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

After Kara was arrested, her employer noticed irregularities in the books and there was an investigation into that.”

“Where were they incarcerated?” Thelma asked.

“St. Louis County Jail in Clayton.  Kara was there two years and Hominy one.”

“So they served time together and both ended up here in Hannibal,” Thelma said.  “That does seem more than coincidence.  Do you think they were doing something similar here?”

“We haven’t found anything,” Jimmy said.  “Not yet anyway.”

“Maybe they stole something from the wrong person,” I suggested.  “And it got both of them killed.”

“We don’t know that the overdose wasn’t an accident,” Jimmy said, his mouth full of cheesecake.

“It’s too much of a coincidence,” I said, looking at Thelma.  “Too convenient for someone.”

“And the deaths were so close together,” Thelma said.  “Someone wanted them both gone in a hurry.”

Jimmy put the fork down, looking a bit surprised that he had finished off the cheesecake.  “I’ve got to go,” he said.  “But don’t write about any connection between Hominy and Kara.  We don’t want that to be public yet.”

“Okay,” I said.  “But you have to keep us posted on what’s going on.”

“Maybe.”  He slid out of the booth and left, leaving me to stare at my empty plate.  I looked longingly at the dessert bar, and Thelma said, “Nunh-uh.  You’ve had enough, Dumpling.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”  I always had room for more dessert, but that upcoming Fat Blasters weigh-in was putting a damper on my appetite.  Even the carrot cake didn’t seem that appealing at the moment.

“So what do we do now?” I asked Thelma.

“Get you some Tums?”

I gave her a look.  “My stomach is fine, thank you very much.  What did they do at that convent, starve you?  You eat like a bird.”

Thelma smiled.  “Pleasures of the flesh.  Self-discipline is a good practice.”

I don’t think I have even a small amount of self-discipline in my life.  I’m basically a two-year-old with waning hormones, a driver’s license and an AARP card.  I was never one to color inside the lines.  I figure I’m lucky I drive within the lines.

“So do I have to become a nun to get self-discipline?”

“Why don’t you try meditation?”

“You mean sit with my eyes closed and not eat at the same time?”

“I know it’s a stretch,” she said dryly, “but it can do wonders for you.”

“What does wonders for me is a hot fudge sundae.”

Thelma shook her head.  “I’m surprised you ever think of anything but food.  You should just sit quietly and pay attention to your breathing.”

“Pay attention to my breathing?  Why?  If I’m breathing why would I want to pay attention to it?”

“Because it’s calming.  It settles your mind and takes you to a peaceful place.  Where you’re not constantly thinking about food,” she added.

I wasn’t so sure about that.  Food was one of the great pleasures of life.  Sometimes it was my only pleasure.  I was suspicious of anything that would take that away.  I got another slice of cheesecake to go and took it back to the office with me.

When Thelma and I walked in Lorenzo was in his office and I could see from his face that something was up.  He had that this-is-going-to-be-good look.  I glanced at my desk and there sat Avery Turnberry, all three-hundred or so pounds of him.  His backside had devoured my chair.  I wondered if he ever did meditation.  If he did, he’d be thinking about what I was—cheesecake.

Thelma followed me to my desk, and I did the introductions.  Thelma and I pulled up chairs from the adjoining desks and sat.  “So what brings you here?” I asked.

 Avery gave a crooked grin.  “I saw the article.  I’ve been getting phone calls all morning.”

“Good ones, I hope?”

“Oh, definitely.  I even got an invitation to perform in Quincy this Wednesday night.  That’s why I’m here.  I thought you might want to come.”

 Quincy, Illinois, was across the river and about fifteen miles away, so, yes, I wanted to come.

“And they’ll have food and booze, in case you’re wondering.”

I had been wondering, but I assured Avery that he was the main reason I was coming.

“Don’t you have a meeting to go to on Wednesday?” Thelma asked in a low voice.

I shook my head.  “No, I’m going to Quincy to see Avery.”

“Actually it’s Avril when I perform,” he said with a shy grin.

“Does the name Fat Blasters ring a bell?” Thelma murmured, coughing into her hand.

“Shhh,” I said.  “I’m listening to Avery.  What time should I be there?”

Avery gave me the address and told me the doors opened at seven.  He told me to bring Thelma too.  Then he left.

“Seven,” Thelma said.  “That gives you time to make the weigh-in before we head to Quincy.”

I shot her a sideways glare.  I had no intention of going to the Fat Blasters meeting.  For one thing, I always wore the lightest clothing I had for a weigh-in and a cotton T-shirt and shorts was not something I was going to wear to a nightclub in Quincy in November.  And for another thing I was pretty sure I’d gained at least two pounds.  That would probably make me the one with the largest gain, which would mean a fine and having to listen to Eileen cluck her tongue like a stuttering chicken.  And I’d been the biggest gainer the last weigh-in I made.  No, I was skipping the Fat Blasters meeting.

“I can see it’s a lost cause,” she said, shaking her head.  “So what do you want to do now about the Kara story?”

“I think we ought to go talk to the man who rented her that house.  Maybe he saw something.”

“Okay.  I’ll grab my purse and pop in to tell Lorenzo where we’re going.”

“No, no.  You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”