Chapter 17

As Martin sat at the one of two stoplights in Siren, he looked over at the stack of stories sitting on the passenger seat, and a blank legal pad he grabbed when he left the Sentinel building. He was glad for the few moments while sitting at the red light to think about where he could go to plot out a strategy while killing two hours before heading to St. Bart’s to observe the good Catholics as they made penance for their many sins.

He hesitated when the light turned green. “Left for the Chattering Squirrel for a sandwich and coffee or straight ahead for a beer at the Yellow River Saloon?” he asked himself. The thought of breathing beer breath on his fellow parishioners during Maundy Thursday services sounded tempting, but the quick honk of the horn behind him jolted him into the reality that the Yellow River Saloon would be too dark and loud to get any work done. He made a quick left and made his way toward the open parking lot in front of the Adventures Mall where the Chattering Squirrel was located.

Martin grabbed the file full of stories and the legal pad, checked the front pocket of his shirt for a pen and got out of his car. Just as he slammed his door shut, Karen Howe came out of the mall entrance. Her pale skin showed off dark eyes that were bright and darting, and her short, black bob was tucked behind her ears. Her Eddie Bauer jeans fit well on her petite body, and her bright pink chenille turtleneck sweater highlighted the blush in her cheeks. While she was cute enough, Martin wondered how she snagged the ruggedly handsome Jeff Howe.

“Hi, Mrs. Howe,” Martin said before remembering he had never really met Karen, but only knew her because she was Jeff’s wife, and Jeff and all his business and community dealings had been covered ad nauseum by the Sentinel. He’d seen Karen’s stiff, smiling face standing next to Jeff in more newspaper photos than he could count.

Karen Howe’s face looked dark and confused as she kept moving toward her car and away from Martin. He knew that she had no idea who he was. He moved toward her quickly, stuck out his one available hand while holding on to the load of paper in his other arm and said, “Martin Lundeen, Burnett County Sentinel. We met at the grand opening of the Crooked Lake Lodge.” It amazed him that he could come up with a lie so fast and so convincingly. Martin knew that, as the builder of the Lodge, Jeff Howe and his family would have attended the grand opening. Martin gambled that Karen wouldn’t remember that he himself was still up at Marquette at the time the Lodge opened.

Karen’s face softened, but she kept moving. “Oh, that’s right. Nice to see you again. I read your column all the time in the Sentinel.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, and Martin saw it as an opening. “You doing a little shopping before going to church tonight?” he asked her innocently.

She stopped short and turned to look directly at him. “No, I just closed up my shop for the night. I own Delights from the North Woods,” she responded tightly, with special emphasis on the word ‘own’.

Martin almost cringed that he forgot this little factoid. He knew he was in danger of letting this opportunity slip away and jumped back in quickly, “Oh, that’s right. My mother shops there. It’s a nice store. I’ve been meaning to do a story on it…” For some reason, Martin felt totally comfortable schmoosing this woman, and lying to her, just to get what he wanted. He saw that he had saved the opportunity when Karen smiled broadly at him and said, “Really? A story about Delights? I’d love that! I’ve been wondering why Clark Grayson hasn’t given me any coverage.” She turned and started moving toward her car again.

Now that she mentioned it, Martin wondered as well. The Sentinel seemed to be Jeff Howe’s personal publicity machine, and it was amazing that Clark didn’t throw a little ink Karen’s way. Could be that Clark, and Jeff, just thought of Karen’s retail adventure as nothing but a temporary diversion.

“Well, I’ll call you next week and set up an appointment for an interview,” Martin continued, watching her fumble with her keys at the door of her SUV. “We could meet for coffee or something. I’ll bring my camera, take some pictures…”

“Oh, that would be fantastic,” Karen replied. “Let’s make it for later in the week. That way I can freshen the place up.” Her face was beaming at the prospect as she put the key into the lock. Martin knew that Karen Howe didn’t need the publicity to promote her business. She wanted it for personal validation and to show Burnett County she wasn’t just Jeff’s pretty little wife.

“Well, I’ll call next week,” he said again. “Will I see you at St. Bart’s tonight for services?”

Karen stopped turning the key and looked confused again. “St. Bart’s?” Martin thought he’d made a mistake in assuming that the Howes, being good Catholics, belonged to the largest Catholic Church in Burnett County. But then, Karen nodded, opened the car door and said, “Oh, that’s right, it’s Holy Thursday. Yes, yes, we’ll be there. See you later, Martin.”
Martin watched as Karen climbed up into her steel gray Lincoln Navigator and waved at her as she started it up. He could feel the file slipping out the back of his arm and struggled to catch it. “I hope the Squirrel is still open,” he thought to himself, and pulled the door open to the Mall.

+ + +

The short hall of the Adventures Mall was empty, and all of the shops closed up tight. Though most of the shop windows showed that the stores were open until 8:00 p.m. on Thursday nights, today they all had handmade signs on their doors that said “Closed for Holy Week Observances”. In other words, everyone knew that no one would be shopping on Holy Thursday.

The Chattering Squirrel was open, but empty, and Martin took a seat at the biggest table in the restaurant so that he could spread out and get some work done. He pulled some papers out of the file folder and began reading. Connie, the waitress, came over to the table with a glass of ice water. “Hi, Martin,” she said shyly. Martin looked up from his reading and at the young girl who was ready to take his order. “Connie, how can you be working here? Aren’t you 13 or something?” Martin asked her playfully. “My dad owns the place, Martin. You know that,” she giggled and blushed. “Did you want to order anything? You’ll have to make it kind of fast. Dad wants to close up at 6:30 or so to make it to services.”

“Okay, I’ll make it easy for you,” he grinned at her and quickly looked at the menu. “How about a BLT on toast? With a Coke, please,” Martin said as he closed the menu and tucked it in back of the napkin holder. “Does your dad mind firing up the griddle for that bacon?”

“Nope, don’t worry about it,” she rifled back. “BLT it is,” and headed into the kitchen.

Martin settled in and first reviewed Shirley’s spreadsheet, for the fourth time that day, and then began reading the stories. The cold, emotionless facts on the pages wouldn’t have meant anything to the casual reader, but to Martin, who knew what he was looking for, he saw a trend, and it wasn’t good. As he continued reading, he tried to stay objective, but couldn’t. “I think I’d better think about what I’ll try to accomplish tonight at church,” he mumbled to himself.

Martin knew that the Howes would be at church at 7:00 p.m., and probably Dayton Daniels and his family, too. He wanted to observe them and maybe find an opportunity to reconnect with Karen Howe. Once that was done, he thought he’d casually talk to Jeff about a story he was doing on retiring teachers and if he could call him for a quote from the School Board Chairman. He decided to keep the request vague and conversational, just in case Howe knew about Talbot. Martin suspected that Jeff might avoid talking to him in an official capacity if he knew the questions would be about the predatory teacher.

Connie brought Martin his check at exactly 6:29, and Martin took out his money immediately and gave the young girl a healthy tip. “Thanks, Connie,” he said, “and tell your dad the sandwich was delicious.”