Where Southern Cross the Dog by Allen Whitley Read Free Book Online Page B

Moses, and let me know if you find anything else,” said the visitor.
    â€œYessuh, Mr. Murphree. You know I will.”
    Moses turned out the light and slowly opened the back door.
    Murphree slipped out, walked home, and crawled back into bed. He lay awake for an hour, writing the story in his head. He finally fell asleep but was up two hours later for work. He yawned allthrough breakfast, but his wife didn’t ask any questions. She understood it was better not to.
    Two days later, Sam Tackett picked up the morning paper and read a second article describing the most recent murder, complete with details only a few people knew.
    â€œSon of a—. Where are they getting this information?”
    He read about the crime scene, the use of gasoline in the murder, and several theories relating to the case. In his anger and frustration, he almost picked up the phone and called Emmett Wilson, the senior editor and owner of the paper, to condemn the reporter’s irresponsible release of sensitive information during an ongoing investigation.
    Then he reminded himself that talking to editors never helped. The reality was that Wilson’s reporter would continue to embarrass him until he solved this case.

CHAPTER 8
    The Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody
Hotel in Memphis and ends on Catfish Row in Vicksburg.
    â€”David L. Cohn
    THE HECTIC DAYS OF HARVEST PASSED BY QUICKLY while Travis continued his duties as the runner for the county courthouse. Whether the task took him to the farthest reaches of the county or to an office down the hall from his father’s, Travis relished the independence of the work and its complete lack of real responsibility.
    One lazy Thursday afternoon, Travis picked up a magazine and sat back on the couch across from Ruth’s desk. He was a paragraph into the first article when the phone rang.
    â€œBill Montgomery’s office,” Ruth said.
    Travis reread the paragraph as he listened to Ruth.
    â€œSure, Rachel, he’s in.” She covered the receiver and called out, “Bill, it’s Rachel.”
    â€œHi, Rachel,” Montgomery said, answering the phone.
    Travis looked toward his dad’s office.
    â€œYeah, I think he’s here. What time do you need him?”
    Travis knew he’d have one last chore before his workday ended.
    â€œCouple of hours? He’ll be there.” Montgomery hung up and raised his voice a little. “Ruth, is Travis still out there?”
    Travis quickly put his finger to his lips.
    Ruth looked at him and smiled. “Yes, sir,” she said, rearranging her grin into a disapproving look.
    â€œTravis, can you pick up Rachel today?”
    â€œSure,” Travis said.
    â€œShe needs you at Gilman’s place in two hours.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll leave in a little while.”
    â€œIf you leave now, you can watch some of Professor Higson’s experiment. He’s testing another cotton harvester this afternoon. Sheriff Collins will be out there with some other folks if you want to go.”
    Travis tossed the magazine on the table next to the couch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ruth,” Travis said. He stepped into his father’s doorway. “See you at home, Dad.”
    â€œDon’t be late for dinner.”
    Travis pulled off the road in front of the Gilman commissary and saw that Rachel was not outside waiting for him. He looked down the road and saw a half dozen cars and two trucks parked on the shoulder about two hundred yards away. In the field directly in front of the cars was a strange contraption. It could only be one thing—the harvester.
    He walked over and recognized Sheriff Collins in the small crowd.
    â€œAfternoon, Sheriff,” Travis said, approaching the group.
    â€œTravis,” Collins said.
    â€œHello, Travis,” said Wilson.
    â€œHello, Mr. Wilson,” Travis said. “Plan on writing an article for the paper?”
    â€œNot just