Aretha Moon and the Dead Hairdresser: Aretha Moon Book 2 (Aretha Moon Mysteries) by Linda Ross (pdf to ebook reader txt) 📕

The front door was a massive steel affair painted pink.  There were frosted glass inserts on either side.  I rang the bell and heard it echoing somewhere inside.  No one came to the door, and we couldn’t hear any movement inside.

I stepped over to the window on one side, trying to avoid the landscaping, which was a mix of small evergreens and some ivy.  I cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed my face to the glass.  There was a leather couch in front of the window and a built-in bookcase to the side.  It looked like a library room, and it was deserted.

We moved on around the house, looking in windows as we went.  The place was fantastic inside with modern furniture, mostly leather and chrome.  There was a massive stone fireplace against one wall with an enormous television mounted above it.  Everything in the house looked oversize.

We had circled the house without seeing any sign of life.  “Let’s check the garage,” I said.

It was a four-vehicle affair that could house a Dollar General.  There was one small high window on the side, but I wasn’t tall enough to look in.  “Let me boost you up,” I told Thelma.

She gave me a hard look, but stepped onto my laced hands, and I slowly raised her up.  “Good thing I lift weights,” I said.  “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Mmmnf,” she muttered.

“So what did you see?” I asked when she jumped back down.

“A lot of yard equipment, some big planters and a black Lexus.”

“So someone should be home,” I said.

Thelma shrugged.  “Maybe they’re a three-car family.”

We got in the car and drove back down the drive.  Thelma got out and closed the gate, looked in the brick mailbox, then the opening for the newspaper.

“One letter,” she said.  “Looked like a bill from an online wine company.  And last Friday’s newspaper.  None since then.”

“That’s strange.”

The police car was still sitting at Kara’s place when we went by, which was another strange thing.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I dropped Thelma at her place, then went home to change into something more appropriate for a club of female impersonators.  I knew it was a lost cause.  No matter what I wore, they were all going to look better than I did.  I picked up Thelma, and we headed across the river.

The club was tucked away in a strip of small businesses across from a downtown park.  A chalkboard sign out front advertised that it was amateur night.  We stepped through the front door, an unassuming wooden one, and found ourselves in a bar.  Lighting was low, and it took me a minute to take it all in.  The bar ran the length of the left side of the room, and the rest of the place was filled with circular tables.  The stage was directly in front of us with a red curtain behind it.  Already there were several people seated at the tables.  Most of them were young, predominantly male and a fair amount of them androgynous.  And they all looked good.  I glanced down at my green pants suit and decided I would keep my coat on.  Of course Thelma looked classy as ever in a pencil skirt and silk blouse.  She was wearing a nice wool jacket that she hung on the back of her chair.

A server came over to get our drink order, and it took me a minute to realize that it was a female server.  Her hair was in a boy cut, and she wore a white shirt and black trousers.  I ordered my usual whiskey sour and Thelma got a virgin Mary.  I started laughing, but she didn’t seem to think it was funny.  I guess I’d had enough to drink already that day, but a whiskey sour was appealing.

“Pssssst,” someone hissed from the stage, and I poked Thelma.

“We’re being hailed.”

It was Avery, poking his head around the curtain, a big happy smile on his face.  He waved enthusiastically, and I waved back.

The server brought our drinks while I was waving at Avery, and she smiled.  “Avril’s a real sweetheart.  We’re all crazy about her.”  I tried to picture Avery as a her but I couldn’t manage it.  I agreed with the sweetheart part though.

Tables were filling up around us and the air was thick with chatter.  Most of the clientele were men.  But my mind kept going back to Stephanie Riley’s empty house.  I suppose she and her husband could have been out, but why the one old newspaper in the box?  That should have been brought inside days ago.

“You’re thinking about the murder, aren’t you?” Thelma asked.

I nodded.  “So far the only vicious person we know of is Kara, and she’s the one who was killed.”

“Well, whoever killed her was at least as vicious.  Two of a kind.”

“That’s certainly not comforting.”

We hadn’t had any dinner, so we each ordered a hamburger when the server came around again, and I switched to Diet Coke.  I’d had enough Maraschino cherries for one day.

The lights dimmed, there was a drum roll, and our server came from behind the curtains to emcee.   She had put on a tux.  The first female impersonator was for all intents and purposes Liza Minnelli.  The gamin haircut and makeup were perfect, and her legs looked great in fishnet stockings and sky-high red heels.  I couldn’t have walked in those things, much less vamped.  She moved around the tables as she sang, and people stuffed dollar bills under her garter or down her stocking.  Thelma and I rooted in our purses and got out some ones since it seemed to be expected.

We got our chance when the next performer did Bette Midler.  The Divine Miss M flounced from table to table, and Thelma and