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

hair guy is also a dog groomer, so I was a bit hesitant.  So far he’d always done a great job giving me a haircut, but there was always the possibility I would come out looking like a cocker spaniel.  Not that cocker spaniels aren’t cute.

Jimmy gave a quiet laugh and pulled me closer.  “This is nice,” he said.  “I’ve missed dancing.”

I’d missed being held by someone of the opposite sex, but I kept my mouth shut and just murmured assent.  Let him think I was a dancing fool.

And then the phone rang.  Bugger.

It was Eileen, desperate because Momo was insisting everyone accompany her to church in the morning.  Eileen normally attended anyway because she taught Sunday school, but she wanted reinforcements.  “I’ll pick you up at 8:45,” she said.  And she hung up.  No mention of Jimmy spending the night, so I knew that she was totally undone by Momo.  I thanked my lucky stars that Dad and Momo were staying with Eileen and not me.  I actually felt a little guilty that I got Jimmy for the night and Eileen had to contend with family.  Don’t get me wrong.  Families are wonderful, especially at a distance.  Preferably several hundred miles.

Jimmy and I decided to watch TV after our dancing.  It was 9 p.m. and he chose a football talk show.  By 9:30 I was asleep on the couch beside him.  What can I say?  I’m middle-aged and energy challenged.  Jimmy nudged me awake and pointed me toward my bedroom.  I let Nancy out first, then brushed my teeth and headed to bed.  Nancy curled up next to me on the other pillow, and we were both out for the night.  So much for my big sleep-over with Jimmy.

I woke up at 6 the next morning and let Nancy out, then fixed her breakfast, some canned food with a little peanut butter mixed in.  I fixed myself some French toast and opened a Diet Coke to go with it.  Nancy had some of the French toast as well.  Dogs in general and poodles in particular will not let you get away with eating something they want to share.  If the big eyes don’t work, there’s always the paw on your leg and, as a last resort, whining pitifully.  I’ve sometimes been tempted to try the whining myself.

Jimmy was still asleep in the guest bedroom.  Remembering how I’d fallen asleep on the couch last night, I wondered if I should see a doctor about some hormones to give me more energy.  Heck, there was probably a breakfast cereal for that.   Frosted Zippy Flakes or Peppios. I’d tried energy bars, but four bars just put me to sleep.  And I think I’m immune to the caffeine in Diet Coke.  Possibly chocolate cake would do the trick.  Couldn’t hurt.

By 8:30 Eileen was honking her horn in front of the house, I was dressed for church and Jimmy was sitting at the kitchen table eating French toast.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come along,” I said, pulling on my coat.

He gave me a look.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said, sighing.

I squeezed into the back seat next to Dad, who had slid over next to Desi.  Momo turned around from the front to eye my outfit.  I’d put on a pair of pastel green stretch pants with a matching top.  My flats were a scruffy brown, which matched my unzipped car coat.

“Honestly, Aretha,” Momo said, “surely you can dress better than that.  After all, this is church.”

I heard Tiffany smother a giggle next to her.

Of course Momo was dressed to the nines in a beige linen skirt and matching silk top.  Her full-length black coat was open to display the triple loop of pearls at her neck.  And her shoes were low heels in a soft shade of pink that matched her purse.

“I don’t know why your sister got all the fashion sense,” Momo said.  “You look like a bum.”

Eileen sighed loudly, I sighed loudly, and Dad said, “You brought a bun with you?  I could use one.  I’m still hungry from breakfast.”

As we entered the church, everyone complimented Momo on how well she looked and how pretty she looked and how she looked younger every time they saw her.  Then their eyes would slide to me, their mouths would open to offer me some compliment, and that’s where it ended.  They couldn’t come up with anything.  Although one enterprising woman told me I looked rested.  Yeah, that’s always nice to hear.

Eileen and I left Dad, Momo and the girls to chat with the other parishioners before church started, and we headed to the basement where the Sunday school classes were held.  Eileen’s class was the youngest, ages four to nine, and she was teaching them about the Egyptian plagues.  Six children of varying sizes were seated around the table with drawing paper and crayons.  Eileen had each choose a plague to illustrate.  I thought it was kind of a scary project for young kids, dealing with stuff like boils, cattle disease and the death of first born sons.  But they seemed pretty blasé about the whole thing.  One kid alternated between picking his nose and drawing a giant locust with horns and a tail.  I had a feeling he had just made dinosaurs one of the plagues.  That would have been one heck of a plague.

“You know what should have been one of the plagues?” I whispered to Eileen.  “Momo.  Now there’s a plague.”

“Tell me about it.  This morning I got the lecture about letting the girls eat Pop Tarts.  She said they were going to turn out like you.”

“What?!” I said in a voice loud enough to make the kids look up.

“I think she meant the divorce,” Eileen said in an obvious attempt to pacify me.

“But you’re divorced.”

“Yes, but I’m financially secure.  I don’t have to