Kentucky Murders: A Small Town Murder Mystery (5 page)

“What’s the problem, officer?” asked Zack, in a friendly tone of voice. No sense making him angry.

“You were speeding, boy. Let me see your license and registration,” he said with a patronizing Southern drawl.

“But I was only doing forty.” Zack wasn’t sure how fast he had actually been going, but he gave a low estimate.

“Forty-two,” stated the policeman emphatically. “The speed limit’s thirty-five.” He started writing the ticket, as Zack handed his license and registration to the officer. “Sign’s half a mile back. You just entered the city limits. The maximum speed’s 35 in town. 25 down on the main street.”

Zack looked around at the thick forest along both sides of the road. Ahead, all he could see were heat waves rising up from the road. “I don’t see a town. Where? I didn’t see any speed limit sign, either.”

“Ain’t life a bitch, huh, boy?” He handed the ticket pad through the open window. “Sign here.”

“But this isn’t fair. There wasn’t any sign.”

“I tell you what. You refuse to sign that ticket, and we’ll show you how fair we’ll treat you in the Michaeltown jail.” He dropped the pad into Zack’s lap.

Zack shook his head and picked it up. “This is Michaeltown?” He signed the pad and handed it back.

“That’s right. Now, that’ll be twenty dollars.”

“You want me to pay right here? You mean you do the collecting, too?”

“You don’t expect us to trust drifters, do you? I’ll give you a receipt. Of course, you could fight this ticket in court. Next session is a week from Tuesday. It’ll be your word against mine. What will it be?” He made a “come here” motion with his fingers. “Save you a lot of trouble if you pay now, since I’d have to impound your car until the trial.”

Zack sighed and opened his wallet. “Justice, you can’t beat it.” He handed over one of his precious twenty-dollar bills. There went a few meals, he thought. “I never should have left Detroit,” he mumbled.

“You said it.” The cop scribbled something at the bottom of the ticket, tore off a yellow copy, and handed it to Zack. “Where you headed anyway, boy?”

“First of all, I’m not your boy. Second, it’s none of your business. The last I heard, this was a free country.” He started his car and jammed it into gear. With a curt nod to the cop, he pulled away. Zack could see him in his mirror, hands on his hips, watching Zack drive away. He then turned and walked back toward his car.

---

Sheriff Elton Procter shook his head, as he walked back to his car. Smart-ass drifters. That’s all we need around here, he thought. Well, hopefully this one would do his business and move on. He removed his hat, revealing his thin, gray comb-over, and climbed back into his car. He hadn’t been able to check the car’s license plate for a “wanted” status or warrants because their county didn’t have the fancy new computers in the patrol cars like the big city cops had. The registration and driver’s license had matched the Michigan plates, which probably meant he was just passing through town, most likely looking for gas. He wished they’d remove that damn sign out at the freeway. They didn’t need tourists or drifters in Michaeltown. The sheriff drove away, intent on keeping a watchful eye on this one. He headed for the station.

Chapter 10

Zack pulled into a gas station that appeared on the right as he entered the town. Looking around, he spotted a long, white cooler with a sign taped on it, which read “Cold Soda, 50 Cents.” Zack wiped the sweat from his brow as he walked to the cooler. Opening the lid, he found a dozen ice-cold, frosted bottles of Coke. He reached into the cooler, cold air hitting his face, and pulled out a bottle.

“Hotter than hell today,” said a male voice from somewhere.

An older attendant appeared from within the garage bay and walked toward Zack’s car. His shoulders drooped in a pair of gray coveralls with an “Exxon” patch on the breast pocket. He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Mrs. Washa’s starter went out. Had to order a new one outta Cinci. Just passing through?” He removed Zack’s gas cap and slipped in the nozzle. He seemed friendly enough.

“Sort of,” He popped the bottle top on an opener mounted on the side of the cooler. “Unless I can find a job around here.”

“Fill ’er up?” He began pumping when Zack nodded. “Well, there usually isn’t much hiring going on around here. You might do better in a big city.”

Zack sat on his front fender while the old man cleaned his windows.

“Where do all the people around here work?”

The attendant scraped at a large bug that had smashed against the windshield as he spoke. “If they’re not farmers, they work at one of the stores in town or out at the box factory. Most work at the factory, though. Suppose if they closed it down, the town might just dry right up.”

“Do you think the factory might be hiring?”

“It’s possible, but it doesn’t happen often. That is, unless someone retires or dies.” The pump clicked off, and he rounded it up to the next whole dollar. “Sixteen even,” he said.

“Don’t forget the Coke.”

“Oh, that’s okay. It’s on the house.”

Zack paid him and got into his car. “Hey,” he said, before the old man could walk away, “is there a good place to eat around here that’s not too expensive?”

The attendant leaned into the passenger window. “There’s only one place to eat in town. We just call it the Diner. It’s just past the light, on the right.” He pointed up the street. “Can’t miss it.”

Zack pulled up to the street as the sheriff, Zack could now read “Sheriff” painted on the side of the car, passed by slowly. Zack carefully pulled out behind him.

A block down, the sheriff pulled to the curb in front of a two-story brick building with a blue and white sign that read “County Sheriff.”

The sheriff’s head turned toward Zack, and he stared at him as he drove past.

The Diner stood where the attendant had said, and Zack searched for a close parking spot. He found one along the curb a few storefronts down, parked, and walked over to the parking meter.

Fishing in his pocket, he came out with a handful of change. First, he tried a quarter to get an idea how much more he’d have to drop in to make the needle slide over to two hours, its maximum. He cranked the handle, and the needle flopped all the way across to the right. Zack’s eyes widened. “Two hours for a quarter?” he said, incredulously. “This
must
be a small town.”

He turned and walked toward the old fashioned, glass-fronted diner. He looked up at the birds clinging to a second-story window ledge chirping a happy summer song.

Zack listened to the soft soles of his sneakers slapping against the hot pavement. In Detroit, he never remembered hearing the small sounds around him. Either they had been drowned out by traffic noise, or he was always in too much of a hurry to pay attention, he wasn’t sure which.

Inside the Diner, he felt like he’d stepped back in time to the 1950s. He found eight tables; four on the right and four on the left. A row of five booths ran along the left wall, and a horseshoe-shaped counter, lined with stools, stuck out from the far wall. Zack stepped up to the right side of the counter and climbed onto a stool with a red vinyl seat cover, worn from all of the customers who had sat there over the years. A minute later, the door leading from the kitchen swung open and a waitress came out. She didn’t notice him at first, but Zack, wide-eyed, looked her over closely. She wore a pink and white, spotlessly clean uniform with the skirt cut just above the knee. Her golden-blond hair was tied into a short ponytail, which hung down the back of her neck. A few stray tendrils of hair framed her face. She brushed at them absently, as she hurried to serve other diners. She had a thin, but well-proportioned, figure. Zack craned his neck to get a look at her features, but she faced the other way.

“More coffee, Kate,” called an overweight, middle-aged man sitting with two other older men across from Zack.

“Coming right up,” she answered in a cheerful tone, as she turned to the auto-drip coffeemaker to put on another pot. That’s when she spotted Zack, and he got a good look at her pretty face.

She filled a glass pot with water as she looked over at Zack. “I’m sorry. When did you sneak in here?” Zack said nothing. He couldn’t speak. He only stared, with his mouth almost hanging open. Her face was shaped like a heart, and she had large, sea-green eyes, a thin, straight nose, and pink, full lips. She was beautiful. She looked like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine; every feature was perfect, even though she wore very little makeup.

Zack finally took a deep breath and swallowed. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

She dumped the water into the grate at the top of the coffeemaker, slid the pot into the front of the machine, and handed Zack a menu. He nodded speechlessly, his eyes still fixed on her face. She turned to check the coffee, filled a glass with ice and water, and then slid the glass across the countertop to Zack.

Still, he kept his eyes on her. Never before had any woman had this hypnotic effect on him. His heart was beating like a drum. The spell finally broke, and he quickly looked down, realizing how long he’d been staring. He felt his face flush.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked, as she scooped up a pack of cigarettes and removed one.

“No,” answered Zack, now in control. He wished he could think of some line to impress her, but his mind went blank. “
I
u
h
I’m traveling around and looking for a job at a factory or warehouse, or something like that.”

“Is that right?” She answered noncommittally and lit her cigarette with a red plastic lighter, while turning her head to check on the coffee.

“Kate?” called the older man again.

“The coffee is almost done, Fred,” she said back over her shoulder. “Just keep your pants on.”

She turned back to Zack. “We don’t see many new faces around here.” Then she surprisingly reached across the counter and gently touched his hand. “Excuse me for a second. He’s going to have a heart attack over there if he doesn’t get his coffee.”

As she walked away, Zack looked where she’d touched his hand. He felt like he was back in junior high discovering girls for the first time. A shiver ran through him.

He looked over the menu and didn’t worry about prices. Suddenly, his money problems didn’t seem important.

She returned, flipped over the coffee cup in front of him and asked, “Coffee?”

“No, thanks. Not in this heat. But I will take a vanilla shake.”

“Coming right up,” She smiled warmly, replaced the coffeepot, and went to work on his shake. “Figured out what you want to eat yet?” she asked, still facing away from him.

Zack ordered a rib-eye steak with all the trimmings.

Thirty minutes later, she stood looking at him as he downed his last bite and scraped the plate with his fork. His plate was completely clean and his stomach full. He sighed happily.

Taking his plate, she said, “Enjoy your meal?”

“The best I’ve had in a long time,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “Thanks.”

“About that job,” she said. “I heard something this week. Why don’t you check the
Ledger
?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s the town newspaper. It comes out weekly.” She pointed toward a rack near the front door. “Over there. We just received new papers yesterday.”

Seconds later, he was back at his stool, glancing through the thin local paper. He found the classified section and ran his finger down a handful of “help wanted” ads. The section listed jobs for a babysitter, bank teller, caseworker, and a dairy worker. Then he saw what he was looking for. The listing read, “Forklift driver, experience preferred, first shift, apply in person,” and it listed an address. “Perfect,” he said, as Kate lit up another cigarette.

“What is it?”

“Some factory needs a forklift driver.” He showed her the ad. “That sounds about right for me. I’ve driven forklifts before. You know,” he pointed at her cigarette, “those things are bad for you.”

“No kiddin’. I’ve been trying to quit for two years.” She snuffed out her cigarette. “That address would be the box factory.”

“The gas station attendant down the street mentioned the factory.”

“Just take Main Street east. It’s about five miles out.”

“Will you be here at supper time?” he asked.

“No, I’m off in an hour.”

“Then could I take you out for dinner?” He knew he was probably moving too quickly, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see her again.

“Well, I don’t usually go out with a man when I don’t even know his name.”

He held out his hand and gave his best charming grin. “Zack Taylor, at your service. That’s Zack with a ‘k’, not an ‘h’.”

He liked the feel of her smooth skin and the spark he felt when she shook his hand. He didn’t want to let go.

“Hi, Zack with a ‘k’. I’m Kate Jenkins,” she said, as she smiled back at him. “I don’t think we should rush into anything. You go out and see about that job. If you get it, we’ll have time to get to know each other. Then we’ll see.”