Aretha Moon and the Dead Hairdresser: Aretha Moon Book 2 (Aretha Moon Mysteries) Linda Ross (books for students to read TXT) 📖

Thelma and I exchanged a look.

“Let me show you something,” Pauline said.  She left the room for a minute and returned with a handful of large papers.  She spread them on the card table, and I realized they were charcoal drawings.  All were of a nude woman with short spiky hair.

“That’s Kara,” Pauline said.  “I remember the first time I walked in when she was here.  I’d been out to the senior center and here she was sprawled naked on the floor while Jordan drew her.  She just laughed at me when I asked what she was doing here.  She was the kind who did what she wanted and didn’t care about anyone else.”

I cleared my throat.  “Do you think they were sleeping together?”

“Of course.  But more than that.”  Her lips twisted wryly.  “You know I said she posed for free?  Well, there was a price after all.”

My mouth was dry when I asked, “What was that?”

“I made sure I was out when she came over from then on, which was just what she wanted when I think back on it.  Jordan was starting to get tired a lot, and he was pale.  Said he didn’t have any energy.  Then one night I did get home while she was still there and. . .”  Pauline’s voice broke and she looked down.  “I’ll never forget it.  It was dark in here, but I could see Jordan sitting in that chair over there.”  She pointed to an armchair in front of the TV.  “I asked him why he was sitting in the dark, and he didn’t say anything at first.  Then I heard this noise.  A plinking sound like a dripping faucet..  I put on a light and there was blood on Jordan’s arm just above his hand.  There was a cut there and the blood was dripping into a pan sitting on the floor.”  She shuddered and covered her face with her hand.  “And then I saw Kara sitting at the table watching.  She was like in a trance watching the blood drip.  I think I screamed, and then I shouted at her to get out and never come back.”

“That must have been horrible,” I said in a hushed voice.

“It was.  Jordan told me that she’d been doing this every time they were together.  She would let him draw her and then she would expect to be paid.  In blood.”

“Did she ever come back?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.  I told Jordan I would call the police if she did.”

“So you don’t think he’s seen her since then?” Thelma asked.

“I hope not.”

“We’d like to talk to Jordan to get some more information about her if you wouldn’t mind,” I said.

“He’s at work right now.  He’s a bartender at that place on Main.  The Riverside Inn.”

“Okay, we’ll go see if we can talk to him.  Thank you for your time.”

“I know it’s a terrible thing to say,” she said as we were going out the door, “but I’m glad that awful girl is dead.  I don’t want to think about what else she would have done to Jordan.”

I gave an involuntary shudder on Mrs. Kirsch’s behalf.  I didn’t like thinking about it either.  But I was going to have to if Thelma and I were going to get our story.

It was going to be a while before the mental image of Jordan bleeding into a pan left my brain.

There was a long silence in the car on the way to the bar, and Thelma finally broke it.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “Jimmy may be right.  This might be something we should stay out of.”

“But she’s dead now, Thelma.  She can’t hurt anyone else.”

“But whoever killed her might be just as much of a psycho.”

I had to admit that Thelma had a point.  Whoever had killed Kara had abused her body in the most brutal way possible.  Someone really hated her.

The bar wasn’t busy since it was a little early for the evening crowd.  There was one couple sitting at a table nursing what looked like margaritas.  Probably local.  We don’t get a lot of tourists in Hannibal in November.  I figured the red-headed guy wiping down the bar was Jordan.  He looked like a decent sort, the kind of grandson Mrs. Kirsch would have.  His freckles stood out on pale skin, which made me wonder if he was still donating blood to someone.  I pushed that thought out of my head.

Thelma and I sat at the bar, and Jordan smiled at us and asked what we were having.  I got a whiskey sour, and Thelma had a white wine.  Even when it came to booze, she was classier.  But I suppose wine should be the chosen drink of an ex-nun.

“We wondered if you had a little time to talk to us,” I said.  “We’re working on a story for The Spyglass.”

“What kind of story?”  He backed up a step.

“The murder of Kara Koch.  We understand you and she were together for a while.”

Jordan snorted.  “Together is hardly the right word.  She was a scheming bitch, and I’m well rid of her.  My grandmother could tell you that.”

“We already talked to her,” Thelma said.  “What she described was pretty disturbing.”

Jordan shook his head and twisted the cleaning rag in his hand.  “She seemed so cool at first,” he said.  “She modeled for an art class I was taking.  She was funny and really wild.  She had lots of piercings.  I thought she was sophisticated.”

I could tell this kid hadn’t been around the block if he thought piercings were sophisticated.  Poking a hole in yourself was never my idea of high fashion or even good sense.  One time there was a clerk at the