The Cuban Who Paid Dearly (Daytona Beach Book 3) by Frank W. Butterfield

Author:Frank W. Butterfield [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2018-12-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

1109 Stump Lane

Sunday, October 5, 1947

Just after 3 in the afternoon

Tom walked up the steps with Ronnie behind him and took off his hat. The front door of the narrow, two-story house was open while the screen door was latched closed. He could hear music playing somewhere in the house. It was Benny Goodman and his orchestra playing "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." He didn't know if it was coming from a radio or a record player.

He knocked on the screen door and waited.

After a few seconds, the music stopped and he could hear someone walking down a set of stairs. After another couple of seconds, a woman appeared behind the screen. "Help you?" Her accent sounded like she was from Georgia or, maybe, Tennessee.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but my name is Tom Jarrell and I'm representing Claud Wallace. He sent us over here to speak with you."

She put her right hand over her mouth. "Oh my word! So, it is true! Claud's been arrested!"

Tom nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Do you mind if we come in?"

"Not at all, not at all," said the woman as she unlatched the door. "Come right in."

Tom walked in and said, "This is Ronnie Grisham. He's the private detective who works with me."

She looked up at both of them. "My, you're both kinda tall, aren't you?"

Ronnie chuckled behind Tom. "Yes, ma'am. 'Fraid so."

"Well, come in and have a seat." She pointed to two solid wooden chairs that sat opposite each other on the outer edge of a small sitting room. "Those will probably be the most comfortable. The divan and the love seat really need to be re-stuffed and they're mighty low to the ground."

Tom sat in the chair that was closest to the front door. Ronnie took the other one and put his hat on his lap.

"How about some iced tea? I just made a pitcher this morning and it's in the icebox. I'm fresh out of chipped ice, though."

"Oh, that's fine," said Tom.

"Don't go to any bother on our account," added Ronnie.

"It's no bother." She suddenly put her hand to her mouth again. "I never introduced myself. I'm Shirley Rogers."

Tom nodded with a smile. She didn't offer her hand, so he didn't stand.

Ronnie looked around. "Nice home you have here, Miss Rogers."

"It's Mrs. and thank you," she said with a complete lack of warmth. Turning to Tom, she said, "My husband, Bill, is upstairs having a lie-down."

"Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk?" asked Tom, not having any idea where else they could go, other than Claud's office.

She smiled a little, showing off a couple of cute dimples in her round face. "Oh, no, of course not. He's awake. Just sitting in front a fan that's blowing over a pan of ice. It'll be melted in a while and then he'll be down." She put her hand over her mouth again. "Oh my, I can't believe it really is true."

Tom nodded but didn't say anything.

. . .

Once iced tea (without ice but with

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