by Linda Ross
She lifted her head and met my eyes, and I sat down weakly at the table. I swear the Theme from Jaws started playing in my head. “Dad and Momo?” I whispered.
Eileen nodded. “Dad called a half hour ago.”
“Oh, shit, Eileen. There’s not enough Valium in the world to survive Momo.”
Momo was what we called our father’s sister, a woman in her upper seventies who was the self-appointed dictator of everything in life. The Joseph Stalin of aunts. Her name is Maureen, but when I was little I couldn’t get that out and ended up calling her Momo. Dad is in his seventies and has lost a lot of hearing, which is probably why he hasn’t shot Momo by now. He’s blithely oblivious to what she says.
“She put my Barbie doll in the washer because I’d spilled some catsup on her,” Eileen said mournfully. “Do you know what a washing machine does to a Barbie doll? It’s not pretty.”
I shuddered, remembering those years when Momo moved in with us after Mom died.
“She made me eat waffles for breakfast,” Eileen complained. “Waffles! With bacon in them! And then all that syrup. Can you imagine how many calories are in one of her waffles?”
“You have to admit they were good though,” I said.
Eileen gave me a hard look. “Don’t go sticking up for her.”
I held up my hands. “Not me. She came to stay with us after you were born and insisted on braiding my hair into pigtails every morning. I was ten, for God’s sake! Pigtails! And she pulled them so tight that I couldn’t even blink. I was the only ten-year-old who went to school looking like she’d just had a face lift.”
Eileen giggled, and when I glared at her she said, “I’ve seen the photos.”
“You know she’s going to preside over all the cooking for Thanksgiving,” I said.
Eileen groaned. “She’ll insist on supervising everything the whole time she’s here. Oh, God. I’ll gain ten pounds. You know how she likes to use butter and cream.”
“You won’t gain anything,” I assured her. “You never eat enough to gain weight.” As opposed to me, who eats as though it’s a contest to gain the most weight.
“We’ll have to sneak out to the Fat Blasters meeting,” Eileen said. “Momo hates diets of any kind.”
“So there’s an upside to her visit,” I said. I can’t say I’m that fond of going to Fat Blasters, a small and somewhat dedicated diet group. Each meeting is predictable. Eileen is generally praised for staying within her goal range, and I usually put on at least a few ounces. It’s no fun, but we go out to eat after the meeting, and I like that.
“I wonder if we could leave her at the bingo hall,” Eileen mused.
“I’m wondering if we could move before Thanksgiving,” I said.
“She’d track us down. She’s relentless.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Eileen sighed. “Stock up on wine.”
“Momo doesn’t drink.”
“No, but I do.”
It seemed like the most sensible plan at the moment. I was about to suggest the witness protection program, but Tiffany and Desi came thumping down the stairs. I don’t think Eileen even noticed.
“Aunt Ree,” Tiffany wailed, “can you believe what happened?”
“Well, they’re not going to move in,” I said. “At least I hope not.”
Tiffany looked at me in confusion and said, “No, the murder. Kara.”
“Oh, of course. It’s been a shock.”
“I highkey couldn’t believe it,” Tiffany said dramatically, tossing her hair back.
I looked at Eileen for translation, and she said, “It means sincerely.”
“Yeah, it was pretty unbelievable.”
“Do they know what happened?” Eileen asked me.
I shook my head. “Her sister said she saw her there at the salon last night, and she was okay when she left.”
“She has a sister?” Tiffany said. “I never heard that.”
Desi was pretending to be bored, leaning her elbows on the back of a kitchen chair and swinging her hips from side to side.
“What do you know about her?” I asked Tiffany.
“Just what I heard from some of the girls at school. This one girl, Amber, got her hair cut there all the time. Her mother’s really with it.” She threw a challenging glance at Eileen, who was still apparently in shock over the coming of Momo. “She had a boyfriend who plays in a band, and sometimes she’d sing with the band.”
“Really? Do you know his name?”
“I can find out.” Tiffany pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and started texting.
Apparently Amber responded right away. Tiffany and her friends, like most kids, live on their phones. I’m lucky if I get one call a week, and no one ever texts me. I tried texting once and nearly sent an obscene message. I can never hit the right letter.
“Amber didn’t know the guy’s name. But the band’s The Rotten Hockey Puck. They play at a bar downtown on the weekends. Amber thinks it’s the one with the picture of the catfish on the sign.”
I had a pretty good idea which one it was. “Thanks, Tiff. I’ll check it out.”
I left Eileen still clutching her head and went to the office. Lorenzo was flexible about work hours, and if we came in on a Saturday we could take off early one day the next week. The door was unlocked, and I saw Carl and Thelma at their computers. Lorenzo was in his office, and he brightened when he saw me walk in.
“Moon!” he called, coming out to greet me. “How goes the murder investigation?”
“It’s just getting started, Lorenzo. I wanted to type up some notes and then go track down the murdered girl’s boyfriend.”
“Great!” He beamed at me, as if I were a baby who’d just said her first word. “You should have some help on this.” He looked over at Carl, and I felt my stomach sink. “Carl! Why don’t you work on the murder with Moon here?”
“No, really,” I protested. “I’m not at the stage where I need any help at this point.”
Carl got up and walked over, his usual smarmy smile planted firmly on his face. “Sure. We’ll have a great time together, Aretha.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’ve already asked Thelma.” I turned to face Thelma, who was watching us impassively, and mouthed Please. “I promised her we could interview the boyfriend and get something to eat.” Thelma’s expression hadn’t changed, and I desperately hoped she wasn’t on a strict diet. Or that she didn’t want to work with me.
Thelma stood up and walked over to us, all grace and poise. I briefly wondered if she’d been a model. She certainly had the looks and the bearing.
Lorenzo was frowning. “Well, Thelma is actually more of a women’s interest writer, Moon. You’ll be better off with Carl.”
“I’m sure I can handle this one,” Thelma purred with a sweet smile. “I’m so looking forward to getting more experience. Surely you want me to learn, Lorenzo.” The smile never wavered, but I caught an edge behind it. It looked like Thelma might be steel in a black satin package.
Lorenzo cleared his throat. “Well. . .”
“My brother said I’d learn a lot here.”
Lorenzo caved at that and waved his hairy hand in the air. “Okay, sure. Go with Moon. Carl, you can start on a new sports story.” Carl opened his mouth and then closed it again as Lorenzo retreated to his office. With a sigh, Carl slunk back to his desk.
I finished up Avery’s story and filed it, then did a quick check of my e-mails and saw that Lorenzo wanted the winter horoscope on his desk by Monday afternoon. That would shoot a couple of hours. Nothing else important, so I headed for the door.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said when we were both outside, fastening our coats. “Being with Carl is like babysitting a dog that humps your leg. Do you mind walking? The bar should be just around the corner.”
“It’s still pretty early. Do you think the band will be there yet?”
“If they’re not, we can get something to eat and wait. You
do eat, don’t you?”
“Of course I eat. What do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. You’re certainly a fast walker.” Thelma had started down the sidewalk at a good clip, and I was starting to feel out of breath. She slowed down then, and my heart was pumping normally by the time we got to the bar, Catfish Cove,
Hannibal has nice bars, and they’re family friendly. Thelma and I took a seat at a booth in the side room near the small 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 looked for all the world as though he was a little boy again and he’d been caught smoking behind the school.
“How long had you been seeing her?” Thelma asked.
Derek’s voice actually shook when he answered. “I guess it was about three years off and on. She was crazy, and I mean crazy. That b--” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Sister. That girl was into a lot of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” Thelma demanded.
“Weird crap. Like the sex stuff.” He looked down, and his voice trailed off.
“I’ve heard it all, Derek. It’s not going to shock me. What was she into?”
I swear Derek blushed. “Well, she liked it rough.”
“You mean she liked to be hit?”
“Not exactly. She liked to do the hitting. And sometimes when she got real excited she liked to use a knife.”
“A knife?” My voice must have gone up three octaves when I said it. As far as I was concerned, this went way beyond weird.
“Yeah. She liked to make little cuts on a guy. Believe me, it was creepy. That’s why I broke it off.” He rolled up his sleeve and shoved his arm toward us. On his bicep was a scar in the shape of an X.
“Understandable,” Thelma said, totally unruffled. “I take it she did that.”
“Yeah, scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t get it to stop bleeding. And it just got her hotter.”
“What else was she into?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I heard that she’d been in jail a few years ago. It was before she came to Hannibal.”
“Any idea what she did?”
“She wouldn’t say, but I got the feeling it was some kind of theft or something like that. One time when I was at her place a woman came around, and Kara took her into the bedroom to talk. When she came out she was in a good mood, and the woman left.”
“Drugs?” Thelma asked.
“I don’t think
so. I heard one of them say something about Walmart. At least that’s what it sounded like.”
“Did you hear the woman’s name?” Thelma asked.
Derek hesitated. “Kara never said her last name, but she had a weird first name. Hominy.”
“Like the grits?” I asked.
“What are grits?” Derek looked at me blankly.
“You sure it wasn’t Harmony or something like that?” Thelma asked.
Derek shook his head. “I remember saying something to Kara after she left. It was Hominy.” He paused and looked at Thelma. “I’m sorry, Sister, but that’s all I know.”
“Well, if you think of anything else, give us a call at The Spyglass,” Thelma said. Derek stood up, and Thelma added, “And, Derek, pull up your pants. You look like a toddler with a full diaper.”
“Yes, Sister,” Derek said, slinking away meekly. There was a long pause after Derek got back onto the stage.
“Sister Mary Alphonsus?” I said incredulously. “Really?”
Brigid appeared at that moment with our food, so we thanked her and waited until she’d gone away. I gulped half my iced tea while I waited for Thelma to say something.
“I guess you’re wondering what that was about,” she said finally.
“Well, yes.”
Thelma sighed. “I professed my vows when I was eighteen. I was sent to college, where I got a master’s in English literature, and I was assigned to teach in the parochial school system. I ended up teaching high school English.”
“And Derek was one of your students?”
Thelma’s mouth quirked up wryly. “One of many. He’s not a bad kid, but he has no motivation. No life purpose. You see that a lot.”
“So did you used to smack the kids with a ruler?” I was trying to picture that.
“Only because the principal wouldn’t give me a gun,” she said.
“What was it he called you? Sister Alf?”
“The kids had nicknames for all the sisters. Sister Alf wasn’t so bad, but I felt sorry for Sister Priscilla Paul.”
“Let me guess. Sister Pee Pee?”
“You got it. Eventually we had to keep an eye on her around the wine.”
“But you’re no longer a nun,” I said. “How does that work?”
“I was allowed to leave the order when my life changed and staying became too difficult.” She took a deep breath, and I wondered what she wasn’t saying. “But, having taken a vow of poverty early on, I now needed to make a living. I taught in a small private school for a while, but they wanted younger teachers. So here I am. My brother knows Lorenzo and helped me get the job.”
