The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(99)

He nodded. But he still looked glum.

“Hey, maybe it’s a good thing we never met Cordelia,” I said. “Because I’m having a hard time calling her anything but Cordelia. I look at her photo and I don’t think ‘Grandmother’ or ‘Grandma’ or ‘Granny.’ Just Cordelia. I’m not sure a lady of her generation would like that very much. I’d get my knuckles rapped.”

He smiled at that.

“It took a while with your grandfather, as I recall,” he said. “We managed, eventually.”

“And got sucked into all his projects,” I said. “Before Grandfather showed up, I don’t think I ever aspired to appear on television bottle-feeding baby porcupines.”

“And until he showed up, I never managed to get myself arrested.” Dad made it sound as if this was a singular accomplishment, instead of a dangerous misadventure while Grandfather was trying to break up a dogfighting ring.

“What do you suppose Cordelia would have us doing if she’d been the one to survive instead of Annabel?”

“Rescue the emus, for sure,” he said. “And solve Annabel’s murder. I’m starved—let’s go see what’s for lunch, and you can tell me all about why Thor’s suddenly such an important witness.”

In the mess tent we spotted Dr. Ffollett filling several carryout boxes. I waved, but he scurried off.

“Strange man,” I said.

“Dr. Ffollett?” Dad said. “Seems nice enough.”

“You’ve had a chance to meet him, then,” I said. “Talk to him. He probably knows a lot about Cordelia. I get the feeling she was more than a patient. Talk to him, doctor to doctor.”

“I already tried,” Dad said. “He’s not very talkative. And it turns out he’s a dentist.”

That didn’t sound like Dad. He’d never shown any particular aversion to dentists. In fact, he and my childhood dentist had been kindred spirits. Mother had finally banned him from accompanying me to checkups after he and my dentist had traumatized me with a particularly graphic discussion of whether trench mouth or scurvy had done more to affect the course of world history.

“What have you got against dentists all of a sudden?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Dad said. “But—a dentist. Their dentist. And also a friend. It must have been so difficult for him. Poor man.”

I was puzzled for a moment, and then I got it. Cordelia had been identified by her dental records. I hoped that didn’t mean that Dr. Ffollett had had to go down to the morgue and—

I shoved the thought out of my mind.

“He could probably use a little sympathy, then,” I said. “I offered them meals from the mess tent as long as their power is out. He’ll probably be back at suppertime. Why don’t you lie in wait and see if you can chat him up then?”

“I will.” Dad looked cheerful. “There are some fascinating new developments in dental science that I could ask him about.”

Grandfather and the wranglers returned shortly afterward with another eight emus. I wasn’t sure which made Grandfather happier—the inventory itself, or the news that they had now rounded up over half of the emus. The whole crew was in high spirits over lunch, and I seriously considered going out with them for the afternoon’s hunt. And then decided to stay on at camp. I spent much of the afternoon sitting near the emu pen in a lawn chair, pretending to read a book and actually keeping an eye on the emus and Miss Annabel’s house.

And then shortly before dinnertime, a hugely pregnant volunteer who’d been having a cup of tea in the mess tent suddenly shrieked that her water had broken. Most of the other volunteers were men, and evidently none of the few women present had much experience with childbirth—all of them froze in panic when she made her announcement.

“Someone find Dad,” I ordered. “And does anyone know where her husband is?”

Everyone else in the mess tent fled, presumably following my orders, leaving me alone with a woman who had either failed to read the “Labor and Delivery” chapter of What to Expect When You’re Expecting or had forgotten everything it said. Fortunately Dad appeared a few minutes later, and after a brief exam, he and Clarence bustled her off in Clarence’s station wagon.

“When you find her husband, bring him along,” he said, as he was getting the woman settled in the backseat.

“Bring him along where?” I asked. “I don’t remember seeing a hospital in Riverton.”

“Richmond,” he said. “VCU Medical Center. Her obstetrician will meet us there.”