The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(82)

Maybe instead of the emu pen I should put them in Grandfather’s trailer for the night. We’d been so busy catching the emus that no one had had much time to question how they’d escaped. Had someone turned them loose to create a diversion? And if so, had his plans failed, or was he still planning something against Grandfather?

I leaned against the fence and gazed at Miss Annabel’s house. I wondered if she’d been watching the joust through her binoculars. There was only one light on at her house, and that in an upstairs room. She was probably almost ready for bed.

I made a mental note to drop by tomorrow morning to check on her. I’d forgotten to ask if the generator and security companies had come as promised. And I could ask if she needed anything. Collect the emu inventory if she’d found it.

I reluctantly turned and headed back to the main part of camp. Halfway there I almost collided with Thor.

He looked like death warmed over.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” I asked.

“Enough,” he said.

“And you were out with the crew all day today,” I said.

“I managed to grab a nap in the afternoon,” he said.

Strange, how motherhood had given me an almost supernatural ability to detect prevarication. Just call me Meg, the human lie detector.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Look—the wranglers will be patrolling the area tonight. To protect the emus, and the horses, and all those expensive bikes.”

Actually, the wranglers weren’t planning anything of the kind, at least not that I knew about, but as the words came out of my mouth I realized what a good idea it was.

“You’re sure?”

“Follow me.”

I kept an eye on Thor to make sure he didn’t slip away. Although there wasn’t as much chance of his doing so as there had been earlier, when he could so easily have lost himself in the crowd.

Clarence had finished his examination and was standing by the emu pen, gazing contentedly at the newly recaptured flock.

“Did Grandfather talk to you about recruiting some volunteers to patrol the camp tonight?” I asked.

“Not yet, but I think it’s a sound idea,” Clarence said. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Have the guards keep an eye on those two houses in addition to the camp, will you?” I pointed to Annabel’s and Weaver’s houses.

“Any special reason?” Clarence asked. “Are they emu haters?”

I explained about Cordelia—not my connection to her, but the murder, and her cousin’s suspicion about Theo Weaver’s involvement.

“And Miss Annabel is not an emu hater,” Thor put in. “She and Ms. Delia were the ones who had me feed the emus. I think Mr. Weaver is, though. You don’t want him anywhere near them. He tried to get the police to shoot them.”

“We’ll definitely keep an eye peeled that way, then,” Clarence said, and hurried off to recruit his patrols.

“You see?” I turned to Thor and put my hands on my hips. “And we’re also leaving our dogs there, for additional security. You can rest easy.”

“Okay,” he said. “But maybe I should just find a place to bunk down here. I’m not sure there’s anyone left who can give me a ride back.”

“That’s why I’m driving you,” I said. “Follow me.”

I dropped by the tent to let Michael know where I was going and stayed long enough to help him stuff the boys into pajamas and give them their goodnight kisses. I hadn’t decided what to do if Thor keeled over fast asleep while I was with the boys, but fortunately he was still upright—just barely—when I’d finished, so I led the way through the almost-deserted camp to the Twinmobile.

Thor craned his neck toward Miss Annabel’s house as we drove down the dirt road, and seemed to relax a little when a pair of men waved to us from the far end of the emu pen.

“Miss Annabel and the emus will be fine,” I said.

He nodded and leaned against the window. I stayed silent for a few miles, so he could doze if he liked. But every time I glanced over, I saw his eyes, wide open.

“Thor,” I said. “You’ve lived here all your life, right.”

“So far,” he said, reminding me of the sign at the edge of town with the painted-out population total.

“And you think Miss Annabel’s right about what happened to her cousin? I asked. “That Theo Weaver killed her?”

He didn’t say anything for a few long moments. Maybe he, too, thought Miss Annabel was a nice old lady with an unreasonable obsession, and was trying to figure out a polite way to avoid my question.

“I hope it’s not true,” he said finally. “But you know what I think?” His voice was suddenly shaking with anger. “He did it. He’s a total creep. He did his best to make the ladies’ lives miserable, and then he killed Ms. Delia, and we shouldn’t let him get away with it.”