Aretha Moon and the Dead Hairdresser: Aretha Moon Book 2 (Aretha Moon Mysteries)

by Linda Ross

  “I happen to know that Lorenzo doesn’t pay huge salaries.”

  “My needs aren’t great,” she said. “I assume the same is true for you.”

  I shrugged. “As long as I can afford cheesecake and diet soda I’m good.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re cranky with that kind of diet.”

  “I’m not cranky,” I protested. “Maybe once in a while when I get a hot flash.”

  “That’s not what I hear around the office.”

  I was offended that Lorenzo and Carl would not only think I was cranky, but would say it out loud. It made me want to punch them, which I realized sort of supported their argument. And then there were the other reporters, maybe eight total, but I didn’t know them well. Occasionally we all went out for a drink after work, but mostly we were busy working on our own stories. Cranky. Damn.

  “I just don’t see it,” I said, sulking. “I’m not cranky.”

  “Oh, you’re cranky all right,” said a male voice, and I looked up to see Jimmy standing by the table. “And it’s one of your more endearing qualities.” A half smile played around his mouth.

  I could feel another hot flash coming on.

  I covered the awkward moment by introducing Jimmy to Thelma, leaving out the Sister Alf part.

  “So now you’re both working on the murder story?” he asked with a frown.

  “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 feet off the ground. I pointed it out to Thelma. “A casualty of something,” I said.

  Rose shrugged. “Kara liked to drink.”

  We all climbed the four steps to the concrete porch, if you could call it that. It was more of a small platform. There was yellow tape across the door, but Rose peeled off one end and let it drop. She maneuvered the key in the lock of the warped wooden door, and it opened with a slight squeak. We were in a small living room with nothing but some cheap carpeting, a couch, an upholstered chair, a cheap coffee table and a TV. The nicest thing in the room was the TV. I’d say the furniture had seen better days, but it was the kind of stuff that ends up at the thrift store after less than a year of use. It was probably only held together with cheap glue. But the TV was an expensive one, a big flat screen on the wall. And it was connected to some kind of sound bar system with big speakers. It went with the furniture about as well as champagne goes with tacos.

  “Nice TV,” I said, nudging Thelma.

  Rose was surveying the room with her arms crossed. “I wouldn’t mind taking that,” she said reflectively.

  “We’d better not move anything around for now,” I said. “The police have been here, but they wouldn’t take kindly to us helping ourselves to anything.”

  We moved on through the living room
to the kitchen, going counter clockwise through the house.

  “How long did Kara live here?” I asked Rose.

  “She said she rented it when she first came to Hannibal six years ago. She saw an ad in the paper. It’s owned by a farmer down the road.”

  “Someone we need to talk to,” I said to Thelma.

  Thelma had started opening drawers and cupboards in the kitchen, but there wasn’t much there. A few glasses and bowls, a couple of plates and some cheap cutlery, again the kind you’d find at a thrift store. “Doesn’t look like she did a lot of cooking,” she said, opening the refrigerator and standing back so I could see a pizza box, a tin of coffee and a quart of milk. There was a six-pack of beer on the bottom shelf and a bottle of cheap wine, half drunk, in the door.

  “What did she serve you when you came over?” I asked Rose.

  Rose half-smiled. “I brought food.”

  Well, that figured. There certainly wouldn’t be any chocolate chip cookies or roast ham coming out of the oven in this kitchen. In fact, the stove was covered in dust.

  We moved through a doorway at the side of the kitchen into a minuscule hallway that opened onto a tiny bathroom and, further on, the only bedroom. Thelma and I started on the bathroom. There was an old-fashioned medicine cabinet, but it was empty except for a bottle of aspirin and a travel-sized toothpaste. That seemed odd. There was one toothbrush in a holder on the sink, but it was about as fresh as the furniture in the living room. Apparently Kara didn’t believe in replacing her toothbrush until all the bristles fell out. A comb with a couple of short black hairs lay next to the toothbrush holder. There was a single bar of soap in a dish on the sink but nothing in the little wire container hanging over the inside edge of the tub. The tub was one of those kind that’s popular now, a big white one with claw feet. It had probably been installed when the house was built if the rust around the faucet was any indication. An archaeologist would have had a field day, literally. There were a couple of ratty purple towels on a rack by the tub, and a washcloth was draped over the tub. It looked as though it had been used, but it was dry now.

  “Quite the minimalist,” Thelma said quietly as we moved on to the bedroom.

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe lurid photographs, blood stains on the sheets from former lovers she’d cut, possibly even a finger or two. But the bedroom was as sterile as the bathroom. A couple of women’s magazines on the nightstand beside a box of tissues. I heard something rolling around when I pulled out the nightstand drawer, but it turned out to be a pen in the back. There was a small flashlight in there too.

  Even the curtains on the window were subdued, a pale gray that didn’t quite match the dark green bedspread.

  “Just the basics here,” Thelma said from the closet. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a neat row of clothes hanging there. Three pairs of jeans with holes in them and several long-sleeved T-shirts. There were two pairs of tennis shoes on the floor and some purses hanging on the back of the closet door. In the corner there was a pair of knee-high leather boots that laced up.

  “She wasn’t that much into clothes,” Rose said. She sat down on the bed. “She liked to be comfortable.”

  Thelma began going through the purses, and I moved on to the dresser.

  There were a few pairs of underwear in the top dresser drawer and a leather corset, the kind you see at the annual steampunk festival in Hannibal. People come from all over for one weekend in the fall to dress up and stroll the streets in their steampunk finery. One year there was even a steampunk wedding.

  “Looks like she was into steampunk,” I called to Thelma.

  “She did mention that,” Rose said. “I think she may have met some people there, but she didn’t say any names.”

  I checked the second drawer and heard Rose shift on the bed. There were some more T-shirts. The one on top was from a local artist, who did iron work. There was a silhouette of a blacksmith at a forge and the words Heavy Metal Studio below.

  We all turned toward the window at the sound of tires on the gravel outside. I pushed aside the curtain and saw a black sedan stop. And then, worse news. Jimmy got out and stood surveying our cars.

  “This isn’t good,” I said. “It’s Jimmy.”

  Thelma crossed herself, and we all headed for the front door. No use trying to get away unnoticed when our cars were parked there. Now I was wishing we’d pulled them somewhere inconspicuous. I noticed that both Thelma and Rose had taken a couple of steps back so that I was the one standing in front as Jimmy opened the door, a scowl on his face.

  He looked at all three of us before he spoke,. “What are you doing here?” He looked at me with his hands on his hips when he asked it, and I scrambled for a good answer.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, Thelma and I are working on the story.”

  “I know that.”

  “And we wanted to take a look around Kara’s place.” It had been Rose who broached the idea, but I didn’t want to throw her under the bus.

  “So you just peeled off the police tape and waltzed inside.”

  “Not waltzed,” I said defensively. “More like carefully stepped inside, just to have a look around. We didn’t disturb anything.”

  Jimmy didn’t say anything, just looked at each of us in turn again. “All of you, go home,” he said finally. “Now, before I change my mind and arrest you.”

  We didn’t need any more encouragement. All three of us did a quick walk to our cars. I thanked Rose in a whisper, and she nodded without answering. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I had the car on the highway again and looked over at Thelma.

  “You like him, don’t you?” she said.

  “Who?”

  “The detective. Who else?”

  I paused to frame my answer. The short one would have been yes, I really, really like him. But I wasn’t going to tell Thelma that. “We sort of grew up together,” I said. “And we’ve been friends a long time.”

  “Just friends?”

  “On his part,” I said. I didn’t mention the past kiss.

  Thelma just made a murmuring sound that could have been disagreement. I let her out at her apartment, and she said she would see me in the morning at work. I headed on home,

  I exhaled with relief when I turned into my drive, but then I saw the black sedan parked in front of my house. I sighed and got out of the car. Jimmy got out of his car, closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Well, you’re looking well,” I said cheerily. I know. But I couldn’t come up with anything else.

  “I’m looking well?” Jimmy repeated from tight lips. “You walk all over a murder victim’s house, dragging your two cohorts with you, and all you can say is You’re looking well?”

  “I’m sorry, Jimmy. Really. I just needed some background for the story, something to give it context.”

  “Aretha, I don’t think you appreciate how serious this is.”

  His voice was rising again, and I suggested he come inside. “I’ve got beer,” I said, coaxing him. He didn’t budge, and I added, “Several kinds of cookies and some donuts too.”

  “Well, okay,” he said grudgingly. “And I’ll take a soda.”

  I got out a Diet Coke for me and a regular one for Jimmy. I emerged from my pantry with an armload of boxes that I spilled onto the table. Chocolate chip, sugar, peanut butter and oatmeal cookies. The finest that Pepperidge Farms and Little Debbie had to offer.

  “I think I’ve got some brownies somewhere here too,” I said.

  Jimmy shook his head. “How is it that you don’t have diabetes?”

  “I drink diet soda,” I said.

  He didn’t have an answer to that.

  We munched in silence for a couple of minutes while I tried to gauge Jimmy’s mood. I think the sugar had calmed him down. I don’t have vast experience with men despite my somewhat advanced age, but I’ve noticed that if they’ve turned into a raving lunatic a dessert will usually end the tirade. And then they get talkat
ive. I think the male of the species must have perpetually low blood sugar.

  I waited for Jimmy to start talking, and it didn’t take long.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this,” he said at last, setting down his can of soda. He looked me directly in the face and said, “This one really worries me, Aretha. You should just leave it alone.”

  “Why? What’s different?”

  “The sheer brutality of it. Someone must have really hated Kara. I’ve seen crimes of passion before, but nothing that compares with this.”

  “How so?”

  Jimmy sighed, and I realized how tired he sounded. “This is just preliminary, and it’s not for publication, understand?”

  I nodded.

  “It looks like she was strangled while she was in her chair, maybe with a thin rope or something like that. Then the killer waited to bash in her face and torso.”

  “You mean he just sat there with her?”

  Jimmy nodded. “It looks like it. We think he must have been gloating over the body. Enjoying what he did. And then he decided to obliterate her, to wipe her out of existence. He used a heavy, blunt object to smash her face and upper torso. The body’s a mess. Someone hated Kara more than you can imagine.”

  I was silent, feeling chilled as I thought about the implications. To have attacked the body like that after she was already dead, the killer must have had no remorse for killing her.

  “This is a really dangerous man,” Jimmy said. “I doubt he’d have any qualms about killing again.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “None we can talk about at this point. I’m looking for past boyfriends if you hear anything.”

  I nodded. “Derek didn’t seem like the kind to slaughter anyone.”

  “I doubt Derek could even cut his steak by himself,” Jimmy said dryly.