Aretha Moon and the Dead Hairdresser: Aretha Moon Book 2 (Aretha Moon Mysteries) by Linda Ross (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📗

“And Thelma got some good information out of the guy up there,” I said defensively, nodding my head toward Derek, who was plugging a guitar into the amp on stage.  “Derek Harper dated Kara for about three years, and—get this—she liked to cut him with a knife.  That’s how she got her jollies.”

Jimmy slid into the booth next to me, his frown deepening.

“And he confirmed that Kara’s been in jail,” I added.  “Derek thought it was for theft.”

Jimmy was silent a moment.  “I’ll check it out,” he said.

Brigid showed up, and Jimmy ordered a soda.  “I’d better go talk to Derek before the band gets started,” he said, getting up and heading toward the stage.

“So,” Thelma said when he was gone, “are you two together?”

Here came another hot flash as I remembered a past kiss.  “Not exactly,” I said.  “It looked promising for a while, but now I think my sister has her eye on him.”

“So?”

“So, my sister Eileen is a size zero or thereabouts, is ten years younger and doesn’t have my hair.”

“She’s bald?”

“No, she has nice hair, not this. . . whisk broom.”

Thelma laughed.  “Your hair’s not a whisk broom.  It’s very pixie.”

“Just what a fifty-year-old woman wants to hear.”

We debated the merits of my hair a bit until Jimmy came back to the table.

“So?” I asked.  “What did I tell you?  Kara probably had a lot of disgruntled boyfriends if she liked to slice and dice them.”

“Finding them won’t be so easy,” Jimmy said.

“Just look for knife scars,” I advised, and he gave me a look.

“I can see you’re going to be a pain in the butt during this investigation.”

“Look, Jimmy, Thelma and I have a story to write, so whether I’m a pain in the butt depends on how much you help me with information.”

Jimmy sighed heavily and took a long drink of his soda.  “I know it won’t do any good to say this, but I don’t want you involved.  Look what happened last time.”

The last time I covered a murder we found the murderer, but I almost got barbecued in the process.

I glanced over as the door opened, and then I elbowed Jimmy.  “Look who it is,” I said in an undertone.

He looked around and then stood as Kara’s sister Rose made her way toward our booth.  She must have changed clothes since this morning and was dressed immaculately in beige linen pants with a braided leather belt, a peach-colored silk blouse tucked in at the waist.  She was slender and looked stunning.

“I saw you through the window,” she said hesitantly as she stopped in front of us.  “I guess I wondered if you knew anything yet.”

Jimmy shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  It’s too early yet.  But we’ve started talking to people who knew Kara.  Maybe you could help us out.  Do you know of any old boyfriends?  Or anyone who might have a grudge against her?”

Rose shook her head.  “Like I said, I only moved here a short time ago.  Kara and I had never been close, and she didn’t confide in me.”  She ducked her head and gave a small smile.  “You work for   The Spyglass, don’t you?” she asked me.  “You’re writing the story about Kara?”

“Thelma and I both are.”

A short pause, and she said, “I need something to keep me occupied now that Kara is gone.  Maybe I can help you out with the story.”

CHAPTER FOUR

 Late the next morning, I picked up Thelma at her apartment, the top floor of a bungalow a couple of blocks from downtown.  We were headed for a tour of Kara’s house, courtesy of Rose.  The day before, after Jimmy had left, Rose had surprised Thelma and me by asking if we wanted to see the inside of Kara’s house.  Well, of course we did.  But we weren’t going to tell Jimmy.  Rose said she had the extra set of keys to the house Kara rented.  So Thelma and I were headed south on Highway 79.

The house was on a county road off the highway, one of many that led back to mostly farms or independent car repair shops.  Sometimes a farmer had a second house on his land, and he rented it out.  Such was the case with Kara, according to Rose.  The house was a small white wooden affair with a pitched roof with black shingles.  It looked like it might have been a schoolhouse at one time.  There was no garage, but a small shed sat behind the house.  Rose was standing beside her black Audi, smoking a cigarette that she ground out under her red high heel when she saw us.  She looked as elegant as she had the day before in the same pants and belt with a different top, this one cream colored with some kind of exotic bird design on it.  A black wool poncho topped off the outfit.  Thelma was dressed almost as well in a taupe pants suit with a peach-colored scarf under a slim beige coat.  And of course I was in jeans and a T-shirt under my denim jacket.  Both Rose and Thelma could have been posing for an ad for some kind of expensive perfume, while I looked like someone you’d see in a public service announcement for mental health services.  At least I hoped my hygiene was okay.

I glanced into Rose’s car when I walked by and saw a black plastic trash bag on the back seat.  I guess when you’re elegant your trash is nice enough to ride in your Audi.

The driveway was gravel, and at one point the gravel was sprayed onto the grass as though someone had slammed on the brakes.  A few feet into the grass was a tree, leafless now, with a chunk of bark missing about two to three