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

Les stepped over to the cows and pushed and shoved a couple out of the way until I could see one of them broadside.  And there it was.  NOLL   Big black letters against a mostly white background.

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s like a miracle.”

Something didn’t seem quite right, and I moved a little closer to Lassie, trying to avoid the large piles of manure.  The O looked like it had dripped.  I took another step.  Yes, a definite drip.

The first hard raindrops started to fall, and the cows started moving into the barn of their own volition.  Lassie was last in line, and as she passed me I saw that now the rest of NOLL was dripping as well.

“Mr. Noll,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.  “I think your cow is melting.”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat.  “Sometimes that happens when they get wet.  The hair gets moved around and looks different.”

“Mr. Noll, did you paint that cow?”

He sighed.  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.  People aren’t drinking milk like they used to, and we’ve got expenses to cover.  You can’t run a farm on nothing but hay.  I just thought a little publicity might help.”

It was my turn to sigh.  “Why didn’t you use spray paint that wouldn’t run?”

“The hissing sound of the can scares the cows.  I had to go with some poster paint from the dollar store.”

“Okay, let’s get out of the rain and figure out what to do.”

We moved into the barn, and I studied the cows.  They were nice looking cows.  Some of them were mostly white with very little black, like a blank canvas.  No wonder Mr. Noll had gotten the idea to paint one.  And that gave me an idea.

“I guess you won’t run the story now,” Mr. Noll said.

“Hold on a minute.  I think I might have an idea.”

Ten minutes later Mr. Noll was back in the barn with his paints.  He worked on the cows while I coached from the sidelines.  An hour went by, and five cows sported messages and drawings.  One read DRINK MILK and another had a drawing of an ice cream cone.  It turns out that Mr. Noll had some artistic talent, and his drawing of the ice cream cone was inspired.  I took photos of each cow. I took some notes on Mr. Noll and his dairy farm, and then I headed back to the office.

It took me about fifteen minutes to write up the story, which I titled “The Banksy of Bovines.”  I heard Lorenzo chortling in his office while he was reading it, so I figured it was a success.

I stopped by Thelma’s desk on my way out to ask if she’d changed her mind about coming over for Thanksgiving.  “I’m never going to even finish this story before Thanksgiving,” she said.

“The kid who says the Gettysburg Address backwards?”

“More like speaking in tongues.  I don’t know what the hell he was saying.  Now, look.  You’ve got me swearing.”  She shook her head in exasperation.

“The kid was that bad?” I asked.

“He sounded like a record played backwards.  He could have been saying anything.  And apparently he talks like that all the time.  His parents are nuts.  Even they don’t know what he’s saying, but they don’t seem to care.”

“Sounds like a case for child services.”

“He’s going to preschool, and I pity his teacher.”

“Well, just write it up so you can get out of here.”

“Okay.  Have a good Thanksgiving.”

“You too.  And don’t forget the big anniversary party here on Saturday.”

Thelma groaned.

I poked my head into Lorenzo’s office long enough to tell him I was heading home, and he said, “Nice angle on the cow story, Moon.  Maybe we can get the guy to do some cows on other farms.”

“Yeah, I imagine farmers would love that.”  I gave him a cheerful wave, buttoned my coat and headed to the car.

It was time to make a cherry pie.  I’d promised Jimmy.

Jimmy was already at my house when I got there, and he’d let Nancy out and was feeding her.  It struck me that we were like an old couple, familiar with each other’s routines and comfortable together.  Except there was no sex.  I guess we were a really old couple.  And Nancy was our adult child who’d returned to the nest.

“So what’s on the program for tonight?” Jimmy asked.

“Cherry pie.  I promised you one for tomorrow.”

“That you did.  Need any help?”

“Sure.  How are you at making pie crust?”

It turned out that he wasn’t bad, and we got the pie made with a minimum of mess.  If I’d harbored any romantic fantasies of us tossing flour at each other and ending up kissing, they went unfulfilled.  We worked well together.

“Pizza and TV tonight?” Jimmy asked.

“Sure.  Never gets old.”

We ordered from the Brick Oven and sat at the table with a beer and a Diet Coke.  Nancy got an occasional piece of crust.  I filled in Jimmy on the visit Thelma and I made to Jeffrey Connell.”

“You know I’m not happy about you talking to him,” Jimmy said.

“Well, you aren’t going to be happy with this either.  We went to Stephanie Riley’s house and walked around.”

“And?”

“There’s an iron sculpture on the patio that I’m sure was made by Loren Haskell.  I think she was having an affair with him.”

“Could be,” Jimmy said noncommittally.  “He hasn’t been very forthcoming.”

“And Rose mentioned that his barn was full of rats.  So maybe he was the one who put the rat in my car.”

“Well, she probably knows Kara better than anyone else.  Pay attention to what she says.  As for the rat, you can find them on any farm.”

I sighed.  “Every time I turn around there’s some new suspect.  Everyone hated