Read Online Killing Down the Roman Line by Tim McGregor - Free Book Online

think. A gang of them busted out of the jailhouse over in Garrisontown, came through this way in their escape.”
    Travis stopped eating altogether. “Then what? They just went after them?”
    “Dunno. It was a hundred years ago.” Jim looked at the boy’s untouched plate. “This isn’t dinner conversation. Eat up.”
    He mashed his potatoes, watching his parents. Forks clinking against the china, reaching for another biscuit. No other conversation came forth. Travis wanted to scream.
    ~
    The Pennyluck Watchman came out every third Thursday of the month. Twenty-eight pages of local news, sports and obits. The classified section ate the last ten pages of the Watchman , bartering everything from farm equipment to babysitting services within the tri-town area of Pennyluck, Exford and Garrisontown. Craigslist was for fools and perverts. If you needed it sold or bartered, you listed in the backpages of the Watchman.
    The offices of the Watchman were run from the back of Paul Tilford’s ‘Books and Souvenir’ shop over on Chestnut Street, kittycorner from the Farmer’s Co-op. Late Monday night, Tilford received a visitor asking about placing a three/eights ad in the classifieds. Tilford told the stranger that this month’s paper was being put to bed tonight and therefore too late to make the print run, but he’d be happy to book the ad for the next issue. That would make it the third week of July. The man regretted the lateness of his call but said the next issue would be too late. He needed his ad to run this week or not at all. Tilford smiled but explained that his hands were tied. The caller asked what his rate was for the space and, upon hearing the figure, offered double the amount for a late placement.
    Tilford scrounged up a pencil and asked for the exact wording of his ad. Reworking the layout of the classified pages would take some overtime but the doubled rate would ease the pain.
    The caller produced a large envelope and said he had already laid out the ad. Slipped from the envelope was a clean sheet of paper showing the ad, formatted and correct to the size. It could be cut and pasted into a layout board or simply scanned and fitted into place. Tilford smiled, knowing at a glance that half of his job was already accomplished.
    Mr. Tilford smiled again when the man paid cash for his ad. They shook hands and the man left. He read through the copy, proofreading as he went along.

    THE CORRIGAN HORROR!
    Historical Tour and Attractions
Come visit the Corrigan homestead and be thrilled by a true tale of horror and intrigue. Learn the hidden secrets and shocking truths behind the murder of this noble clan and the founding of our pleasant community. All will be shocked, all will be amazed! Not for the timid!
No children under twelve will be admitted. Scenes of violence and depravity told. Bring a raincoat, there will be blood!
    Sunday, 1:00 PM
    ~
    “The Corrigan Horror? What the hell is that?”
    Bill Berryhill leaned against his truck outside the diner, holding up the latest edition of the Watchman.
    Hitchens squinted at the ad, reading it for a third time like he had missed something. “Dunno. Some kind of tourist attraction, I guess.”
    “To see what?” Berryhill snatched the paper back. “A rotting house?”
    “Maybe it’s one of those haunted house things? A spook house like they put on at Halloween.”
    “In June?”
    The bell over the diner door rang as Kate came out onto the street. Eyes on her Blackberry, walking straight into Hitchens. “Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”
    Berryhill thrust the paper at her. “Kate, what do you know about this?”
    “No idea.” She had already seen the Watchman . “But if it brings in some tourist dollars, I’m all for it.”
    “Did you see this?” All three turned to see Jim coming up the sidewalk, a copy of the newspaper in his hand.
    “We seen it,” Hitchens said. “Do you know what the hell it is?”
    “It’s about his family.” Jim saw the copy in