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

stage.  Our waitress got us each a menu and told us the special was the tenderloin, which came with fries, and the appetizer of the day was a basket of fried pickles.

“Oooh,” I crooned.  “Some of my favorites.”  I glanced over the top of my menu at Thelma and saw her frowning.

“Do you know how much salt is in a meal like that?” she demanded.

“Don’t know and don’t care.  You sound like my sister.”

“She must be the sensible one in the family.”

“What makes you think I’m not sensible?” I demanded.

“You have a reputation around the office, you know.  Lorenzo says you’re crazy.”

“Lorenzo’s a fine one to talk.  He’s probably got hair growing inside his brain.  His whole body is a regular follicle farm.”

Thelma raised her brows to concede that point.

“Why are you working at the paper anyway?  If you don’t mind me asking.  With your looks you should be selling makeup in a department store or showing people to their seat in a fancy restaurant.”

Thelma snorted.  “I’ve never been interested in being window dressing.  Believe it or not, I like to write, and The Spyglass was the only place hiring.  So why are you working there?”

“Pretty much the same reasons,” I admitted.  “I got dumped by my husband and had to find another job.  We used to own a printing company.  Now he and the woman who replaced me run it.”

“I figured there was a wayward man in the story somewhere,” she said.  “There usually is.”

The waitress came to take our order, and I asked for a hamburger and an iced tea, chastened by Thelma’s assessment of my dietary habits.  She got a grilled chicken salad, which made me despair of us ever being real friends.

“I was wondering when the band was coming in,” I said to the waitress, who was Brigid if her name tag was any indication.  “We wanted to have a word with one of the members.”

“Which one?” Brigid asked.  “Derek comes in the same time as the crew to do a sound check.  They should be here any time now.”

“Was he dating Kara Koch?  I hear she sang with the band sometimes.”

Brigid made a face.  “Yeah, she can talk him into anything.  She isn’t that good, but Derek thinks the sun shines out her. . . well, you know.”

“You probably haven’t heard,” I said, “but Kara was murdered today.”

“What??!”  Brigid pulled over a chair and sat down at the end of our booth.  “Oh, my God.  I had no idea.  I mean she wasn’t that good a singer, but she gave all the band members great haircuts.  I went to her a few times myself.”

“What was she like?” I asked.

Brigid shrugged.  “Not too expensive and really fast.   I had a trim and a root touch-up, and I was in and out really quick.”

“I mean her demeanor.  Did she talk much?”

“No, but she seemed to be paying attention to whatever was going on in the other chair with Serena and her client.”

“What do you mean?” Thelma asked.

“Well, I remember one time I was trying to tell her how short I wanted my hair and she wasn’t listening.  Serena and the woman in her chair were talking about what they were ordering online for Christmas and Kara was listening to that.  I was trying to tell her not to take off too much, and she wasn’t hearing a word I was saying.”

A guy in a blue flannel shirt and torn jeans came out onto the stage, followed by another guy, this one wearing a camouflage jacket with jeans that sagged low on his butt.  His hair was dark and spiky on top but shaved close on the sides.

“Oh, hey, Derek,” Brigid called.  “These ladies want to have a word with you.”  She got up and turned to us.  “I’ll have your order out in a few minutes.”

Derek hopped down from the stage and sauntered over, looking like a peacock expecting to be admired by all the pea hens.  “Are you ladies looking for an autograph?” he asked, barely looking at us.

“Not exactly,” I said.  “We want to talk about Kara Koch.  She was killed today.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he said, sounding as though it didn’t surprise him.  “We’re going to have to find a new singer.”

“I heard the two of you were dating,” I said.

He snorted.  “Dating?  You sound like my grandmother.  We hung out some, but that’s all.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me anything about her.”

“Sorry.  No can do.  She wasn’t really my type.”

He started to turn away, and Thelma cleared her throat.  “Derek Harper,” she said in a voice that sounded like it promised an approaching storm.  I didn’t remember hearing Derek’s last name, and I stared at her in surprise.

Derek looked at her face for the first time, confused.  “Do I know you?” he demanded.

“You certainly do.  Cast your mind back a few years if you have enough brain cells left in your memory bank.”

There was a pause while they looked at each other, Thelma glaring at him with steely resolve while he tried to place her.  I could see that it took him some effort, no doubt the result of several years of too much beer and not enough sleep.  I saw the moment he recognized her, because his mouth dropped open and he took a step back.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, shaken.  “Sister Alf?”

“Sister Mary Alphonsus to you,” she answered.  “Now sit down here and tell us what you know about Kara.”

“Sure, Sister,” Derek said.  “No problem.”  He sat down in the chair Brigid had vacated and slumped, then immediately straightened when he looked at Thelma again.  I was looking at Thelma too, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  And who was Sister Mary Alphonsus?

Poor Derek