buckley said that he and judge omar noose had spoken

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Unformatted text preview: Let me sleep on it." With that, he walked off the porch and drove away. Chapter Thirty-Nine Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html With the bodies piling up, it was inevitable the story would attract more attention than theTimes could give it. The next morning, a reporter I knew from the Memphis paper arrived in my office, and about twenty minutes later one from the Jackson paper joined us. Both covered northern Mississippi, where the hottest news was usually a factory explosion or another indicted county official. I gave them the background on both murders, the Padgitt parole, and the fear that had gripped the county. We were not competitors—they wrote for large dailies that barely overlapped. Most of my subscribers also took either the Memphis or Jackson papers. The Tupelo daily was also popular. And, frankly, I was losing interest; not in the current crisis, but in journalism as a vocation. The world was calling me. As I sat there drinking coffee and trading stories with those two veterans, both of whom were older than me, each of whom earned about $40,000 a year, I found it hard to believe that I could walk away right then with a million bucks. It was difficult to stay focused. They eventually left to pursue their own angles. A few minutes later Sam called with a rather urgent, "You need to come over." A ragtag little unit was still guarding the Ruffin porch. All four were bleary-eyed and in need of sleep. Sam cleared me through the bivouac and we went to the kitchen table where Miss Callie was shelling butter beans, a task she always performed on the rear porch. She gave me a warm smile and the standard bear hug, but she was a troubled woman. "In here," she said. Sam nodded and we followed her into her small bedroom. She closed the door behind us as if intruders were lurking, then she disappeared into a narrow closet. We waited awkwardly while she rattled around in there. She finally emerged with an old spiral notebook, one that had obviously been well hidden. "Something doesn't make sense," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. Sam sat beside her and I backed into an old rocker. She was flipping throu...
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This note was uploaded on 07/18/2010 for the course LIT 301 taught by Professor Dra during the Spring '10 term at American College of Computer & Information Sciences.

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