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

“And your crab Rangoon.”

We gorged on Chinese food.  I ate four crab Rangoons and a full order of sweet and sour chicken with rice.

“What’s your fortune cookie say?” Jimmy asked when we had put the leftovers in the fridge and Nancy was licking the last of the fried rice from her bowl.

I sat back down at the kitchen table and opened my cookie.  “You will meet a tall dark stranger,” I said without reading it.

“No, come on.”

“Okay, okay.”  I pulled out the paper and read.  “Life is only the menu.”

“What does that mean?” Jimmy asked.

“I guess it means you have to choose what you want.  Or more likely it means that life will be out of whatever it is you want to order.  Happens all the time.  You want fries and they just shut down the fryer for the night.  Okay, what does yours say?”

Jimmy pulled out his paper.  “Look straight ahead to see what’s in front of you.”

“Kind of obvious.”

“Maybe it means we should look straight ahead at the clues for Kara’s murder and stop taking detours.  So how did it go in Arnold?”

I got up and got Jimmy another beer and me a Diet Coke.

“I really don’t know,” I said.  “Lot of information, but I don’t know if any of it is important.  In the church, she hit a woman with a paper weight and ruined her face.  Then she took off.  Jeffrey Connell left about the same time, possibly to look for her.  Oh, by the way, she carved her initials on his neck.”

“Really?”

I nodded.  “Not the kind of gesture his wife appreciated.  Let’s see.”  I pulled my notes from my pocket and looked at them.  “Her cousin inherited the childhood home.  The cousin says Kara was always taking advantage of Rose.  Oh, that reminds me.  Guess who turned up at work today.”

Jimmy shook his head.

“Rose.  She got a job at The Spyglass.  Says she’s tired of sitting home not doing anything and wants to help.”

“Not a good idea,” Jimmy said.  “She’s liable to be a target too.  We just don’t know why Kara was killed.”

“To me, it feels like something that happened here in Hannibal.  I think the killer is still right here.”

“Plenty of suspects everywhere we look.”

“Boy, you can say that again.”  I yawned.  “So, what do you want to watch on TV tonight?”

“Does it matter?  You’re going to fall asleep anyway.”

I tried to be offended, but he was right.  One of the hazards of my age group.  We ended up watching a movie on Netflix, and I dozed off and missed the ending.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Jimmy said when I woke up.  “I already let Nancy out, so you can both go to bed.”

“Thanks.”  I could get used to evenings like this.

I woke up in the middle of the night with the usual heartburn and reached for the Tums on my night stand.  Only one left, and sweet and sour chicken with crab Rangoon was a two-Tums dish, especially given the amount I’d eaten.

So I tossed and turned the rest of the night, unable to fall into a deep sleep because of the fire that burbled up into my throat like a volcano.  Okay, I’m being dramatic. It was a simple case of heartburn, and it was an aggravation.  I vowed to eat healthier, then laughed at myself.  Who was I kidding?

I got up once to make sure I didn’t have more Tums in the bathroom.  No luck there.  I passed the other bedroom and couldn’t resist peeking in at Jimmy sleeping.  He was snoring lightly, curled up on his side.  I sighed and went back to bed.

My heartburn wasn’t much better in the morning, and I can’t say that the two crab Rangoons and mu shu shrimp helped much.  So I topped that off with a couple of brownies.  I’m nothing if not persistent.  I wasn’t sure who was going to give in first, the heartburn or me.

Jimmy had left early, so I let Nancy out, fed her, then showered and dressed.  I left the house a little early to give myself time to stop at Walgreen’s for Tums.

Walgreen’s carries candy too, so I perused that aisle first.  Then I moved on to the aisle with all the digestive aids.  As I passed the first aid aisle I saw a man intent on the antibacterial creams.  He looked vaguely familiar, and I tried to place him without staring.  I pretended to be checking out the personal care products in the same aisle, keeping him in my peripheral vision.  I noticed that his hands were covered in Band-Aids and bore several puncture wounds.  He touched his ponytail, and that’s when I placed him.

Joan Larkin’s neighbor.  The guy who played his TV loud.

I watched him check out with his antibiotic cream and a box of Band-Aids, and then I followed with my Tums.  When I arrived on his street he had parked his car in the garage behind his house and was walking up to his front door.  He unlocked it and took a deep breath before going in and quickly shutting the door.

I went to Joan’s door and knocked.

“Aretha!” she said when she saw me.  “Come on in.  Do you have some news?”

I nodded.  “Come with me.”

She clutched her sweater together in both hands and stepped outside.  “Do I need a coat?”

“This won’t take long.”

I led her across the yard to the neighbor’s house and up to the door.  The TV was blasting the morning show.

“Now call for Stewart.  And make it loud.”

She gave me a quizzical look but hollered, “Stewart!  Stewart!”

“Louder,” I said.

“Stewart!  Time for treatsies!”

And that’s when we heard the barking start inside.  Even with the TV noise, it was unmistakable.  That high-pitched,