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

from the night table and sucked on it in the dark.  I liked the fruit flavors.  They weren’t chocolate, but they weren’t bad.  Nancy started chasing a rabbit in her sleep, her paws twitching.  I ran my hand over her head, and she settled back down.

I got up, tiptoed to Jimmy’s bedroom door and peeked in.  He was asleep on his side, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed.  I wished I were in the bed with him, curled against his back, but I hustled back to my own bed and took another Tums.

Eileen had Momo in the car when she picked me up the next morning, and she’d brought me a muffin and a hot chocolate.  Momo was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Are you all right, Momo?” I asked.

She mumbled something, and I met Eileen’s eyes in the rear view mirror.  Hangover.  Those delicious lemonades she had yesterday.

“What happened to your car?” Eileen asked.  “It looks like it was in an accident.”

“You might say that.  Someone doesn’t like me, and they’re taking it out on my car.”

“You can’t go around pissing off people, Aretha.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s in my job description.”

“Use your inside voices,” Momo said.  “I’ve got a headache, and my stomach isn’t the best either.  I could use some Pepto-Bismol.”

“We can stop at Walgreen’s,” Eileen said.  “I’m out of aspirin for some reason.”  Her eyes met mine in the rear view mirror again.

I could always use Tums, so we all trooped inside.  And it was like deja vu.  There was Mr. Mackey in the aisle with the Pepto-Bismol.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in surprise.  “Stewart isn’t still attacking you, is he?”

“Joan’s cooking,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.  “It’s no wonder that dog’s so mean.  That woman is a demon at the stove.  Everything is either burned or under-cooked.  She can’t even cook baked beans.  Who can’t heat up baked beans?  She left the lid off, and they exploded all over the kitchen.  Have you ever cleaned beans off a ceiling?  Let me tell you, it’s not easy.”

“So why do you go over there?” I asked.

He sighed.  “We go in on lottery tickets.  We split a hundred dollars last week.”

“Well, it seems to me your only choice is to learn to cook.”

“Oh, God,” he said.  He grabbed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and headed toward the check-out, shaking his head.

“Who was that?” Momo asked, taking a bottle of Pepto for herself.

“Some poor guy who kidnapped a dog and lived to regret it.”  I picked up a bottle of Tums and headed for the check-out myself.  When I went to pay, tissues were leaking out the hole in my purse like puffs of smoke from a cigarette.

“Why does your purse have a hole in it?” Momo asked.  “I swear, you dress like a homeless person.”

“I had a run-in with a vicious dog.  I’m lucky he didn’t chew a hole in me.”

Momo sniffed and paid for her Pepto.

Back in the car, Momo opened the Pepto and chugged while I ate a couple of Tums and Eileen took two aspirin.  For three mature women, we were a motley crew.  This must be why people said getting old wasn’t for the faint of heart.  I wondered if we should all be shopping as a group.  We looked like an invitation to cull the herd.

We started at the pottery store, and I picked up a nice bowl I planned to give to Thelma for Christmas.  I asked Eileen what she wanted since she had a dish set from there, and I got her two platters to add to it.  Momo picked up a dish for baking bread to give to a friend in Florida.  Then we wandered over to the quilt shop and looked at all the patterns.  Eileen quilts, and she got some extra fabric and thread.

The next stop was a country store on Main Street.  Momo and Eileen bought some baking pans, and I got a bag of chocolate nonpareils.  We were all tired by the time we got back in the car.  I crunched on my chocolates, and Eileen and Momo stretched out their legs.  In five minutes we were all asleep.  Eileen woke up first and woke me by reaching around the seat and shaking my leg.  I woke up with chocolate drool running down the side of my face, my chocolates spilled all over my lap.  At least not all of my tissues had leaked from my purse, and I cleaned up my face.

“Let’s let Momo sleep,” Eileen said.  “Let’s get some lunch and call it a day.”

Momo was snoring when Eileen and I got out of the car at the coffee shop downtown.  We got sandwiches and chips, and I picked out a piece of cake.  When we got back to the car, Momo was still sleeping.

“I don’t know how old people get anything done,” Eileen said.  “I guess I’d better take her home.  Ready?”

“No, wait.  I thought of something I need to do.”  I called Thelma and asked if she would pick me up in front of the coffee shop.  I didn’t tell her what I had in mind.

Eileen left me sitting on a bench in front of the shop, and five minutes later Thelma came by.  Parking spots were at a premium, so when I saw her drive past I jogged to the corner and got in the re.

“Ready to do some shopping?” Thelma asked.  “There are some good specials on clothes.”

“I had something else in mind.”

“Uh-oh.  I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Yesterday whoever sent the text messages to us threw an iron brick through my car window.  I think we need to check out Loren Haskell’s place.”

“So you think it’s a good idea to poke around the guy who might have killed Kara and