The Searsport Chicken Murders – Webisode 34

I made a quick call to Paul Fallon on the way to Bucksport to tell him about Clyde’s attempt on my life the previous night. Paul said there wasn’t a lot we could do about that right now. It was police business. He did tell me to do my best to stay out of Clyde’s reach, if that was possible. I thanked him for his concern and thought to myself that I wasn’t about to go into hiding over a chicken. I don’t care how smart he is.

Next I called my brother to ask him if I should take the job if offered. He had a highly developed analytical mind and a gift for cutting through vague feelings of uncertainty and skewering the essence of a life choice to the wall, laying bare the most important considerations, dangers, and benefits. He was out of the office so I left a message.

I imagined the ride to Bucksport as my daily commute should I get the job. Route one follows the Penobscot River and the views of this impressive waterway are something to see. The river is wide and fast moving where it meets the bay and bumpy mountains rise up from the shoreline on the other side. A seacoast haze lends the panorama a moody, almost foreboding atmosphere. The new suspension bridge crossing over to Verona Island signaled that I was almost there. The old bridge still sits alongside, in an eery and patient silence. Rust covers much of it now yet the superstructure and supporting cables remain working as they have for many years, holding up the heavy span of bridge over the narrows. I hope they don’t tear it down.

I made a left on Route fifteen and drove slowly through town looking for Bay City Graphics. I found the small stand-alone building on the edge of town just before the road dropped down to the big paper mill. I had broken the inside door handle off on my truck in my haste to get out after Clyde had cut my brake lines so I had to roll my window down and open the door from the outside. I grabbed my briefcase and went in.

Four people worked at long tables laid out with white canvas and printed graphics. They were arranging the graphic elements on the material and then ironing them on. One of the workers looked up and asked if she could help me. I told her I had an appointment with Kyle. She led me back to an office and announced me to her boss. He called out for me to come in.

Kyle was a tall greying guy with a pleasant smile. He was probably younger than me, early forties maybe. He invited me to sit and launched right into a familiar speech describing his company. They created exhibits and point of purchase banners for retailers and corporate accounts. He was in the process of buying a four color Heidleberg press and wanted to add printing to his list of services. He was looking for someone he could train to put together banners, take care of the equipment, deal with customers and vendors, do some computer graphic creation, run the new printing press, and make coffee. He needed a self-starter who didn’t require close supervision but he couldn’t pay more than ten dollars an hour. I told him I was his man.

He took a quick glance at my resume. “It looks like you supervised a graphics department and you did everything from concept development to advertising design, technical illustration, and video.”

“Yes. But don’t assume I’m overqualified.”

“It looks to me like you’re way overqualified.”

At this point he deviated from his usual interview speech and we chatted about the real issues we were both facing. He said he had a lot of people interested in the job. He would likely go with more of an entry level person which meant much younger than me, a person he could train and keep for short money. I understood that.

We talked another twenty minutes about me and how I should market my skills. He suggested I go to Bangor and hit the Chamber of Commerce for a mailing list. It was a good suggestion.

I left with mixed feelings. I was dissappointed I was leaving without a job but I was also glad I had made the business contact. I crossed back over the bridge at Fort Knox and a boulder as big as a washing machine rolled off the cliff above and missed my old Ford by six inches.