Chapter 38

Martin drove very slowly to Wild Bill’s. He was sure that Sharla was mad at him, or at the very least disappointed in him, for the stupid way he acted the night before and wanted to give him a piece of her mind. He almost didn’t go, but she had called the bar and asked Don to relay the message that she wanted to see him. He had to go even though he was nervous facing her.
The lot in front of Wild Bill’s was completely empty. Not a soul was at any of the gas pumps. “Damn it!” He’d hoped that there would be a few people in there so Sharla would have to be polite and maybe take it easy on him. In an effort to stall, Martin put a few gallons into his tank, and slowly walked to the front door to pay his bill. And to face Sharla.
The bell on the door tinkled in the silent store. No one was at the register. “Hello!” he called into the quiet. He heard the back door to the store slam and watched as Sharla brushed off her hands, her shorts and her T-shirt as she came in from the back room and started down the aisles.
“Hi, Sharla.”
She looked up and smiled when she saw his face. “Oh, Martin, I’m so glad you made it over!” Sharla rushed over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He gently put his arms around the back of her waist, and pulled her tightly to him. “I’m glad I made it over, too.”

+ + +

Martin filled Sharla in on what had taken place with Dayton and Clark that morning, and with every detail, her eyes grew wider and her face darker. “Martin, do you really believe that Jeff and Dayton knew what was going on and did nothing? This is so much worse than I even thought…”
"I know, and I don’t know what to do next.”
They sat quietly at one of the little café tables where men played cribbage and drank beer in the afternoons. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes. “So what does Clark say?”
"He said I should do what I have to do, but try to maintain our confidence and pride in community and in our school system.”
Sharla frowned. “That is so Clark. God forbid he take a stand on anything.”
Martin looked at her and smirked. “So, how do you know that being a journalistic weakling is Clark’s M.O.?”
“I just do. So, what now?”
“I told you, I don’t know what I should do next. Confront Talbot? Confront Daniels and Howe? Talk to more victims?”
Sharla shook her head and looked him straight in the eyes. “Don’t talk to anyone for a day or two. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jeff and Dayton have been scared into doing something they should have done all along. Put your thoughts on paper, and let’s talk some more later.” Sharla stood up and motioned toward a car at one of the pumps. “I have to get back to work, and so do you.”
Martin stood up, too, and took her hand. “Thanks, Sharla. Say, Don invited us to come over for burgers tonight. Can you make it?”
Sharla smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d love it. When should I meet you there?”
Martin hesitated just a moment before getting up the nerve to say, “Why don’t I pick you up at 6:00?” He saw her smile again and nod. “And just so you know, my mother will be there.”
Sharla giggled a little. “Well good. I like her.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “I’ll see you here at 6:00.”

Chapter 37

Martin spent a good 30 minutes sitting at his desk, doing nothing, after his conversation with Clark. His fingers were linked behind the back of his head, and he had leaned back with his eyes closed. All he could hear was the squeaking of his chair as he leaned back every few seconds, coming dangerously close to tipping all the way back. He didn’t care – he was gathering his thoughts.
Letting out a huge sigh, Martin opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a minute and then, sat up. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered to himself. He looked at his watch. 11:15. Not too early for lunch.
Martin breezed past Sam’s cubicle, cutting him off in mid-sentence when he asked “What’s going…?”
“Gotta take care of something. Back after lunch.”
Shirley tried to stop him as he rushed through the reception area and toward the exit. Martin held up his hand. “We’ll talk later.”
Jogging to his car, Martin wondered where he should go. The two people he needed to talk to and share this information – Don and Sharla – were people he didn’t want to talk to right now. Martin could almost see Don’s sweaty face grinning as he recounted to his friends that he’d bedded Jean Lundeen. His mother! And Sharla probably didn’t want to talk to him. Martin let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about his drunken attempt at romance the night before. “God, I’m such an idiot!”
He decided he’d stop at his apartment for a peanut butter sandwich and then head to Wild Bill’s. It would be easier to face Sharla than to face Don. He would be embarrassed to see Sharla. He wanted to kill Don.
Martin parked as far from the front exit of Risky Dick’s as he could to stay out of sight and sneak up the back stairs to his apartment. His blood boiled when he saw his mother’s car still parked in the lot. Don’s truck was there, too. “So, does he have her working in the kitchen now? Not only a bed partner, but slave labor.”
Martin slammed his car door hard and then flinched, knowing it might have been heard by Don who watched the bar’s comings and goings carefully. As Martin moved toward the back steps, the back door of the bar, closest to the dumpster, opened and Don came out with a dripping, stinky bag of garbage. Don’s face brightened when he saw Martin.
“Jimmy Olson! Good morning. Missed you at breakfast.”
“Had to get to the office early. Wanted to work on our Talbot strategy.”
Don didn’t seem to notice how terse Martin’s voice sounded. “Hey, that’s right. You kids come up with anything good last night?”
“Not really.” Martin turned to go up the stairs.
“Jean and I talked a lot about this when I drove her home last night.”
Martin grunted. “Yeah, I bet you did.”
“She’s very opinionated, your mother. And quite intuitive. Even after she’s had a few glasses of wine.” Don chuckled as Martin seethed. “I just didn’t feel right letting her drive herself home. Not that she was drunk, mind you, but I don’t think she’s used to drinking much of anything. And I would’ve hated to see her stopped for drunk driving.”
Martin turned his head and peered at Don over his glasses and said snidely, “Very nice of you, Don.”
“No problem, Martin. The bonus is I get to see her again tonight. She was so worried about how she’d get her car back, so when I dropped her off, I promised I’d pick her up late this afternoon, bring her over for supper and then, she can drive her car home.” He tapped the front of his forehead. “Always thinking, right?”
Martin turned around, came down the steps and stood directly in front of Don. “So you just dropped her off?” Really?”
Don’s smile faded. He looked confused and then slightly angry. “Well, what the hell do you think I did? Some investigative reporter you are, Jimmy Olson. Jumping to conclusions with little or no facts. Get your mind out of the gutter. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Don turned his back and started walking back inside the bar, then he turned around and got right back in Martin’s face. “What do you take me for? What do you take your mother for? My God, kid, we’ve been dating for less than two weeks! I’m no prude, but I am a gentleman, and I like your mother’s company and if it becomes more, I’ll let you know.”
Martin stood helpless and mute. Don was almost through the back door when Martin said softly, “I’m sorry, Don.”
Don stopped, stood in the doorway and took a deep breath. “Come for hamburgers tonight with your mom. And bring Sharla. She called this morning, by the way, and wants you to come see her at Wild Bill’s.”

Chapter 36

Dayton Daniels sipped his coffee and stared out the front window of the Chattering Squirrel as he waited for Jeff Howe. Moments after hanging up after talking to Clark Grayson, he picked up the receiver, dialed Jeff and ordered him to meet him. “Something’s happened, and we need to move fast. Meet me at the Squirrel in 10 minutes,” was all he said into the phone before hanging up.

That Jeff was 15 minutes away on a job outside of Webster was of no consequence to Dayton. He knew Howe would go 90 miles an hour to meet him in 10 minutes, as ordered. He knew Jeff was an obedient puppy that would do anything Dayton told him to do. He took another slurp and held the coffee cup under his nose as he closed his eyes and breathed in and then exhaled heavily. “Damn that idiot Lundeen…”

Dayton knew that at some time, Frank Talbot’s perversion would be exposed, but he never imagined it would be by that lame excuse for a newspaper, The Burnett County Sentinel, or their cub reporter, Martin Lundeen. He thought it would just be fodder for town gossip, stories that would finally be shared by young women who had kept their mouths shut for so long. The stories within the tribe would leak into the general population, and people would shake their heads and feign concern, but deep down, wouldn’t care any more about it than Dayton Daniels. He could almost hear the talk after services at St. Bart’s or at the Lady Be Lovely Beauty Salon. “It’s terrible, but thank God he didn’t touch any of the white girls in town.”

Dayton thought back to his last conversation with Jeff about Frank Talbot at Risky Dick’s a couple of weeks ago. An argument, really. While Jeff was pushing for them to finally expose Talbot before he retired and started drawing his pension, Dayton urged caution. “Jeff, think about it,” he said in his most earnest tone. “What would it say to the good people of Siren that for years, the School Board Chair allowed a pervert to continue in his job knowing he was sexually assaulting young female students?” He counted on Jeff’s basic lack of courage, his pride and his ego to swallow the argument without much push back. “You Chair this School Board, Jeff, and you forever will be seen as the bad guy in this scenario.”

But Dayton hadn’t counted on Jeff’s conscience being stronger than his pride and ego. “Dayton, I don’t care. This has gone on long enough, and I won’t have that jerk Talbot sucking at the tit of the school’s pension fund for the rest of his life!”

For years, they had known about Talbot's actions, but did nothing, even though Jeff believed they should. For all those years, Dayton said that they should just turn a blind eye “If it ever comes out, we can pretend we never knew,” he’d say quietly. “Obviously, he has a thing for Indian girls, so white girls aren’t in any real danger.” Comments like this would make Jeff wince, but Dayton knew he’d never protest. For years, Jeff had kept Karen's heritage a secret, either out of habit or deep-seeded bigotry of his own, even though "mixed marriages", as Dayton privately referred to them, were fairly common place in Burnett County. Just making Jeff Howe squirm gave Dayton a secret thrill every time he could get away with saying something that would knock the uppity and sanctimonious Karen Howe off her perch. And he knew Jeff would never say one thing about it.

In recent years, Dayton knew that Jeff felt more and more uncomfortable with their decision to do nothing. “It isn’t right,” he’d say, over and over again. Dayton started pulling every argument out of his back pocket that he thought would sway Jeff into continued silence. “Think about our town and its reputation. Think about the businesses that will go under if it gets out that perverts are teaching our children!” These arguments worked for a while. Dayton knew that when he talked about businesses going under, Jeff would immediately think about the threat to his own thriving business and what would happen if he couldn’t give the snooty Mrs. Howe everything she wanted. And what about Karen’s store? Something like this would be covered by the local and regional press, maybe even national coverage. What if there were no more vacationers coming in to Karen's shop due to the bad press?

Dayton was well aware that Karen had been one of Talbot’s victims, but he never let on to Jeff. He wasn’t even sure that Jeff knew. “Such a dimwit…” But a principled dimwit, as Dayton was coming to realize.

Dayton knew he had to tread carefully when Jeff arrived. He heard the slamming of a truck door outside of the Chattering Squirrel’s big window that faced Highway 35. He opened his eyes and saw Jeff Howe hurry around the front of the truck and toward the door of the small shopping center. He knew that Jeff would jog down the corridor toward the café and enter, breathless.

Dayton sucked in some air between his teeth and braced himself for his final argument with Jeff Howe about Frank Talbot.

Chapter 35

Martin’s heart sank as he watched Clark turn, and heard his footsteps across the old wooden floors toward his office. What had he done now? Martin looked at Shirley who frowned back at him and mouthed, “Dayton Daniels.”
“Dayton Daniels?” Martin whispered back, incredulous. “I left his store less than two minutes ago!” Martin waited a moment to collect his thoughts before facing Clark, and to calm his irritation. “If I didn’t know better,” he whispered again to Shirley, “I’d think that plumber has something to hide.”
“Go!” Shirley whispered back at him. “You’re not going to find out what he’s hiding by standing around here, and Clark appears to be pissed.”
Martin’s irritation quickly grew into anger as he moved through the office. He threw his satchel into his cubical as he passed it on his way to Clark’s office, making a thumping sound on the desk that rattled his lamp and made some of his co-workers lift their heads to see what the commotion was all about. Martin stomped toward Clark’s office, and Grayson was already sitting down in his chair, waiting impatiently for him to enter. “Close the door, Lundeen,” he said. “Pull up a chair.”
Martin pulled one of the side chairs Clark had sitting around a conference table in the large office so it sat across from him at the desk. “So, what’s the problem?” He asked evenly, trying, but failing, to hide his anger.
Clark ignored his attitude and simply asked, “Tell me what happened with Daniels.”
Martin squinted at him and replied, “I stopped at his store on my way to the office this morning to see if I could do a quick interview for my end of the school year feature.”
Clark’s face showed no reaction. “What made you stop this morning? Don’t you think someone as important as Dayton Daniels deserves the courtesy of being asked for an appointment?” Martin looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then back at Clark. “I saw him going into his store as I passed it on the way to work, and I just decided to stop on the spur of the moment. I figured I could at least ask for an appointment for later if he was too busy to talk to me this morning.” Clark’s lack of response infuriated Martin. “It’s called hustle, Clark!” Martin shouted at him. “I was taking some initiative. Since when is that a crime?”
Clark’s mind was reviewing his conversation with Dayton as he listened to the rant coming across his desk. “Settle down, Martin. I’m just trying to understand what set Daniels off about your impromptu visit.” He rubbed his temples with his fingertips and closed his eyes. “So you didn’t demand an interview?”
“Hell, no!” Martin answered. “I just told him what I wanted and let him know I’d be happy to come back if he was too busy. Ask Fran, his receptionist. She saw the whole exchange.”
Clark snorted. “That’s okay, Martin. I don’t need to confirm anything. I believe you.” He got up from his chair and came around the desk. Martin instinctively sat up in his chair and turned to face him. “So, tell me how the conversation went this morning.”
Martin proceeded to recount, word for word, the conversation between himself and Dayton Daniels. When he came to the revelation that Frank Talbot was the featured retiring teacher, he hesitated for moment, but then went on and included the fact that it was at this point in the conversation that Daniels shut down. At the mention of Talbot’s name, Grayson frowned. “Tell me again why you’re including Frank Talbot in this story.”
Martin looked intently at Clark’s face, tried to read something into the question, but saw nothing. “I don’t know. He’s just been teaching a long time and is retiring, and I thought it would add some human interest.” Clark nodded and said, “Hmm, human interest…yeah, that’s’ probably a good call.” He sighed and scratched his head. “That’s it?”
Martin hesitated again. “Yep, that’s the whole conversation.”
“I don’t get it, Martin. What was it about that conversation that made Dayton Daniels get on the phone within seconds of your leaving his store to tell me to tell you to back off?”
The room was quiet except for Clark’s steps as he moved back around his desk and the squeak of his chair as he sat down. He put his hands behind his head, leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “I just don’t get it…”
Martin decided to take a gamble on what was left of Clark’s journalistic integrity. “Clark, what if I told you that, once I started working on this story, I found out something about Frank Talbot that was…uh…unsavory.” Martin wanted to gage Clark’s reaction on this, but wasn’t ready to admit that the story was merely a ruse to expose Talbot. Clark ripped his arms apart from behind his head and sat straight up in his creaky chair.
“Unsavory?” Clark asked quietly, eyebrows raised. “How unsavory?”
“Pretty unsavory. Illegal unsavory. Sexual assault of students unsavory…,” Martin responded.
“And how, exactly, have you come to this conclusion?” Clark asked wearily.
“Well, I was looking through old papers and just noticed some strange things like he was coaching something one week and then relieved of duty the next. Or stories of mysterious assault charges that were dropped or just went away. And then there were some comments from past students I interviewed…”
“Such as?”
“Sharla Whitefeather, for one. He actually tried to rape her. She got away, but quit school rather than face him again. And Karen Howe had the strangest reaction when I brought his name up as being part of the story. Made me think he tried something with her, too.” He deliberately didn’t tell him about Shirley – that was her secret to tell.
“Karen Howe? What the hell does Karen Howe have to do with this?” Clark was clearly exasperated, so Martin quickly continued. “I was interviewing her at her store about gift ideas for graduates, and when she asked about what was being included in the story, I mentioned the tribute to Talbot and she freaked.”
Clark’s face clouded over. “Karen Howe? My God…” He got up from his desk and began pacing behind his desk. “Why Karen Howe? Is he a pervert and an idiot?”
“No, he just likes his victims to be powerless,” Martin replied. Clark turned and looked at him with a confused look on his face. “Clark, most if not all of Talbots’ victims are Native American girls.” Grayson still looked confused. “Karen is part Indian,” Martin explained.
Clark went back to pacing and then stopped again to look at Martin. “And just how did you find out about Karen’s Indian heritage?” he asked, almost accusingly.
“Sharla confirmed it through her Uncle Bill. On the sly, of course, but it’s confirmed.” Now Martin was getting frustrated with his boss, and he stood up for emphasis. “Clark, you are missing the point. This isn’t an important story just because the wife of the big man in town was assaulted by a teacher when she was his student. It’s an important story because he assaulted many nameless, faceless Indian girls and ruined their lives!”
“Now you just hold on, Lundeen,” Clark boomed back. “You don’t decide what makes an important story, I do!”
Martin was fuming, and decided to lay it all out before Clark could shut him down.
“Okay, fine, you want a big story? What if Dayton Daniels and Jeff Howe have known about this little problem for years and chose to cover it up? Does that make it a big enough story for you?”
“Oh, come on, Martin, are you kidding me?” Clark gave a contemptuous little laugh. “Don’t you think they would have fired his ass if they knew about this? Especially if he did to Karen what you think he’s done.”
Martin didn’t respond. He just stood with his arms folded, staring at Clark, who kept pacing for a moment and then stood directly across the desk from him. They glared at each other for a minute, and then Clark fell back into his chair and rocked slowly back and forth. “I guess that would explain why your little visit bothered Mr. Daniels so much this morning.”
Martin sat down. “That’s kind of what I thought.”
They both sat there, lost in thought, Clark with his eyes closed, Martin staring at the ceiling. Then Clark opened his eyes, and sat up in his chair. “How sure are you about this, Martin?”
“Pretty sure. I’m sort of pulling bits and pieces together, will interview Daniels, Howe and Talbot soon and hope to tighten the noose around this situation before the story gets published.”
“And then what?” Clark asked him.
“What do you mean?”
“So you tighten the noose. What’s the objective? Exposing Talbot? The school board?” Clark stopped for a moment and looked hard at Martin. “Martin, do you realize the potential damage you can cause by pursuing this?”
Martin set his jaw and sat straight in his chair. “Are you telling me to stop, Clark?”
“No, I'm not telling you to stop,” Clark answered carefully. “I’m just asking you to think through every step and make sure you achieve the results you want with as little collateral damage as possible.” Clark paused again to let the thought sink in. “What is it you’re really trying to do with this, Martin?”
Martin considered the question for a moment or two, and then responded slowly. “Well, I want justice for the girls he hurt. And I don’t want him to see one dime of a pension. That’s pretty much it.”
“Do you think you can do that without damaging the credibility of the Siren School District and the entire image of Burnett County?”

“I think I can give it my best shot.”

Chapter 34

Dayton Daniels, grim faced and arms crossed, had stood at the front door of the plumbing shop watching Martin pull away before turning slowly around to make his way to the back of the store. He watched as Martin put on his seatbelt and carefully adjusted his mirrors. “Come on, come on,” he thought and in the few short seconds it took him to pull away, considered Martin’s choice for a teacher highlight. “Frank Talbot? There isn’t a person in Burnett County who would consider him worthy of recognition as a teacher, even if he wasn’t…” Dayton stopped his own internal monologue. “Fran, if Lundeen calls for an appointment, I’m not available,” he said in an even voice.
Fran rose from her desk and followed at his heels as he strode to his office in the back. “Dayton! What are you thinking? Why wouldn’t you want a little publicity for this place? You have to talk to him – he wants to talk to you,” she shrilled. It was the same conversation they had in his office when Martin first arrived, Fran trying to coax Dayton out to meet with the Sentinel reporter. It took her twenty minutes to wear him down. She’d tidied everything in his office and filed every free piece of paper in the room while arguing her point. When Dayton finally agreed to go out to the front, he wondered once again about the wisdom of employing the idiot widow of his feckless uncle who his father, Dayton Daniels, Sr., the founder of Daniels Plumbing, carried throughout their years as business partners.
Daniels kept walking, and when he reached his office, he turned around and yelled into her face, “Shut up, Fran!”
He slammed the door in her face and heard her hurrying back to her desk, muttering about his rudeness. He went around his desk, plopped down and picked up the phone. He was in a corner and did what he always did when he needed to take the heat down on a problem. He called Clark Grayson.
“Good morning, Dayton,” Clark boomed into the phone when he picked up immediately upon hearing from Shirley that his biggest advertiser was calling him at 8:45 in the morning. “What can I do for Burnett County’s most successful businessman today?”
Dayton sneered into the phone, willing himself not to ridicule Clark about his transparent ass-kissing. He put up with Grayson’s endless fawning because he needed him. “Hey, Clark, buddy, how are you?” Dayton asked and then talked over him as Clark started to answer. “You know, I don’t mean to complain, but that reporter of yours - Martin Lundeen I think his name was – he just stopped in the store this morning, demanding an interview about the end of the school year. No call, no appointment, no warning. I’m happy to talk to him, but my God, the kid has to realize that we’re running a business here and can’t just drop everything for a piece of fluff for your paper.”
Clark frowned at Dayton's condescension, but also started sweating on the other end of the line. He couldn’t afford to offend Daniels, not his biggest advertiser, not one of the most powerful men in town. “Dayton, I’m sorry. You know these kids. Lundeen’s a go-getter, you know? And young and inexperienced. He just doesn’t know the rules yet," he cajoled in what he hoped was his most soothing voice. "I'll talk to him. I'll set him straight."
Dayton, satisfied, smiled to himself and replied, “It’s okay, Clark. No harm really. We’re just swamped here today, and he was just a little too eager to get his story. It’s never been the Sentinel’s style to have pushy reporters, so it was just a little...off putting. I’m sure you’ll take care of things, get things back on track over there, won't you...” Clark was giving him hurried assurances as he signed off. “Clark, buddy, gotta go. Have a good day.” And he hung up.
Clark looked into his receiver when he heard the click. He wiped the sweat from his brow and hung up the phone. “What the hell was that about?” he thought. He considered what Dayton had just said. Daniels Plumbing was swamped? Clark knew Dayton had a steady stream of business, but never so much that there wasn’t time for friendly conversation or an interview with the paper. And Dayton was always eager to get some recognition for his work on the school board. And since when did Dayton object to fluff in the Sentinel? Clark thought that was what the advertisers wanted, Dayton had as much as told him so on many occasions. “Maybe he and Nancy had a fight this morning, and he's taking it out on the world…”
Whatever was left of his journalistic instinct was feeling that something wasn’t quite right here, and as much as he wanted to keep Dayton happy, he wasn’t going to jump just because a big advertiser told him to jump. Clark was feeling a little feisty this morning himself. He and his wife had a bit of an argument themselves before work, and he’d be damned if one more person was going to tell him what to do.
Clark got up from his desk and moved toward the window to look at the cars in the parking lot. He saw Martin drive up, park his car and get out quickly to rush to the front door. Clark started moving toward the entry way himself to get Martin’s side of the story and settle him down if need be.
“Nope, something just doesn’t feel right here…”

Chapter 33

Martin sat at a table in the Chattering Squirrel, sipping his coffee and calmly tearing small pieces of a piping hot caramel roll and putting them in his mouth. By all outward appearances, he seemed the picture of calm. But inside, he was seething.
Perhaps it was the fact that when he got up that morning and walked to his car, he noticed his mother’s white Ford Taurus still parked in the parking lot.
Or perhaps, it was his vague memory of trying to sloppily kiss Sharla goodnight at the end of the night as he walked her to her car, only to have her put her hand firmly on his chest as he moved in and say, “Sorry Martin, but when you kiss me for the first time, I’d like you to be sober.”
Martin couldn’t decide what bothered him more, but he did know one thing. He couldn’t face Don Wardle knowing he and his mother had spent the night together. That was too much to accept at this point. Even if it meant having pastry for breakfast instead of his usual bacon and eggs.
The aborted kiss was something else. How could he be so stupid? So clumsy? As much as he hated to admit it, Martin wished he had Don’s charm and confidence. He shuddered at the thought of Don using his moves on Jean. “God…disgusting…,” Martin muttered to himself.
Martin finished his caramel roll and coffee, paid his bill, and moved toward the exit of the Squirrel, hustling out before he had to engage in any mindless chit chat with the waitresses. He just wanted to get to the Sentinel office and to his cubicle, find Jeff Howe’s phone number and make an appointment to meet with him and Dayton Daniels as soon as possible to get the plan in motion.
The one traffic light in town turned red just as Martin approached it, so he slammed on his brakes and braced himself because he hadn’t bothered to put on his seatbelt when he left the restaurant. He considered putting the seatbelt on for the last 3 blocks before reaching the office, and as he looked over toward the belt, he caught a glimpse out of his window of a storefront – Daniels Plumbing. He saw Dayton Daniels walk through the front door of his shop, and decided right then and there he was going to go in.
Martin waited impatiently for the stoplight to turn green, and took a quick u-turn to park in front of the store. He wasn’t prepared, but wanted to look like he’d thought this through, so he surveyed the front and back seat of the car and saw yellow legal pad in back with about 3 sheets of paper left on it. He reached his arm back, grabbed what was left of the pad and checked his shirt pocket for a pen. Martin turned off the car, pushed the door open and climbed out quickly to make sure he didn’t miss Daniels.
When he walked through the door, Martin heard the tinkling of a little bell that let people know someone had walked in. He wiped his feet on a mat just inside of the shop and smiled at the woman behind a desk right by the door. She had a round face and bright pink lipstick, and wore a navy blue cardigan over a crisp white shirt that hugged her plump arms and shoulders. By the name plate on her desk, Martin guessed her name was Fran. She smiled up at him as he came up to the desk. “What can I do for you today?” He looked around the store and then back at her and said, “Is Dayton Daniels around?”
Fran’s smile stayed frozen on her face. “Who may I say is asking?” Martin dug in his pocket hoping to find one of his generic business cards, found one crumpled up in his coat pocket, pulled it out, smoothed it on the desk and printed his name on the back. “I’m Martin Lundeen, Burnett County Sentinel. Is Mr. Daniels here?” He added some urgency to his voice, and Fran, who appeared to be awed quite easily by the media, jumped up from her chair, and said as she hurried to the back of the store, “Let me see if he’s busy. Sit down and wait right over there.” She pointed to a set of gray folding chairs lined up by the front window of the store.
Martin sat down and considered Dayton Daniels for a moment. Not as handsome or outgoing as Jeff Howe, he was still very successful, respected and envied, and the straight arrow of the two. Martin knew from gossip he’d heard over the years that it was Dayton who covered Jeff’s butt on more than one occasion, beginning in high school and continuing far into adulthood when the two worked on high profile building projects in the community. Jeff often over-promised, but it was Dayton who always delivered. Jeff would screw up, Dayton would make it right. If anyone knew that Jeff really couldn’t be trusted without Dayton there right by his side, they never said anything because he was so darn likable. And because he talked a little faster and smiled so much wider, everyone pretended that it was Jeff who ran the show. But they all knew it was really Dayton. And Martin often wondered when, if ever, Dayton would just get fed up and reveal Jeff for the fraud he was.
So far, the secret appeared to be pretty safe.

+ + +

Martin sat a full twenty minutes before Dayton Daniels finally made his way from the back of the store to the front, with Fran hurrying behind him. What she was doing back there during the twenty minutes, Martin didn’t know, but she seemed quite concerned that Dayton not miss an opportunity to talk to the member of the press.
“Mr. Daniels, this is Martin Lundeen,” Fran said in a breathy voice. She looked at Martin. “Mr. Daniels will see you now.”
Dayton held out his hand to Martin. “Hello, Martin. Good to see you again. When was the last time we spoke? At the opening of the Black Bear Hotel?”
Martin shook Daniels’ hand and noticed that Dayton squeezed just a little too hard. His hand was sweaty, too, and Martin noticed that he looked a bit pale as he looked into his face before answering. “Yes, it was the hotel opening.”
Daniels didn’t make a move to take Martin somewhere private to talk. He just stood in front of him, arms folded across his chest. “What can I do for you, Martin?”
“Well, I saw you on the street and thought I’d just come in to either talk with you now or set up an appointment in the next few days to talk with you about a story we’re doing on the end of the school year,” Martin explained. Daniels said nothing, but just nodded. Martin continued on in a rushed voice, “I want the school board perspective on several things, the prospects for the senior class, budget issues for next year and reflections on one of the teachers who is retiring.”
The look on Daniels’ face changed just slightly, a little twitch of his right eyebrow. Martin only noticed because he was staring at his face quite intently. “What teacher?” Daniels asked quietly.
“Frank Talbot,” Martin said matter-of-factly. “He’s worked in the district so long, you know? Why I had him for physics myself!” Martin tried to be casual, but felt as if Dayton saw right through him.
Daniels barely moved. He continued to stand, arms crossed, in front of Martin for almost one full minute, without saying a word. Martin considered jumping in with more inane talk, but decided instead that he’d let Daniels make the next move. Finally, Dayton uncrossed his arms and moved toward the front door. “Martin, today isn’t a good day. Why don’t you call Fran here this afternoon, and make an appointment?”
Daniels put his hand on Martin’s shoulder and practically pushed him out the door. Martin tried to speak, but Daniels cut him off. “Call Fran. She’ll see if I have some time later this week.”
Martin got into his car and took a very illegal u-turn in the middle of Siren’s main drag. He quickly drove to the Sentinel office, parked in the last available parking space, walked through the front door and saw Shirley’s troubled face. When he looked over to the entry into the newsroom, he saw Clark Grayson standing, hands on hips, scowling at him.
“Martin, come into my office. We need to have a little talk.”

Chapter 32

It didn’t occur to Martin until just that moment that his mother might be every bit as embarrassed as he was at being caught in the middle of a possible romantic liaison. He noticed that her hair was freshly done, her make-up applied perfectly and her outfit brand new. He looked at his mother and smiled ackwardly. “Hi, Mom. I’m just having dinner with some friends. What are you doing here?”

Jean looked around nervously, peaked around Martin and peered up at him. “Is that Sharla?” she asked in a stage whisper. Martin sighed and nodded, and Jean asked, “Who is the other woman?” Martin leaned closer to his mother and answered her, slightly annoyed, “That’s Shirley Campbell. She works with me at The Sentinel.”

Jean stood up. “Will you introduce them to me?” she asked timidly. At that moment, Martin felt something for his mother he didn't recognize right away - some affection. He rolled his eyes at her. “Of course I’ll introduce you, Mother. Do you think I'm rude?” He put his hand on her shoulder and walked her over to the table where Shirley and Sharla were waiting expectantly.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to two of the best people I know.” He held his hand out to Shirley and said, “This is Shirley Campbell.” Jean moved quickly around the table to face Shirley and held out her hand. “So nice to meet you. I’m Jean Lundeen.” Shirley shook Jean’s hand and smiled at her.

“And this is Sharla Whitefeather,” Martin said, pulling her slightly away from Shirley. Jean gently shook off Martin's hand, turned to Sharla and looked at her face intently. No one said anything for a few moments, and then Jean moved around the table. Jean pulled the empty chair next to Sharla, sat down and took her hands. “You dear girl, I am so happy to finally meet you.” Jean pulled Sharla into an ackward hug and held her tightly. Sharla looked up at Martin over Jean’s shoulder and gave him a little smile. She patted Jean’s back a little, pulled away and took her hands. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Lundeen.” She gave Jean a big smile. “Are you here for dinner? Do you want to join us?”

Martin shook his head violently, but before he could verbally protest, Jean said, “Oh no, I have a date with...Don.” She gave a thrilled little shudder, wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Where is he? He said I should get here at 8:00 p.m.”

As if on cue, the room suddenly filled with Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore”, and Don came out into the dining area, sans apron, with a bouquet of flowers. He walked directly over to Jean, as if no one else was in the room, bent dow so that his face was right next to hers and whispered into her ear, “You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Jean.” She giggled again, and seemed to forget that her grown son was in the room with his two friends. “Oh Don, you are just so sweet. These flowers are beautiful,” she said in a low, almost sexy voice, looking up into his eyes. Martin couldn’t have been more uncomfortable or embarrased as he watched Don take Jean's hand and walk away with her, arm in arm, over to a table in the back corner of the dark restaurant.

Martin watched them, shook his head and then saw that Sharla and Shirley were looking at him with very amused looks on their faces. “Well, Martin, should we get back to work?”

+ + +

Another hour passed and another pitcher of beer was consumed by Martin and Shirley as they discussed with Sharla different rationale for getting the truth out about Talbot and arguing a bit whether it was worth exposing him at all. "He's retiring, he'll be gone in two months, what's the point in damaging the credibility of the entire Burnett County educational system?" Martin asked and instantly regretted it. Sharla shook her head angrily at him, and Shirley punched him in the arm. "I don't believe you, Martin. You're drinking the Clark Grayson Koolaid." He apologized. "I know, I know, we have to make this right for all the people he hurt. But how are we going to do that?" Shirley answered him quietly, "We'll figure it out. I just want him to get what's coming to him." They seemed to be getting nowhere when Don and Jean suddenly appeared at the table. “So,” Don said, “Jean and I have been watching you and think you three need some fresh thinking.”

Sharla and Shirley looked up at them, pleased to have some help, but Martin frowned and snorted. “Fresh thinking…right.”

Jean sat down at the empty seat at the table, and Don pulled up another chair. “Martin, I filled your mother in over dinner on some of the details you've uncovered over the last few weeks." Jean nodded her head quickly as he talked. "We just had an idea or two that we'd like you to consider." Jean piped in, "From the looks of it, you didn't seem to be getting anywhere."

“You two haven't been knee deep in this stuff like we have. How can you possibly help?” Martin asked, somewhat offended and annoyed because he knew they were right.

“Well, maybe a little objectivity is in order,” he replied with a chuckle. “Come on, Jimmy Olson, give us five minutes. If what we have isn't helpful, we'll go back to our table in the back."

Martin looked from Don to Jean to Sharla to Shirley and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, fine, what are you thinking?"

Don and Jean looked at each other as if a bit surprised to be included so easily, and snuggled into each other, he putting his hand on her back and patting her. "Honey, you start."

Jean ignored Martin's look to the ceiling and launched in. "Well, from what Donnie tells me ('Donnie?' Martin thought), this Talbot person likes to do his business in secret and with young girls who won't fight back." Martin looked down from the ceiling and over at Sharla, who nodded back at him. "He can't be proud of what he does. He's probably afraid of getting caught. He doesn't pick fights with strong people, just people he thinks are weak." She sat back, satisfied with herself.

Martin looked at her expectantly. "And? What else?" He was ready to shoo them back to their table, when Don jumped in. "Hold on, Martin. Here's the point. It will probably scare the crap out of him if someone, especially someone in authority, called him on his behavior. He'd hate that more than losing his pension." Jean added, "And I bet he doesn't have a soul who'd defend him, so he probably wouldn't fight back."

The group all hung on Don's next words. "So, you need to change your focus. The issue isn't calling Talbot out on his misdeeds, the issue is doing in a way that gets Talbot what he's got coming with as little fallout as possible for the school district and for you personally. You need to bring the big guns in on this, Martin. You have to talk to Howe and Daniels, and get them to think it's their idea to expose Talbot." Martin squirmed in his seat. "What if they complain to Clark?" he whined. Jean was about to pounce on his lack of bravery. But Don cut in. "Martin, let me ask you a question, do you think Howe and Daniels are going to want anyone to know, especially Clark Grayson, the Editor of the Sentinel, that they've been covering this up for years?"

Shirley looked intently at Don and then over to Martin. "It's not just getting the job done, it's doing it in such a way that everyone looks like a hero except Talbot. Don and Jean are right, your next interviews have to be with Jeff Howe and Dayton Daniels. Do it at the same time, and be vague about the interview so they can't compare notes beforehand. You'll have to use your best acting skills to hide how much you really know."

When Martin filled Don and Jean in on Karen Howe being half Indian and probably one of Talbot’s victims, Jean gasped and Don drummed his fingers on the table and sat forward on his chair. “Do you think Jeff Howe knows about his wife and Talbot? Do you think she would have told him?”

The table was quiet considering the question. “If Jeff did know, how could he not do something about it?” Shirley asked. Then Sharla chimed in, “Especially since he is on the school board.”
Martin nodded. "How can that guy still have a job after everything he's done?"

The table was silent again until Jean said very quietly, “All I know is, if my husband was in a position to punish someone who had hurt me the way you think Frank Talbot hurt Karen Howe, I'd expect him to do it.”