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

by Linda Ross

  “Well, the first time I got struck by lightning nothing happened after.”

  “You’ve been struck by lightning twice?”

  “Well, actually three times. Once when I was ten. I was riding my bike home in a rain storm. Then when I was twenty-five I was camping with friends and I got hit when I was in the outhouse. That one was kind of bad, because the lightning blew the door off the outhouse and the roof collapsed. We all had to use the men’s outhouse for the rest of the week.”

  “Surely you didn’t stay there after that,” I said.

  Darlene shrugged. “I didn’t mind. I mean I had a little trouble seeing, but the hospital said I was okay. And everybody was having such a good time.”

  “And the time this summer?”

  “I was jogging through the park and lightning struck a metal trash can and jumped to me. And then light bulbs came on whenever I got close to them.”

  “So how come all of your lights are burned out?”

  “That’s how it goes. Sometimes they come on when I get close and sometimes they burn out. I never know what they’ll do.” She shrugged apologetically, and then her eyes widened when she saw my purse on the floor. “You have a hole in your purse. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said.

  “It’s not? Well, it usually is. I mean, I don’t do anything deliberately, but things just happen when I get around stuff.”

  “Well, this definitely isn’t your fault. It was courtesy of a chihuahua who hates my guts.”

  Darlene sighed. “I don’t know why, but my whole life has been one big accident. One disaster after another. I don’t even date anymore. I mean, what’s the point when they’re either going to start having accidents or go to jail after they meet me?”

  “Really?”

  “My first boyfriend dropped his bowling ball on his own head somehow and shortly after that he crashed his car into a massage parlor. And it turned out that half the girls there knew him by name. I dropped him, and my next boyfriend was bitten by a llama at the petting zoo. He got an infection and lost a toe. Then there was Harold. He snuck a bag of popcorn into the movie theater and choked on it. The theater ended up suing him over it because of the disturbance it caused. And Jack crashed his boat into the dock and ruptured his spleen.”

  “Well, boats can be dangerous,” I said.

  “It was a canoe.”

  “Listen, Darlene,” I said, “I’m afraid that if I write up this story you’re going to be known as the unluckiest woman in the world.”

  “I know. But I figure I might as well embrace my life.”

  “That’s very brave,” I said.

  “Not really. There’s no other choice. Nobody wants me around because of all the accidents that happen. My only relative is a cousin in Quincy, and I haven’t seen her since I went to her wedding shower and her microwave caught fire.”

  “So you’re spending Thanksgiving alone?” I asked.

  “I’ll get a turkey sandwich from the quick shop. And I’ve got a bottle of wine.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” I said. I know this is crazy, but Darlene looked so forlorn and fragile. “Why don’t you come have dinner with my family?”

  “Really?” She looked so ridiculously hopeful that I couldn’t back out.

  “Sure. Why not? I live off of Highway 79. Take the second left after Lovers Leap. We’ll eat around five, but come a little earlier.”

  “Oh, that’s so nice of you,” Darlene said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

  I took a photo of Darlene holding a light bulb, which actually did glow faintly, but it might have been from light coming in the window. We heard a thumping sound on the door, and when she opened it a squirrel jumped down and ran off with the O from her Welcome sign.

  “At least he didn’t run inside this time,” she said. “When he stole the C he ran inside with it when I opened the door. I chased him all over the house. He knocked everything off the mantel before he ran up the chimney and out.”

  “Well, I’d better get back to the office and write this up. You’re sure you want to go through with this?”

  She nodded. “Maybe there’s someone like me out there, and we can connect.”

  “Okay,” I said. I started to tell her good luck, but that seemed ironic.

  What had I just done? I’d invited the world’s unluckiest woman to Thanksgiving dinner. As if Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen without additional help.

  I took one last look at her sad little Welcome sign and shook my head. It took me two Diet Cokes to write up the story once I was back at the office. Thelma was just finishing up a story about a family of deer who regularly visited a quick shop in northern Illinois for a potato chip and root beer fix. The story had come on the subscription service and just required a couple of embellishments to fit the tenor of The Spyglass. Per Lorenzo’s instructions, Thelma made the deer into a family of moose and changed the potato chips to pizza and chewing tobacco. The animal protection people would be up in arms about the chewing tobacco, but Lorenzo loved controversy. It generally upped circulation. And I don’t know if there are even moose in northern Illinois. I’m surprised Lorenzo didn’t make it a Yeti family instead.

  Thelma and I were working together on the horoscope, and she was trying to make me tone it down. Apparently giving Aquarius an STD and a traffic fine was over the top. Rose wandered over and sat down next to us.

  “I was just wondering how it went with the hair salon. Was what’s-her-name helpful?”

  “Serena,” I said. “Do you remember if Kara would steal credit card information?”

  Rose didn’t answer for a moment. “I think she was convicted of that when she went to jail. She used her employer’s credit card for personal purchases.”

  “Do you think she might have been doing the same thing at Hair Affair?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Did she ever talk about having a grudge against Stephanie Riley? That’s the woman who was killed in the hit and run.”

  “I think she might have said something once or twice about Stephanie being jealous because they were seeing the same guy.”

  “Really? Who was it?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think he was an artist. I just got a glimpse of him one time. Some big guy with dark hair.”

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “That’s very helpful.”

  “Sure. Whatever I can do.”

  Rose went back to her filing, and Thelma and I sent our respective stories to Lorenzo on the computer, then got our coats.

  “Want to come have dinner with Jimmy and me tonight?”

  “No, thanks. I promised my brother I would bring home some pizza. I’ve been cooking for him and he’s ready for take-out.”

  “Probably all those salads,” I said. “See you tomorrow. We’ll go scout around Stephanie’s house and then check out Jeffery Connell.”

  Thelma crossed herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I couldn’t help myself. On the way home I drove down the road past Kara’s house and Stephanie’s house. There was a car parked near the front door at Stephanie’s, so I figured her husband was home. I headed back to my house and let Nancy out, then checked on Eileen, although I had to brace myself with a couple of donuts beforehand.

  By some miracle Eileen was still sane. I don’t know how she managed it. Dad and Momo were watching TV again, some celebrity judge show. Momo was shouting that the plaintiff, an older woman who claimed she was owed rent from a former boyfriend, was right. Dad was just as adamant that the defendant, the aforementioned boyfriend, didn’t owe her anything. “He painted her house!” he was shouting.

  “He didn’t paint her house!” Momo shouted back. “He spray painted it with graffiti!”

  I left them arguing and told Eileen I would bring back some pizzas for dinner if she wanted.

  She wanted.

  When Jimmy showed up I told him the bad news that we were going
to have to have pizza with Dad and Momo. He got a pained expression on his face, but he didn’t bolt for the door. That’s one of the many things I like about Jimmy. He’s patient. And kind. And he’ll put up with a certain amount of crap from my family.

  We picked up three large pizzas at Little Caesar’s and took them back to Eileen’s house. And more arguments ensued.

  Dad didn’t want pepperoni on his because it gave him gas, but he wasn’t willing to pick the pepperoni off. So he had to eat the pizza with hamburger and onion because he claimed he couldn’t eat the mushrooms that were on the sausage and mushroom pizza. Momo was dissatisfied in general. Eileen and the girls happily scarfed down some of each pizza, and Jimmy and I polished off the rest.

  “Boy, am I dreading Thanksgiving,” I said when we were back at my place. “And I think I just upped the craziness factor today.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “I invited a woman who was going to be alone on Thanksgiving.”

  “Well, that’s a nice thing to do.”

  “But this particular woman is the unluckiest woman in the world.” And I proceeded to tell Jimmy about Darlene Gregory.

  “Actually, I remember her,” Jimmy said when I was done.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. One of the times she got hit by lightning her boyfriend was standing next to her. He was knocked out, and he filed a complaint against her.”

  “Against her? What for?”

  “Apparently his cell phone was ruined, and the ring in his nose singed off part of the skin there. He claimed the lightning was her fault because she’s a jinx.”

  “And how did that end?”

  “The judge laughed it out of court.”

  I considered that. “Well, at least she didn’t have bad luck there.”

  “Well, I heard that the judge’s gavel broke, bounced off the bench and hit Darlene in the head, but other than that, no bad luck.”

  “Geez,” I said. “Do you believe in bad luck?”

  “Not really. Every once in a while someone gets a bad break, but most of the people I see create their own luck, good or bad.”

  “So you’re not going to be nervous about her coming to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Honey, your dad and aunt create so much drama that Darlene will blend into the wallpaper.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right. I’ve had enough of bad stuff.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get this murder cleared up soon, and things will be back to normal.”

  If only.

  * * * * *

  Thelma and I left the office the next morning and grabbed coffee along the way. I got two donuts as well. We started by driving out to Stephanie Riley’s house. We took a detour and went past Loren Haskell’s Heavy Metal Studio. I slowed down at the drive, and we both craned our necks to get a look at the barn. I couldn’t help wondering if he was the big guy with dark hair that Rose had mentioned.

  “We really need to look around this place some more,” I said. “It’s close to Kara’s place, they were dating and the breakup wasn’t amicable. Plus, I think he might have been the guy that Stephanie was seeing.”

  “So you’re going to just drop by and say, ‘Hey, you don’t mind if I look around for evidence you killed Kara, do you?’”

  “Of course not,” I said. I’d stopped the car and I was craning my neck to get a better look at the barn. “I’m not suicidal.”

  At that moment, Loren stepped out of the barn into the morning light, shading his eyes against the sun. I wasn’t expecting to see him, and I stared in surprise. And he turned his head and looked right at me.

  Oh, crap.

  I pulled away as fast as I dared.

  “Well, that went well,” Thelma said dryly. “Now maybe we can surprise Stephanie’s husband too.”

  “He’s not home,” I insisted. “He has to work.”

  “He also just lost his wife. He’s probably got funeral arrangements to make. And maybe he’s arranging things from home.”

  “I doubt it. We’ll look for his car.”

  “If I’m going to work with you I need more life insurance,” Thelma grumbled.

  I looked at Ralph Pierce’s farm as we drove by and thought fondly of the brownies. I could use a brownie about now. The donuts had helped, but chocolate is always better. A woman can go into battle when she’s had chocolate.

  I drove slowly past the Riley house and then turned around in a dirt road that led into a field. “Doesn’t look like anybody home,” I said.

  I backed the car into the dirt road, and we walked from there. As we headed up the drive and approached the house, I could feel my breath quicken. And not just because I’m out of shape. Thelma was keeping up a steady stream of complaints about my operating methods.

  “Okay,” I said when we reached the house. “First we ring the bell just to make sure no one’s home.”

  “And if her husband comes to the door?”

  “We’re selling religion.”

  “And just what religion are we?”

  “I don’t know. Make up something. The Church of the Divine Hairdo. Whatever. Just play it by ear.”

  “Church of the Divine Hairdo,” Thelma muttered under her breath. “Oh, dear God.”

  Luckily, no one came to the door when I pressed the bell. I had a feeling the Church of the Divine Hairdo would have raised some suspicions. We waited a decent interval, then walked around the house, looking in windows.

  I could see a coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter and a box of cereal on the table. So someone had been there. Probably the husband, now the widower. That was a depressing thought. Walking back into that empty house must have been difficult.

  Thelma and I made our way around back to the patio, which we’d pretty much skipped over on our last foray. It was edged with boxwood shrubs in big planters, a few mums drying in smaller pots. Wrought iron chairs sat around a metal table with a tile top. The umbrella had apparently been put away for the winter. It would be a nice place to sit and have a glass of wine. There was a large fire pit in one corner and an iron sculpture of a bird taking flight.

  “That’s nice,” Thelma said, indicating the bird.

  “Umm-hmm.” I was thinking about roasting marshmallows for s’mores over the fire pit. I started to walk away, and then something occurred to me. “An iron sculpture. Remind you of anyone?”

  “Loren Haskell,” Thelma said. “He does iron work. Didn’t he have sculptures like this in his barn?”

  “So let’s just assume Stephanie was having an affair with him.”

  “And he killed her?”

  “Maybe she broke it off. Or maybe it really was Kara who ran down Stephanie, and Loren found out. Or maybe he saw it. He doesn’t live very far.”

  “So he killed Kara out of revenge?” Thelma asked.

  “It makes sense, especially with the history between them.”

  “Is there enough evidence to connect Kara to the hit and run?”

  I ticked off what I knew on my fingers. “It looks like Kara was still alive when Stephanie was run down, they had that brief argument just before Stephanie was killed, and there’s the damage to Kara’s car.”

  “What about the damage to the tree at Kara’s house?” Thelma pointed out.

  “Maybe she ran into the tree to cover up the fact that she’d hit Stephanie.”

  “Makes sense. So that leaves Loren as Kara’s killer.”

  “We need to look around there again,” I said.

  “No, we don’t. We need to tell Jimmy and stay away from there.”

  “I will, I will. But I still want to have a look.”

  “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Thelma groaned.

  “Not right now. Besides, he’s home. I’d still like to talk to Jeffrey Connell to see if he knows anything.”

  “You’re not going to dress up like a milkmaid again, are you?”

  I punched her on the arm, and we headed back to the car.

  We stopped by the offi
ce to let Lorenzo know where we were going. He had a couple of small stories for each of us to write up later. Mine was a cow with markings that spelled the dairy owner’s name, and Thelma’s was a five-year-old boy who could recite the Gettysburg address backwards. Yeah, we couldn’t wait to dig into those stories.

  Thelma had never heard of Jeffrey Connell’s car dealership, but I vaguely remembered some ads on TV. It was a tiny farming town with a single grain elevator, and the car dealership was by far the biggest business.

  We pulled into town less than half an hour later. The car dealership was right on the highway, and we decided to see if Jeffrey was at work.

  The lot was mostly trucks with a few SUVs sprinkled in, and I doubted that Jeffrey did a big business in a small town like this. But trucks and SUVs would be the obvious choice in a farm area.

  “Ready?” I asked Thelma as we got out of the car.

  “We don’t have to pretend to be from the Church of the Divine Hairdo, do we?” she asked.

  “No, I think we’ll go with the honest approach this time.”

  There was a guy standing in the showroom, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen us drive up. He had on an ill-fitting suit and shoes that had been polished so much that they were worn thin. I knew he was itching to sell us something. He probably didn’t sell a lot of vehicles here, and he wanted a commission. I didn’t think he was Jeffrey Connell, because there was another guy sitting in an office off the showroom, hunched over a desk with a calculator in his hand.

  “Are you ladies looking for anything in particular?” the guy asked, plastering a big smile on his face as he walked to meet us. “We’ve got some zero financing specials going now, and I bet you’d look great in a pickup.”

  “I don’t even look good in a Kia,” I told him. “We’d like to talk to Jeffrey Connell.”

  The guy’s face fell, and he cleared his throat. “Well, he’s a little busy at the moment.”

  “Just tell him it’s about Kara Koch.”

  The color slowly drained from his face, and he cleared his throat again. “Maybe you ought to speak to him yourself,” he said, gesturing toward the office.

  As we headed toward the office he skittered off in the other direction.