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

“Stewart!” Joan cried.  “Stewart!  Come to Mama!”

The door opened a crack, and for a moment I thought Stewart might have opened it himself.  But it was the neighbor looking around the door.  Through the crack I could see Stewart perched on the arm of a sofa by the door, his eyes bulging and his teeth bared.  If Charles Manson came back as a dog, he’d be Stewart.

“Mr. Mackey,” Joan said, “what’s Stewart doing in your house?”

He looked down in embarrassment.  “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled.  “I just wanted some winning lottery numbers.  My car is about to be repossessed and the dentist says I need a root canal.”

From the looks of his hands, he was going to need some stitches too.  Apparently Stewart had been an uncooperative house guest.

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Joan said.  “Why didn’t you just tell me?  We can go together on the tickets.  And when’s the last time you had a decent meal?  You’re way too thin.  I’m doing a pot roast today.  Mashed potatoes and gravy and carrots.  And apple pie for dessert.”

We had been shouting to be heard over the TV, and now Mr. Mackey pointed the remote and turned it down.

“That’s very nice of you,” he said.  “Especially after I stole your dog.”

“Well, he doesn’t look any the worse for it,” Joan said.  The same couldn’t be said for poor Mr. Mackey.

“Come on in,” Mr. Mackey said.  He opened the door all the way, and that’s when Stewart made his move.  He launched off the sofa arm straight at me, a wild look on his face, saliva dripping from his mouth.

Son of a bitch!!!

I managed to get my purse in front of me just in time, and Stewart’s teeth sank into it.  The little bastard was dangling from my purse, his legs trying to find purchase in air while muted snarls came from his throat.

“Now, Stewart, you be a good boy,” Joan said, grabbing hold of him and pulling.

I held onto the purse, and it finally separated from Stewart with a loud ripping sound.

“Oh, my,” Joan said, looking down at Stewart in her arms, a large piece of my purse snagged on one tooth.  Stewart continued to eye me like a deranged ax murderer, the snarls coming nonstop, which must have been a long string of swear words in chihuahua.

“Well, I really have to be going,” I said.  “It was nice seeing you again, Joan.  And good luck, Mr. Mackey.”  The poor bastard was going to need it.

“Thank you, dear,” Joan called after me.  Stewart let out a loud howl that started the rest of the dogs on the street barking in response.

I was tempted to chug half the bottle of Tums when I got in the car, but I limited myself to two.  And I stopped for donuts.  I know, I know.

Thelma came over to my desk when I walked in.

“Why does your new purse have a hole in it?”

I looked down and saw tissues spilling out.  “I refereed a touching family reunion.  We found Stewart.”

“Really?  Where was he?”

“The neighbor took him to try to get him to pick winning lottery numbers.”

“And did he?”

“Not unless he tattooed them on the guy’s hands with his teeth.”

“I called Serena Roosevelt at Hair Affair and asked if she had some time to talk to us.  She’s got a break in about half an hour.”

“Great.  Let me get a Diet Coke and I’ll be ready.”

I turned and nearly bumped into Rose.

“I was wondering how things were going,” she said, fidgeting with her belt.  “If there’s any information you want to run by me.”

“Not that I can think of,” I said.  I remembered that I’d said we would talk to her this morning.  “We’re going to go talk to Serena at Hair Affair.  If you want to come along, you’re welcome.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to get in the way.  I just thought maybe I could fill in some blanks for you.”

“That’s kind of you,” I said, “but I think we’re still in the dark at the moment.  But we’ll let you know.”

“Okay.  See you later.”  And she went back to her filing.

“I don’t know how anyone can always be that put together,” I said, sighing.  Today she had on a plum-colored pants suit with a scarf covered in a fall leaf pattern.  It really went well with her hair.

“It just takes a little effort,” Thelma said.  “You could do it if you wanted.”

“No, I couldn’t.  I can’t even coordinate my dog’s collar and leash.  A pants suit and scarf are beyond me.”

Thelma tried to convince me I just needed a little help in the wardrobe department as I drove us to Hair Affair.  And I protested the entire way.  She might as well try to teach me to speak Mandarin.

Serena was behind the counter when we walked in, and she looked perky but sophisticated in an off-the-shoulder white blouse and slim jeans with ankle boots.  Her auburn hair was tousled, but tousled in the way that models’ hair is tousled.  Not tousled like my hair when I slept on it wrong.  I’ve seen actresses with hair that looked like it was styled in a blender, yet they still looked all dewy and sexy.  I don’t understand it.  When I go out with my hair looking like that people back away from me.

“You’re the one who found Kara, aren’t you?” Serena asked when she saw me.

“Yes.  It was a bad day for all of us.”

“You can say that again.  Come on in back where we can talk.”  She turned to the young woman working at putting foil on a client’s hair.  “We’ll be in back, Jo.”

Jo nodded, intent on the job at hand.

We