Read Online Letter From Home by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Hart
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community to know whatâs going on.â There was a sardonic edge to his voice and he slid a taunting glance toward the editor.
Gretchen recognized the refrain. That was what Mr. Dennis always told them. But he wasnât talking about spending time at the Blue Light. The editor ignored the gibe, held his pencil poised to write.
âAnywayââCooleyâs voice still had an edgeââwhen I got to the Blue Light, Tatum was drinking at the far end of the bar. I didnât know who he was then, but I knew he was trouble. He was surly as hell and everybody gave him a wide berth. Heâs a big man. Six feet, two hundred pounds. Seemed like he was waiting for somebody. Faye showed up about six-thirty, looking like a million dollars with her hair in a pompadour and a fancy dress and . . .â
Gretchen frowned. She remembered the green print. The shirtfrock dress was perfect for work or going shopping. It wasnât fancy. It was nice.
â. . . she and Tatum had a shouting match. The chief says somebody at the barbershop told Tatum yesterday afternoon that his wife was having gentlemen friends over at the house since heâd been gone. . . .â
Gentlemen friends . . . That was awful. If Clyde Tatum had been angry that Faye was dancing at the Blue Light, how had he felt when he heard this? Gretchen worked out the time in her mind. If he was at the barbershop late in the afternoon and somebody told him about his wife, he could have gone to the house and been waiting for her when she got home from work. If he asked her about men coming to the house, well, that was sure a reason why they might have yelled at each other loud enough for Mrs. Crane to call the police.
âWell . . .â Cooley leaned back in his chair. âFaye screamed that it was a lie. She told Tatum he had a nasty mind and as far as she was concerned he couldnât get out of town soon enough and she was going to have a good time, no matter what. Thatâs when Lou Hopper came around the bar and took Tatum by the arm. Before you could snap your fingers, Lou had him out the door. You know her. She runs the Blue Light like a drill sergeant.â
Gretchen knew all about the Blue Light. It was the biggest beer joint in the county with a live band every night. Of course, sheâd never been inside, but Millard had played in the band, sneaking out of his room at night and not telling his folks. Thatâs how he got crossways with them and ran off to join the navy. Millard had liked Mrs. Hopper. Gretchen had spoken to her after Millard left, asked her to let Millard know he could come home, his parents werenât mad anymore. Mrs. Hopper hadnât made any promises but it wasnât too long after Gretchen had gone to the Blue Light that Millard wrote, sending a picture of himself in his white navy uniform. The Thompsons had that picture of Millard and a picture of Mike in his army uniform at the drugstore, up on the wall behind the cash register. Millard had told Gretchen that Mrs. Hopper was strict with the band but fair. Gretchen wasnât surprised Mr. Tatum had done what Mrs. Hopper told him to.
âLou doesnât want any trouble out there.â Mr. Dennis made some notes. âOkay, Lou shoos him out. What time was that?â
âMaybe seven. Anyway, everything settled down. Everybody was jitterbugging, having a hell of a time.â Cooley scooted his chair closer to the desk. The Remington keys rattled. âIncluding Faye Tatum. She danced every dance. But with everybody. You know what I mean, no particular guy.â He took a drag from his cigarette, frowned at the words on the sheet. âShe danced with a bunch of guys.â He gave a wolfish smile, whistled. âI couldnât miss her. Nobody could. Then or later. She put on quite a show. Jitterbug. Tango. Foxtrot. Good gams.â
Gretchen had a snapshot-quick memory of the body sprawled in the untidy living room, legs agape.
Gretchen recognized the refrain. That was what Mr. Dennis always told them. But he wasnât talking about spending time at the Blue Light. The editor ignored the gibe, held his pencil poised to write.
âAnywayââCooleyâs voice still had an edgeââwhen I got to the Blue Light, Tatum was drinking at the far end of the bar. I didnât know who he was then, but I knew he was trouble. He was surly as hell and everybody gave him a wide berth. Heâs a big man. Six feet, two hundred pounds. Seemed like he was waiting for somebody. Faye showed up about six-thirty, looking like a million dollars with her hair in a pompadour and a fancy dress and . . .â
Gretchen frowned. She remembered the green print. The shirtfrock dress was perfect for work or going shopping. It wasnât fancy. It was nice.
â. . . she and Tatum had a shouting match. The chief says somebody at the barbershop told Tatum yesterday afternoon that his wife was having gentlemen friends over at the house since heâd been gone. . . .â
Gentlemen friends . . . That was awful. If Clyde Tatum had been angry that Faye was dancing at the Blue Light, how had he felt when he heard this? Gretchen worked out the time in her mind. If he was at the barbershop late in the afternoon and somebody told him about his wife, he could have gone to the house and been waiting for her when she got home from work. If he asked her about men coming to the house, well, that was sure a reason why they might have yelled at each other loud enough for Mrs. Crane to call the police.
âWell . . .â Cooley leaned back in his chair. âFaye screamed that it was a lie. She told Tatum he had a nasty mind and as far as she was concerned he couldnât get out of town soon enough and she was going to have a good time, no matter what. Thatâs when Lou Hopper came around the bar and took Tatum by the arm. Before you could snap your fingers, Lou had him out the door. You know her. She runs the Blue Light like a drill sergeant.â
Gretchen knew all about the Blue Light. It was the biggest beer joint in the county with a live band every night. Of course, sheâd never been inside, but Millard had played in the band, sneaking out of his room at night and not telling his folks. Thatâs how he got crossways with them and ran off to join the navy. Millard had liked Mrs. Hopper. Gretchen had spoken to her after Millard left, asked her to let Millard know he could come home, his parents werenât mad anymore. Mrs. Hopper hadnât made any promises but it wasnât too long after Gretchen had gone to the Blue Light that Millard wrote, sending a picture of himself in his white navy uniform. The Thompsons had that picture of Millard and a picture of Mike in his army uniform at the drugstore, up on the wall behind the cash register. Millard had told Gretchen that Mrs. Hopper was strict with the band but fair. Gretchen wasnât surprised Mr. Tatum had done what Mrs. Hopper told him to.
âLou doesnât want any trouble out there.â Mr. Dennis made some notes. âOkay, Lou shoos him out. What time was that?â
âMaybe seven. Anyway, everything settled down. Everybody was jitterbugging, having a hell of a time.â Cooley scooted his chair closer to the desk. The Remington keys rattled. âIncluding Faye Tatum. She danced every dance. But with everybody. You know what I mean, no particular guy.â He took a drag from his cigarette, frowned at the words on the sheet. âShe danced with a bunch of guys.â He gave a wolfish smile, whistled. âI couldnât miss her. Nobody could. Then or later. She put on quite a show. Jitterbug. Tango. Foxtrot. Good gams.â
Gretchen had a snapshot-quick memory of the body sprawled in the untidy living room, legs agape.