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

“Did it end your marriage?”  I knew it was a nosy question, but I was curious.

“In a way.  We’re still married, but we each go our own way.  She sees other men when she wants, and I don’t complain.”

I wondered why Cindy stayed with him.  He was a good looking guy, but he didn’t seem to have much else going for him.  And from what we’d heard, she had money of her own.

As if reading my mind, he said, “You’re wondering why my wife didn’t leave me.”

“Well, it crossed my mind,” I admitted.

“She has MS.  She has fairly mild symptoms now and just walks with a cane.  But we know what’s coming.  I’ll stay with her, and she knows it.  It’s the least I can do.”

Thelma and I didn’t speak after we left the building, and we were back on the road before I said, “Wow.”

“I’ll say,” Thelma agreed.  “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone quite like that.”

“You mean the kinky sex?”

“Not just that.  Someone who goes back to an abuser for more abuse.”

“Women do it all the time.”

“I suppose so,” she said.  “It’s sad.  I got the feeling Jeffrey Connell is unable to function alone.”

We rode the rest of the way to the office in silence.  The sky was clouding over, promising rain.  The temperature was beginning to drop as well.

I couldn’t believe that I was going to have to do a cow story after interviewing Jeffrey Connell.  It was like leaving a Liam Neeson movie for a Pee Wee Herman one.  The change was jolting.

As soon as we got to our desks, Rose came over to see how we were doing.

“Lorenzo said you were going to go see Jeffrey Connell,” she said.  “How did it go?”

“Did you know him?” I asked.

She shook her head.  “Kara mentioned him when we were living in Arnold.  He sounded kind of weak to me.  Like the kind of person she liked to dominate.”

“That’s about the sum of it,” I said.

“Did his wife leave him?”

“They’re still together,” Thelma said, “but they lead separate lives.”

“Too bad.”  Rose shook her head.  “So, have you talked to that iron works guy again?”

“Loren Haskell?” I asked.  “Not yet.  But we’re going to.”

“He always gave me the creeps.  I don’t know what Kara saw in him.  I think he was as violent as she was.  And that barn where he works was infested with rats.”  She shuddered and headed back to the counter where she was filing.

I exchanged a look with Thelma.  Rats.

“Do you still want to go look around his place?” Thelma asked me, using the voice you would use to ask someone if they still wanted to juggle flaming swords.

“We’ll be careful,” I said.  “He’ll never know we’re there.”

Thelma crossed herself.

There was no time to scout out Loren Haskell’s place now though.  Now was cow time.  I left to check out the cow that was a walking advertisement, and Thelma headed for the boy who could recite the Gettysburg address backwards.

The farm was north of town on a county road off the main highway.  Dark, low clouds were moving in, and I was hoping to get done before rain started.  I passed a field of black and white cows before I turned in the drive.  A huge metal arch straddled the driveway, the words Noll Dairy Farm at the top.  Les Noll was waiting for me by the barn when I pulled to a stop.  There was a nice two-story white clapboard house, well kept up, and a few chickens that scattered in every direction when I got out of the car.  I could hear basic farm sounds—the chickens clucking, some pigs squealing, and a cow lowing somewhere—and I could smell the basic farm smells.  But I won’t go into that.  It reminded me of Lorenzo’s office on a Monday after lunch.

Les was about sixty-five or so, wire thin and leathery.  He was wearing overalls, a light jacket, boots and a John Deere cap.  White tufts of hair stuck out from under the cap.

I told him who I was and that I was here to see the cow that he’d called about.

“Lassie,” he said.  “She’s in the pasture here behind the barn.  Great little milk producer.  Lots of fat in the milk too.”

“So you have a family?” I asked.  I was picking my way around various small piles of something that was probably not meant to be stepped in.

“Wife and two daughters,” he said.  “The girls are both married now and live nearby.  The wife just moved her mother in with us.”  He glanced back at me and rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, that’s going well.”

I laughed, being no stranger to family drama.

“Here we go,” he said as we rounded the barn and went through a wooden gate.  There were about ten cows in a penned area, clustered around a bale of hay that sat in some kind of big hay platter.  One of the cows looked at us curiously, then went back to eating.  The munching sounds carried on the crisp fall air.  Strangely, I was getting a craving for ice cream.  I don’t know if it was the cow smells or what.

“We didn’t notice that Lassie’s markings said anything for a while, but this summer cars started honking when they drove by the pasture and the girls were out.  So one day I was out in the pasture and Roger from up the road came by.  He stopped, and he was laughing like he’d just heard a really good joke.  I asked him what was so funny, and he said my cow.  Said she was a regular billboard.  So I took a good look, and there it was.  I guess that’s why everyone was honking when