had once hung. “Looks like they’re missing a family member.”
Deborah shook her head, scowling. “I came out here one morning and she was gone. Teenagers took her, I suppose. They come out here and drink beer in the old horse barn sometimes. I’ll replace her next time I find a pair of used overalls at a thrift shop.”
She led us on to the cows. While most of them showed as little interest in us as they did in Ruby, Maisy trod over to meet us, greeting us with a guttural mooooo. Mari giggled and oohed back before reaching out a tentative hand to touch the cow’s cheek.
“Don’t tell the others,” Deborah said, “but Maisy’s my favorite. She keeps me company while I do my feeding rounds.”
Maisy followed us across a worn path in the short grass to the pig pen. The chubby little porkers twirled their curly tails as we scratched them under their chins and behind their ears. They grunted and oinked, much to Mari’s delight.
Buck said, “They’re wagging their tails just like a dog.”
“Pigs are as smart as dogs, too,” Deborah said. “Maybe even more so. We built a maze with hay bales out here last fall, and the pigs learned their way through it after just a few tries.”
My mind went back to the maze of roads at the subdivision being built nearby, how I’d gotten lost on them. Maybe I should’ve asked these pigs for directions.
We continued on to the chicken coop. On seeing the capons, Buck raised his chin and issued a “cock-a-doodle-doo!”
Mari giggled again.
“You won’t hear these boys crow,” Deborah said. “They’re all capons.”
Collin cocked his head. “What are capons?”
I showed off my recently acquired knowledge. “That means they’re roosters who’ve been neutered.”
Buck shook his head. “Poor guys. Just look at all these pretty hens around, just waiting to be courted.”
Deborah chuckled. “The capons are perfectly happy remaining in the friend zone.”
Colette eyed the birds. “What types of chickens are these?”
“We’ve got a variety.” Deborah pointed at the chickens in turn.
“The white one with the red comb is a leghorn, like Foghorn Leghorn from the old cartoon. The brownish-red one is called a Rhode Island Red. The gold one’s an Orpington.
The black and white one is a Plymouth Rock chicken.
That crazy-looking one with the fluffy gray feathers?
She’s what’s called a Blue Silkie Bantam.
It’s a very soft breed. She was a champion on the show chicken circuit. ”
Colette’s eyes widened in surprise. “People show chickens?”
“Just like they do dogs and cats,” Deborah said. “Her owner lost interest after a while, though. Dumped her at an animal shelter. Luckily, the shelter knew to call me.”
“Poor thing,” I said. She’d been betrayed by her owner. In the end, though, she’d been lucky to have ended up here rather than being battered and fried.
While the rest of us stood outside the fenced area, Deborah ventured into the enclosed coop.
She returned a moment later with a shoebox and lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of chicken feathers. Red ones.
Golden ones. White ones. Even ones that were striped black and white, just like the feather that had been attached to her French comb and the one that had blown across Tyler Yee’s back at the horse barn.
I now knew the feathers had come from a Plymouth Rock chicken.
Deborah bent down and held the box out to Mari. “Would you like a feather to take home?”
Colette bent down next to her daughter. “Go ahead, sweetie. Pick one.”
After Mari reached her little hand into the box and picked out a big black and white feather, Deborah put the lid back on the box and stood.
“Are those feathers from your chickens?” I asked.
“They are.” Deborah tucked the box under her arm. “I collected them last molting season. We offer children a feather as a souvenir. Doesn’t cost us anything, and the kids get a kick out of them.”
I had to ask. “Do you know if one of the kids dropped a feather? One like the feather Mari picked out?”
“Maybe,” Deborah said. “I don’t recall specifically.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s up? You seem obsessed with these feathers.”
I exchanged a glance with Collin. He knew I’d seen the feather.
I’d told him about it when I’d first informed him of Tyler Yee’s murder.
He gave me a small nod, indicating he thought I should shoot straight with Deborah.
Sometimes, putting a suspect in the hot seat was the best way to get information.
I looked Deborah in the eye. “I saw a feather just like it at the horse barn the day Tyler Yee was murdered.”
“You did?” She frowned and looked up in thought.
“That was the day of the bad storm. We wouldn’t have brought anyone back here in the rain.
I suppose a child could have dropped it another time and it just happened to blow over then.
Or maybe it blew away when they molted last fall and ended up in the barn or the brush. The storm might have blown it loose.”
She’d posed some plausible possibilities. Still, I continued my interrogation. “When you told me about your discussion with Tyler, you only mentioned that he asked about the restaurant. Why didn’t you tell me that he asked about your offer on the Pittman property?”
She shrugged, though the nonchalant gesture was offset by a spark in her eyes.
Her voice was measured and edgy. “I didn’t think much about it, I guess.
It seemed like something he just brought up in passing.
He asked how much my sisters and I had offered.
I told him we never discussed numbers with Mrs. Pittman because the conversation never got that far.
She made it clear right off that she had no intention of selling the property.
We couldn’t blame her. It’s been in her family since before the Civil War. ”
Surely Deborah was telling me the truth. She’d have to know I could verify what she told me with Gail Pittman. If the person who made the offer wasn’t the developer of the subdivision or the owners of the Victory Garden restaurant, who had made the big offer on the barn property?
We wrapped up our tour of the barnyard and pasture, and thanked Deborah for showing us around.
“My pleasure,” she said, though the smile on her lips didn’t quite meet her eyes.
I’d insulted her and felt compelled to apologize. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. It’s just that finding Tyler dead has made me anxious. I’d like to see his murder solved as soon as possible.”
“Me too,” she said. “A few of our customers have asked us about it. We don’t want anyone thinking it’s unsafe to come here. We could lose business. But the detective who came to talk to us seemed sharp. I’m sure she’s doing her best.”
I was sure Detective Alonzo was doing her best, too.
Unfortunately, sometimes one’s best wasn’t enough.
A high percentage of homicides went unsolved.
Even when law enforcement had a good suspect, they sometimes couldn’t gather enough evidence for a conviction or even an arrest. I just hoped Tyler Yee’s murder wouldn’t become another unsolved homicide.
We bade Deborah goodbye and headed over to the barn.
Colette supervised Mari as she picked up sticks and rocks around the barn.
Meanwhile, Buck, Collin, and I installed the security system.
We mounted a camera on the front of the barn, right above Virgil’s good-luck horseshoe.
We mounted cameras on the back and both sides as well.
We installed a fifth camera inside the barn.
After connecting them to the Wi-Fi, we used the app on our phones to verify that all of them were working.
I wasn’t fooling myself. A camera wouldn’t stop someone intent on killing me.
They might obscure their face so that they couldn’t be identified in video footage, or they might take me out with a long-range rifle from the woods, out of camera range.
Still, the cameras couldn’t hurt, and we’d receive notifications on our phones if someone were lurking about when we weren’t there.
The system was by no means foolproof, but it was the best we could do short of booby-trapping the place.