THE Bradley Bugle newspaper office was where papers went to die. Because it was filled to overflowing with notebooks, reference books, loose-leaf paper, and photographs that had apparently never been purged, it was a sanctuary for pulp. Sloan Jones, the editor, knew where everything was. Bugle readers would walk in off the street looking for a picture of the Scout float in the 4th of July parade from ten years ago or some such thing. Sloan would tap a beefy finger against his ever-expanding forehead, think a second while humming a fragment of a tune, walk unerringly to the stack, and pull it out from the pile.
By the looks of things, Josh Tucker had only added to the mass of mess in the newspaper office. But he made the paper more respectable. Not every little town had a former New York
