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

“Just a heads up about the dinner,” I said.  “We’re having whiskey sours, but we’re calling them lemonade.”

“Okay.  Is the turkey going by an alias too?”

“Just the whiskey sours.  Momo doesn’t approve of alcohol.”

“I hope you have enough of them,” Jimmy said.

“This isn’t my first rodeo.  Momo’s a two-pitcher situation.”

 I made some deviled eggs, and Jimmy and I walked over to Eileen’s at 1:30.  Ralph McCready was already there.  Greedy McCready. I don’t think he remembered me from the divorce.  When Eileen introduced Jimmy and said, “And you remember Aretha,” he just nodded and shook Jimmy’s hand.   Darlene drove in fifteen minutes later in a dark blue Ford that looked like it had been in a demolition derby.

I walked out to meet her and shepherded her inside.  “Were you in an accident?” I asked, looking back at the car.

“Twice last month and again last Wednesday,” she said.  “And then there were some more earlier this year.  The insurance company canceled my policy.”

Gee, I wondered why.

Before we went inside I reached up and plucked a stray curler out of her hair.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping it into her coat pocket.  “Only one curler got stuck in my hair today.”

She actually looked pretty cute, and when I took her coat and introduced her Ralph sidled right up to her with a bright smile.   “Darlene, so nice to meet you.  Glad you could join us.”  I felt a definite sleaze attack, but Eileen was busy in the kitchen and didn’t notice.

Ralph didn’t leave Darlene’s side until we sat down to eat.  He was constantly preening, flashing his fake smile and adjusting his cuff links, which had probably been purchased with the proceeds of my divorce.  I had poured “lemonade” for everyone but Tiffany and Desi, who wanted soda anyway.

Momo insisted on offering the prayer, and I prayed she would speed it up more than usual.  Momo likes to pontificate.

“Dear Lord,” she began.

“George?” Dad asked.  “Is George here?”

“Not George!” Momo said forcefully.  “Lord!  Dear Lord!”

“Oh, I thought maybe George came by.”

“George is back in Florida at the liquor store,” Momo informed him icily.  “And he’d better stay there.”  Then she got back to her prayer and tried to soften her tone.  “We, your servants, ask your blessing on everyone at our table, even though some of them didn’t dress for the occasion.”  Here, she shot me a look from her lowered eyes.  I thought I was acceptable in my best jeans and a nice sweater.  Apparently the Lord wanted more of an effort for Thanksgiving.  “And bless those new to our table,” Momo went on.  “Even if they have lust in their hearts.”  Here she shot Ralph a look, and I silently applauded.  “And if they don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”  I assumed that referred to all of us.  “Amen,” she said, and we all chimed in.

Ralph insisted on giving a Thanksgiving toast before we started, and I gritted my teeth.

“Here’s to old friends and new.”  He raised his glass, and we all drank.

I glanced at Momo and saw her take another big sip and then another.

“You might want to slow down on the lemonade, Momo,” I said.

“You look familiar,” Ralph said to me.  “Have we met?”

“Maybe it was in another life,” I said dryly.

“I could use some deviled eggs down here,” Dad said, and I passed them toward him.  I felt something rubbing my calf and looked down to see a man’s shoe working its way up my leg.  I looked across the table and saw Ralph eyeing Darlene with a smarmy smile.  Casually I reached under the table with my salad fork and gave a quick jab.  Ralph yelped, and the foot withdrew, thumping the table in the process.

“Are you all right?” Eileen asked as she came in with the turkey.  She set the huge platter down in front of Ralph.

“Just a little leg cramp,” he said, trying to smile at her.

Jimmy looked at me with raised brows, and I said, “My leg itched.”  He glared across the table at Ralph, which did wonders for my ego.

“Why don’t you carve?” Eileen suggested to Ralph, and he beamed at her.  He adjusted his sleeves again with a flourish, then went to work cutting off a turkey leg.  He moved the leg to the plate Eileen had set down.  And that’s when things went wrong.  His left arm was resting on the table, and when he lifted it, a cuff link apparently caught in one of the eyelets at the edge of the tablecloth.  At least that’s what I figured later.  As his arm came up the tablecloth was jerked toward him, along with all of the serving dishes.  The turkey was the first to go.  The platter slid to the edge of the table, and the turkey dove off, hitting Ralph just below his belt and then sliding onto the floor with a satisfying plop.  The gravy boat toppled, the cranberry sauce tilted over, and the sweet potatoes bounced out of their dish and danced down the table.  The turkey leg landed on Darlene’s plate.

Ralph’s mouth hung open in surprise, and then he said, “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, my,” Darlene said.  “Luckily, I was just going to ask for a leg.”

Eileen jumped to her feet and tried to right all of the toppled dishes, but Ralph’s cuff link was still caught, and he was dragging the tablecloth toward the edge.  It was like watching lemmings commit suicide.  First the gravy boat went over, then the cranberry sauce, then the deviled eggs and then the Jello salad.  All of it smashed into Ralph’s waistline and then dripped down his pants.

“Will you stop moving!” Eileen finally shouted at Ralph.  She disengaged the cuff link, then surveyed the damage.

“There’s no dinner,” she wailed, stating the obvious.  Tiffany and