Kentucky Murders: A Small Town Murder Mystery by Larry Parrott

know, you’re really lucky. We don’t usually get too many job openings around here. There isn’t much turnover, since everyone is local. I had three boys quit last week and join the Marines. I did a tour in the Marine Corps in Korea. It was cold as hell.”
    Zack sat near the window, and Frank settled himself in a worn leather chair behind his scarred, metal desk. He looked over Zack’s application for a minute before speaking. “You worked there four and a half years, huh? Cars just aren’t sellin’ like they used to.”
    “Those were the exact words they used when they laid me off.”
    “Well,” he looked back at the application, “have you ever driven a forklift?” He planted his elbows on the arms of his chair and folded his hands together in front of his belly.
    “I sure have. Many times. I could demonstrate if you’d like.”
    “That won’t be necessary. We have a standard test for new forklift drivers. You shouldn’t have a problem with it. If you get this job, you’ll be living here in town, I suppose,” he said as a statement, but waited for Zack’s acknowledgment.
    “Yes, I would. But if I can’t find a job here, I’ll have to move on and keep looking.”
    “You know, I admire you,” said Frank. “You read all about these unemployed autoworkers who sit on their butts collecting unemployment. Then there are guys like you who take off, leaving everything behind, and go after a job. That’s good. I like that. You look right for the job to me. When can you start?” He stood and stretched out his hand.
    “I can start any time. I just need to find a place to stay.”
    “Welcome aboard,” Frank offered his hand and smiled.
    “Glad to be here,” Zack said, as they shook hands.
    “This afternoon you’ll get a tour of the factory, fill out some additional paperwork, and take the forklift test. Then, if you’re ready, you can start in the morning. If you need a little more time give me a call, but we need you ASAP.”
    They walked downstairs to the back of the factory, where he showed Zack the loading docks and warehouse areas. He explained that it was another driver’s job to unload the trucks and stack the corrugated cardboard in the warehouse. Zack’s job would be to deliver sheets that had been cut and scored to the machines in other departments of the factory.
    “This will be your main delivery,” explained Frank, as they entered a noisy room. “This,” he pointed proudly to one of the long machines, “is a printer/slotter. It cuts the final slots that will form the box and also prints whatever the customer has ordered on the board.”
    Several different sounds came from the machine. A man fed cardboard onto a rubber tongue, and metal kickers pushed it into the machine. A whizzing sound came from inside, then a cha-chunk as the board was printed, and, finally, a noisy chopping sound came as the final piece shot out from the other end. It was the loudest machine they had come across so far. “After it’s complete, they load the board onto handcarts and take it into there.” He pointed to an archway leading to another department. “That’s where the boxes are taped, glued, or stitched, folded, and stacked on pallets ready to ship.”
    Zack also discovered that his job included taking large scraps form the various machines up the elevator to the second floor, where they would be used for making partitions to be placed inside certain kinds of boxes.
    On their way past one of the printer/slotters, they saw a forty-something, heavyset man dressed in a blue uniform, stooping over and sweeping up dust at the end of a machine. “That’s Max. He’s the janitor around here.” He leaned over to Zack as if Max could hear him over the noisy machinery. He said through a cupped hand into Zack’s ear, “He’s mentally handicapped, but is one hell of a hard worker; he’s just a little slow to understand.”
    Zack nodded just as Max looked up at him. Zack called out loudly, “Hello,