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

“I’ve seen Momo reading the tabloids.”

“Sure, but she’s never going to admit it.  And you know what she thinks about horoscopes.”

“The devil’s work,” I said.

“Right.  False prophecies written from inside the gates of hell, as she put it.”  Eileen looked at me, and we both stifled a snicker.

“Is this good, Teacher?” a prissy little girl asked, holding up a drawing of a big red and yellow ball.  “It’s a boil.”

Instinctively I gagged.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Stephanie,” Eileen praised her.  “Very good.  Now why don’t you try some lice?”

We moved away from the table. “That’s the minister’s daughter,” Eileen whispered to me.  “The rumor is they have to hide the collection plate from her or she helps herself.”

“Probably has a serious bubble gum habit,” I said.

“All I know is I keep my purse out of her reach.  And she likes to hit the other kids.  She calls it making their souls straighten out.”

“Good grief,” I said.  “She sounds like a junior Momo.”

“I can’t imagine why she’s like that.  You know the minister, Howard Smalz.”

“Yeah, I always imagined him sitting at the nerd table at the Last Supper while all the popular guys were with Jesus.”  I heard organ music start upstairs, and I fervently hoped it wasn’t going to be followed by lightning striking me down.

“You’re going to go to hell for that,” Eileen said.  “At least according to Momo.  Anyway, Howard’s wife is a little bit of a thing.  I think she bosses him around.  One time I heard her tell him just to wait until they got home after he spilled his coffee after the service.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.  He just got this little smile.”  Eileen shrugged.  “I guess he doesn’t let her get to him.”

Or else he liked having her get to him, I thought.

I didn’t get to dwell on that creepy image, because the kids started clamoring for us to look at their pictures.  It was a good collection of plagues.  We had lice, locusts, frogs and sick cows (I could tell they were sick because one of them was barfing).  And of course the red and yellow boil, drawn by Stephanie, the minister’s daughter.  She began telling us about the time she got an infected finger, and I tuned her out.  I would never have made it as a nurse.  I don’t like blood or infections, and I really don’t like to take care of sick people.  Especially whiny sick people.

I was much happier with our old minister, a jovial plump man with a wife with a sweet disposition.  Their children were quiet even after they were grown, which was probably some kind of miracle.  I don’t think there’s such a thing as a quiet child anymore.

Eileen read the kids the plague story again, and then we heard church letting out upstairs.  I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or not.

The parents appeared at the door to collect their kids, oohing and aahing over the plague pictures, and I watched Muriel, the minister’s wife, as she got Stephanie.  She was petite with short black hair and a demure dress, cream colored with a profusion of red poppies sprinkled on it.  And black high heels that made a no-nonsense click when she walked.

“I see you’re still working on the plague lesson,” she said in a cool voice to Eileen.  “Boils and locusts are all she can talk about.  Makes for a lovely Sunday dinner.”  Muriel gave a tight smile and shepherded Stephanie out the door.

“Bitch,” Eileen muttered under her breath.

“Careful,” I said.  “I didn’t see a lightning rod on the roof.”

Momo appeared at the door as the last child left with his mother.  “Hurry up, you two.  You need to say hello to everyone.  I’ve been telling them how well Eileen’s gallery is doing and how the girls are going to be offered scholarships to any college and how Aretha’s up for a Pulitzer prize.”

“Say what now?” I asked.

“Honestly, Aretha, I had to come up with something.  You don’t give me a lot to work with.”

“That’s more than just a little something,” I said.  “And what’s this about the girls getting scholarships?”  I glanced at Eileen, but she just stood there looking shell-shocked.

“Well, maybe that was embellishing a bit.  Come on.  People are waiting to talk to you.”

Oh, boy.  Just what I wanted after the plague pictures.

Emma Karhoff was the first one to greet us as we came upstairs.  She was about my age and florid from high blood pressure.  She had short blond hair that she dyed and a plump figure, somewhat bigger than my own plump figure.  “Just look at you,” she said to me.  “Up for a Pulitzer.  We’re all so proud.”

“Well, I think Momo’s been stretching the truth a bit,” I said.  “I’m not really going to get a Pulitzer.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.  You deserve some recognition after everything you’ve been through.”

I was confused now.  “The B and D club or the rat?”  I had no idea what she was talking about.

Emma looked taken aback.  “B and D club?” she repeated with wide eyes.  “You’re not working there now, are you?”

“No, no.  I was just there for a story.  And I got thrown out anyway,” I added hastily as more parishioners moved closer to listen.

“I was talking about the drugs,” Emma said, lowering her voice.

“You mean the pot brownies?  Honestly, I had no idea there was pot in them.”

Now Emma looked confused.  “No, your aunt said you just finished a stint in rehab.  She said it was for meth and food addiction.”

“Did she now?” I said.

“Stay calm, Aretha,” Eileen said, putting a hand on my arm that had suddenly tensed.  “I’m sure we can straighten this out.”