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

“He’s not happy to see us,” Thelma said in a small voice.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know us yet.”  I watched him circle the car warily, growling.  I waited until he was in front of the car again and I slowly lowered the window.

“What are you doing?” Thelma cried in a husky whisper.  “Inviting him in to rip us apart?”

With the window half down, I reached into the paper bag I’d jammed down next to my seat and pulled out a hot dog.  I broke off pieces and began tossing them away from the car.  Puddin’ was on them almost immediately.  He gobbled down all five pieces I’d thrown, then looked expectantly at the car.  I tore up the rest of the hot dog and tossed those pieces out.  He scarfed those down just as quickly and then moved closer to the car.  There was no growling, and he definitely looked less intimidating.  I tossed out more hot dog pieces and that got me a tail wag.   Then he trotted up to the window and put his paws on the door to look in.  He licked his lips and wagged his tail some more.

“Good boy,” I crooned, tossing some more hot dog pieces away from the car.  When he went after them, I said to Thelma, “Come on.  Let’s go.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Thelma said.  “You open that door and he’ll hijack the car.  A dog that big can probably drive.”

I ignored her, grabbed the pie and got out of the car.  Puddin’ looked over his shoulder without much interest and went back to the hot dog pieces.  I started for the porch and heard Thelma get out of the car.  She scurried up next to me, crossing herself.

We were climbing the porch steps when I heard Puddin’ behind us.  I was afraid to look, but then I felt a warm muzzle push my free hand.  I scratched behind his ears, and he sighed.

I knocked on the door, and a moment later a cranky voice called, “Nobody home!”

“It’s Thelma and Aretha, Mr. Pierce.  We’re from The Spyglass.  We just want to ask you a few questions about Kara Koch.”

“Go away or I’ll let Puddin’ loose.”

“He’s already loose, Mr. Pierce, and I think he likes us.  Besides, we brought pie.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the curtain on the window by the door shifted.  I saw a weathered face look out, topped with a few tufts of white hair.  Two big round eyes looked glazed, as though he’d watched Nightmare on Elm Street one time too many.

“What kind of pie?” he asked.

“Apple,” I said hopefully.

The face at the window disappeared, and the door opened.

Thelma, Puddin’ and I stepped over the threshold into a living room that looked like an old set from a 1950s TV show.  The braided rug was faded and sprouting threads as though slowly going bald.  The sofa actually had plastic slipcovers.  I didn’t think anyone had plastic slipcovers anymore except for Momo.  The two overstuffed chairs facing a tiny TV might have been overweight women in flowery dresses, crouching on the floor.

Mr. Pierce led us into the kitchen, and—lordy!--I could smell chocolate.  I was beginning to like this man and his steroidal dog.

He gestured to the chairs around the table.  “Let’s cut that pie.”

“No point in small talk,” Thelma said to herself.

When I sat down, Puddin’ sat next to me and put his head on my leg.  I rubbed him absently as I watched Mr. Pierce fish a big carving knife from a drawer.  He got three Corelle plates and forks from a strainer in the sink.  He didn’t seem to have much in the way of cutlery.  The forks were all different patterns and were that light metal that you can bend if you lift a heavy piece of cheesecake.

The kitchen itself looked worn.  There was a sagging curtain over the window above the sink, and where it dipped down I could see some green plants on an enclosed porch.

“I’ve been hungry for apple pie,” he said, sitting down and plunging the knife into the center of the pie.  He basically cut the pie into three pieces and passed them around.  He reached around to a rolling metal cart by the wheezing refrigerator and put a baking pan on the table.  “Help yourself to the brownies.”

I didn’t need a second invitation.  I used my clean fork to scoop up one and put it beside the large slice of pie.  Thelma cleared her throat, and when I looked at her she nodded her head toward the sink.

“I know there’s a weigh-in tomorrow,” I said, “but I’m having a brownie anyway.”

“You should stick to the pie,” she said, raising her brows and nodding toward the sink again.

I ignored her and bit into the brownie.  It was really fudgy, and I sighed, which made Puddin’ sigh.

“I don’t much care for the police,” Mr. Pierce offered around a mouthful of pie, “but you said you’re from that newspaper, right?”

“That’s right,” I said.  “The Spyglass.  We’re writing about the Kara Koch murder.”

“I like The Spyglass, especially the horoscope.”

I looked at him over the brownie, hoping that he wasn’t an Aquarius.  “What’s your sign?”

“Sagittarius.  I’m the outdoor type.  Last week’s horoscope said I was going to have a run-in with the law, and, sure enough, a couple of cops came to the door about that murder.”

“What happened?” I asked.  I was starting to feel more relaxed as I downed the last bite of brownie.  I reached for another one, and Thelma cleared her throat.  I ignored her.

“What happened was that I told them to get lost.  Puddin’ told ‘em too.”

“Who’s a good boy?” I crooned to Puddin’, who looked up at me adoringly.  Thelma sighed heavily.

“You