Frank Talbot stood by the windows of his physics classroom, looking out on the student parking lot. The final bell had just rung, and student were streaming out of the building and going to their cars to make their way to after-school jobs or to The Chattering Squirrel to get a snack. "I wonder how many of them are going home to basements of empty houses to engage in God knows what before their parents come home for the day..." Frank thought.
Frank hitched up his Dockers and smoothed his hair with both hands. He looked down at his greasy palms and wiped them on the seat of his pants. He brushed some dandruff from his shoulders, put his hands on his hips and continued to look out the window.
His gaze traveled over the jocks, the beauty queens and the brains, and finally settled on a group of freshmen Indian girls that sat in the grass under the tree. It wasn’t really spring yet, but it was warm for early April, and the sun was out, and they’d taken off their shoes and rolled up their pant to feel the warmth on their legs.
Talbot took in a shallow breath and squinted his eyes to determine which girls in the group were in his classes. He picked out three of the five, and noted that they were not pretty and not very confident. He could tell by the way they picked at the grass and avoided looking at anyone who passed that they were probably weak and wouldn’t resist. “Perfect,” he thought to himself.
He looked at his watch and noted the date. “Only 48 days,” he said to himself. “Only 48 more days…”
Suddenly, Talbot turned from the window and went back to his desk. He pulled out his student lists and noted which of his classes during the day each of the girls was within his influence. He checked their last names to see if he knew their parents from newspaper articles or school board meetings. He wondered how close they were as friends and if they would talk to each other. “I’ll have to think of a way to keep them from comparing notes,” he thought. Usually time worked to his advantage. Time that would allow for excused absences, truancy or dropping out. But he only had 48 days.
His thoughts turned to the Siren School Board and Jeff Howe. “Damn that asshole,” Frank thought. “How dare he demand that I retire?”
Actually, Jeff only suggested that Talbot might like to retire, stating he was of retirement age and the district needed to downsize. But in Talbot’s mind, it was a demand, close to a veiled threat. “But how did Howe know?” he wondered. “Unless that arrogant little bitch of a wife of his told him.”
Talbot thought back to his early missteps and began to pace. He remembered back to his early days of teaching when he didn't plan his moves, didn't do his homework, before he learned he had to be careful. He moved from the desk to the chalkboard, clapped two erasers three times, moved back to the window and then back to his desk. “What would she have told him, though?” he said out loud. “Nothing happened…nothing much.”
He thought back 24 years to when Karen was a freshman at Siren High, and he carelessly took an opportunity. He tried, he came so close, but Karen worked her way out of his grasp, pulled her ripped shirt back on and ran out the door. It was about two weeks later that he discovered Karen had a very wealthy and powerful father who asked no questions when she begged to go to a private boarding school in Milwaukee. Karen came back to Burnett County after graduating from Northwestern University and after marrying Jeff Howe, who continued to pursue her even though she was educated over the years in locations that were hundreds of miles away.
The first and last time Frank saw Karen Howe after that incident was at a school board reception for the new superintendent six years ago. She acted as if he didn’t even exist.
“What an arrogant little bitch…”
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Chapter 27
Martin backed his Mazda out of the Adventures Mall parking lot and headed back to the Sentinel office. “Man oh man, what was that woman’s problem?” Sam asked. “What the heck did you say to her anyway when you two were back in her office? Did you make a pass at her or something?”
Martin frowned and shot a quick glance at him. “Yeah, right. No, Sam, I didn’t do or say anything. One minute I was telling her about the series, the next minute, she’s too busy to talk to us anymore.” Irritated, he honked at a driver that cut him off. “Did you get anything good during the fifteen minutes we were talking in the office?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I got a few things. She shouldn’t have given me a map of the store with that stupid list.” They both started laughing. “I’ll dump the pictures on my computer and send them to you. Or do you want to see them right away?”
Martin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got an errand to run.” He pulled into the Sentinel parking lot and said to Sam, “If anyone asks, I’ll be back around 3:00 p.m.”
+ + +
It took Martin about 3 minutes to get to Wild Bill’s. He had to talk to Sharla and get her read on his conversation with Karen Howe.
There was no one in the store when Martin walked through the door to Wild Bill’s. Even Sharla wasn’t behind the counter. He drummed his fingers on the cash register and tried to make some noise to let someone know he was there. “Hello, is anyone here? Sharla?” he called, stepping around the counter to peer down the short aisles that led to the back office.
“Hang on, hang on, I’ll be right there,” her voice came back muffled from the farthest corner of the store. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Martin heard her tennis shoe footsteps hurrying down one of the aisles up to the front. “Oh, Martin, it’s you!” she said in perhaps the happiest voice Martin had ever heard. She clapped her hands and said, “I am so happy to see you!” Her obvious delight made him completely forget thinking he shouldn’t see her for a while.
Martin smiled at her and replied, “Well, it’s really good to see you, too. I’ve missed you…” He couldn’t believe he said exactly what he was feeling, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sharla looked down and then peeked up at him through her bangs and smiled back at him. “So, are you buying your usual two and a half gallons of gas today?”
Martin laughed out loud. “No, I just came here to see you, Sharla, and get your thoughts on something related to my story about Frank Talbot.”
Sharla’s face instantly got serious. “Really? What have you found out?”
“Well, I’m not sure, and that’s why I wanted to talk with you,” he said. “I went over to interview Karen Howe today at Delights of the North Woods…”
Sharla interrupted him. “Oh, that is such a nice store.”
Martin hesitated and laughed again. “Yes, yes it is a nice store, Sharla. But during the interview, things got a little weird.” He explained his idea for the series, how Karen and the store figured into the series, and his plan to corner Talbot. “Things were going along great. I asked her some questions about the shop and told her how her story fit with the others in the series. I mentioned Talbot being part of the series as a long time teacher who is retiring, and she just clammed up. It was like I hit her in the stomach.”
Sharla frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Well let’s see, here. Maybe she had friends that were assaulted by him, or maybe she…” A sudden look of realization came over Sharla’s face. “Wait a minute, do you think she was one of the girls he abused?”
“That’s thought crossed my mind,” Martin answered. “Let me ask you, is Karen part Indian?”
“Karen Howe?” Sharla practically shouted her name. “Oh, I don’t think so, unless…” She stopped mid-sentence, thought for a moment and then took off for the office in the back. “Hang on, Martin. I’m going to check something.” She came back a few minutes later with a business card. “Let me make a quick call,” she said and picked up the phone from behind the counter.
Martin started to get nervous. “Now wait a minute, Sharla, who are you calling? We can’t just let this whole thing get out.”
Sharla shook her head at him and poked him in the arm. “I’m calling Uncle Bill. I’ll make something up about why I’m asking and he won’t think twice about. Just trust me. He’s got so many other things to worry about right now.” She winked at him from behind her bangs. She looked down at the business card and began dialing. “He’s meeting with an accountant today. He needs help straightening out the mess created by that white woman.”
The store was silent for a moment as Sharla waited for someone on the other end of the line to answer her call. “Hello, I’m looking for Bill Whitefeather. Is he there?” She nodded and said, “I’ll hold.”
Martin still felt a little panicked. “How…?” he began as Sharla continued to hold, and she held up her finger and held it to her lips.
“Hi, Uncle Bill. It’s Sharla,” she said into the receiver. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sitting here with a couple of ‘customers’, and they’ve got a bet going.” She paused as Bill probably grumbled about being bothered. “I know, Uncle Bill, but they won’t leave me alone until I find the answer, and I know you’ll know the answer that will settle their bet.” She laughed and nodded, and then said, “Okay, here’s what they want to know. Is Jeff Howe’s wife part Indian?”
Sharla put her head down and listened intently to the voice coming through the receiver. It seemed like forever until she nodded her head and said, “Okay, thanks Uncle Bill." And then, to the phantom customers, loud enough for Bill to hear, "Hey, Buddy, you win the bet!” When she hung up the phone, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled at him with a self satisfied grin. “Well, you won’t believe it, but yes, Karen Howe is half Indian.”
+ + +
Bill Whitefeather, as a leader in the tribal community, knew the lineage of every Native American in Burnett County. And as such, he knew that Karen Howe’s mother was indeed a full blooded Indian. Karen’s father, who came from a wealthy and influential family, broke with convention and married her anyway. And Karen, as their daughter, overcame the normal prejudice that permeated Burnett County when she was a young girl because she was part of that wealthy and influential family but also, because she was pretty and accomplished. And over time, and certainly by the time Jeff Howe started dating her, it was pretty much forgotten that she had 50% Indian blood pumping through her veins.
Martin looked at Sharla in amazement. “I’m not sure I like it that you can lie so easily,” he teased her. Sharla laughed. “Oh, it was just a little white lie. And Uncle Bill won’t even remember that I asked him.” She stopped laughing and became very serious.
“So, do you think he could have assaulted Karen, too?” Martin asked Sharla carefully.
“Martin, I think he’s capable of doing anything as long as he thinks he can get away with it.”
Martin frowned and shot a quick glance at him. “Yeah, right. No, Sam, I didn’t do or say anything. One minute I was telling her about the series, the next minute, she’s too busy to talk to us anymore.” Irritated, he honked at a driver that cut him off. “Did you get anything good during the fifteen minutes we were talking in the office?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I got a few things. She shouldn’t have given me a map of the store with that stupid list.” They both started laughing. “I’ll dump the pictures on my computer and send them to you. Or do you want to see them right away?”
Martin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got an errand to run.” He pulled into the Sentinel parking lot and said to Sam, “If anyone asks, I’ll be back around 3:00 p.m.”
+ + +
It took Martin about 3 minutes to get to Wild Bill’s. He had to talk to Sharla and get her read on his conversation with Karen Howe.
There was no one in the store when Martin walked through the door to Wild Bill’s. Even Sharla wasn’t behind the counter. He drummed his fingers on the cash register and tried to make some noise to let someone know he was there. “Hello, is anyone here? Sharla?” he called, stepping around the counter to peer down the short aisles that led to the back office.
“Hang on, hang on, I’ll be right there,” her voice came back muffled from the farthest corner of the store. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Martin heard her tennis shoe footsteps hurrying down one of the aisles up to the front. “Oh, Martin, it’s you!” she said in perhaps the happiest voice Martin had ever heard. She clapped her hands and said, “I am so happy to see you!” Her obvious delight made him completely forget thinking he shouldn’t see her for a while.
Martin smiled at her and replied, “Well, it’s really good to see you, too. I’ve missed you…” He couldn’t believe he said exactly what he was feeling, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sharla looked down and then peeked up at him through her bangs and smiled back at him. “So, are you buying your usual two and a half gallons of gas today?”
Martin laughed out loud. “No, I just came here to see you, Sharla, and get your thoughts on something related to my story about Frank Talbot.”
Sharla’s face instantly got serious. “Really? What have you found out?”
“Well, I’m not sure, and that’s why I wanted to talk with you,” he said. “I went over to interview Karen Howe today at Delights of the North Woods…”
Sharla interrupted him. “Oh, that is such a nice store.”
Martin hesitated and laughed again. “Yes, yes it is a nice store, Sharla. But during the interview, things got a little weird.” He explained his idea for the series, how Karen and the store figured into the series, and his plan to corner Talbot. “Things were going along great. I asked her some questions about the shop and told her how her story fit with the others in the series. I mentioned Talbot being part of the series as a long time teacher who is retiring, and she just clammed up. It was like I hit her in the stomach.”
Sharla frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Well let’s see, here. Maybe she had friends that were assaulted by him, or maybe she…” A sudden look of realization came over Sharla’s face. “Wait a minute, do you think she was one of the girls he abused?”
“That’s thought crossed my mind,” Martin answered. “Let me ask you, is Karen part Indian?”
“Karen Howe?” Sharla practically shouted her name. “Oh, I don’t think so, unless…” She stopped mid-sentence, thought for a moment and then took off for the office in the back. “Hang on, Martin. I’m going to check something.” She came back a few minutes later with a business card. “Let me make a quick call,” she said and picked up the phone from behind the counter.
Martin started to get nervous. “Now wait a minute, Sharla, who are you calling? We can’t just let this whole thing get out.”
Sharla shook her head at him and poked him in the arm. “I’m calling Uncle Bill. I’ll make something up about why I’m asking and he won’t think twice about. Just trust me. He’s got so many other things to worry about right now.” She winked at him from behind her bangs. She looked down at the business card and began dialing. “He’s meeting with an accountant today. He needs help straightening out the mess created by that white woman.”
The store was silent for a moment as Sharla waited for someone on the other end of the line to answer her call. “Hello, I’m looking for Bill Whitefeather. Is he there?” She nodded and said, “I’ll hold.”
Martin still felt a little panicked. “How…?” he began as Sharla continued to hold, and she held up her finger and held it to her lips.
“Hi, Uncle Bill. It’s Sharla,” she said into the receiver. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sitting here with a couple of ‘customers’, and they’ve got a bet going.” She paused as Bill probably grumbled about being bothered. “I know, Uncle Bill, but they won’t leave me alone until I find the answer, and I know you’ll know the answer that will settle their bet.” She laughed and nodded, and then said, “Okay, here’s what they want to know. Is Jeff Howe’s wife part Indian?”
Sharla put her head down and listened intently to the voice coming through the receiver. It seemed like forever until she nodded her head and said, “Okay, thanks Uncle Bill." And then, to the phantom customers, loud enough for Bill to hear, "Hey, Buddy, you win the bet!” When she hung up the phone, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled at him with a self satisfied grin. “Well, you won’t believe it, but yes, Karen Howe is half Indian.”
+ + +
Bill Whitefeather, as a leader in the tribal community, knew the lineage of every Native American in Burnett County. And as such, he knew that Karen Howe’s mother was indeed a full blooded Indian. Karen’s father, who came from a wealthy and influential family, broke with convention and married her anyway. And Karen, as their daughter, overcame the normal prejudice that permeated Burnett County when she was a young girl because she was part of that wealthy and influential family but also, because she was pretty and accomplished. And over time, and certainly by the time Jeff Howe started dating her, it was pretty much forgotten that she had 50% Indian blood pumping through her veins.
Martin looked at Sharla in amazement. “I’m not sure I like it that you can lie so easily,” he teased her. Sharla laughed. “Oh, it was just a little white lie. And Uncle Bill won’t even remember that I asked him.” She stopped laughing and became very serious.
“So, do you think he could have assaulted Karen, too?” Martin asked Sharla carefully.
“Martin, I think he’s capable of doing anything as long as he thinks he can get away with it.”
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Chapter 26
As Martin and Sam made their way down the short hall to Delights of the North Woods, Martin smelled cinnamon coming from the store. The windows were beautiful, completely re-done, and all the displays inside the store looked fresh and new. Karen herself stood behind the counter in a brand new outfit, her hair and make-up perfect.
She came from behind the counter when she saw Martin and Sam enter the store. “Gentlemen, welcome,” she said to them with a false note of gaiety in her voice. “I am so happy to have you visit Delights of the North Woods.”
Karen crossed the floor to first shake hands with Martin. “Martin, such a pleasure to see you again.” She looked over at Sam and moved to shake his hand as well. “Hello, I’m Karen Howe. I own Delights of the North Woods.” She shook Sam’s hand and looked him square in the face as he responded, visibly flustered, “Sam Jackson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Howe.”
Martin jumped in, “Sam’s our photographer. He’ll be taking some pictures of your beautiful new windows and displays.”
Karen seemed to glow she was so pleased. “Oh that would be just wonderful,” she enthused. “Where should we start?”
Martin glanced over at Sam. “Why don’t you take some photos while I ask Karen some questions?” Sam nodded and made his way to the front of the store. Karen looked after him as he moved away and got another look of panic on her face. “Shouldn’t we stay with him?” she asked Martin. “What if he takes pictures of the wrong things?”
Martin looked at her. “Wrong things? I think everything in your store is great.”
Karen shook her head. “No, no, no. He should take pictures of things that would make good grad gifts.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Martin. “Isn’t that what your story is about?”
Martin was surprised at how confrontational Karen seemed. “Well yes, of course.” His eyes followed Sam as he walked away. “Sam, hold up. Karen wants to point out some things that are particularly good for grad gifts.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Karen. “Okay. What do you suggest, Ms. Howe?”
Karen pulled a list she’d prepared out of the back pocket of her slacks. “Here are some shots that I think would be good for your story.” She handed the list to Sam and went over where each item was located in the store. “Can you figure this out, Sam?” She smiled at him sweetly and patted him lightly on the shoulder. Sam looked at Martin and then back to Karen. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good! Now Martin, let’s go back to my office, and you can ask me your questions.” She moved past him and led the way to the back of the store. Martin glanced back at Sam who was watching Karen hurry away. They both shrugged their shoulders and went to their assigned tasks.
+ + +
The cinnamon fragrance Martin and Sam smelled as they entered the store was coming from Karen’s office. She was simmering some potpourri in a tiny crock pot on her desk, and Martin realized it was a strategic move to create ambience in the store.
Karen motioned Martin to sit down in a flowered over-stuffed chair that sat in the corner of the small office. The chair was so soft and worn, Martin sank into the cushion and his knees were pratically to his chin. Hand embroidered sayings were framed on the wall's throughout the office, uplifting and spiritual sayings that Martin felt sure inspired Karen Howe daily. Karen’s antique mahogany desk and surrounding shelves were filled with photos of her accomplished and beautiful daughters. Martin noticed that there wasn’t one single photo of Jeff Howe in the close to 40 framed photographs in the office.
“So, why don’t you ask me your questions,” Karen directed.
“Okay, let’s start with how you came up with the idea for the store, how long you’ve been open, you know, the story of how Delights of the North Woods was born.”
Karen launched into a 10-minute passionate history of her beloved shop, how it was her lifelong dream that began when she was a little girl who liked “playing store” with her friends. Her dream became a reality six years before when friends and family invested in her and the store. “I really felt that Siren deserved a first class shopping experience for all the moments in life that require a very special gift. Thankfully, I had many people who believed in me.” She smiled a self-satisfied smile and folded her arms across her chest.
Martin smiled back at her. “That is really lovely, Karen. So what do you see as trends in graduation gift giving?”
Karen looked off thoughtfully and then returned her gaze to Martin. “Journals are very popular. We have some lovely leather journals with pens that make a wonderful graduation gift. You know, something for young people to capture their thoughts and ideas as they embark on their new adventures.”
Martin nodded. “Other ideas?”
Karen sighed. “Well, of course! Candles, photo frames, photo albums. We also have scrap booking materials. What graduate wouldn’t love to document their journey with a lovely scrapbook?”
Martin pressed. “What about those graduates who just want cash? Why should someone get them a gift if they just want cash?" Karen got up from her chair and stood over Martin. “Well, cash is so crass. It doesn’t create a lovely memory. It will be spent on…well, who knows what. People need gifts, things to mark the transitions in their lives.” Her voice was raised, and she was getting agitated.
Martin decided to change course to keep things calm. “Okay, Karen, let’s switch gears. Did I tell you how this story will be part of a series on graduation and the end of the school year?”
Karen seemed to be jolted out of her agitation, and she calmed down. “Oh, really? How nice. A series? What will be some of the other stories?”
“Well, I’ll be talking to Carl Olson over at the Lodge at Crooked Lake about prom plans. And Jan Prestrud about prom dresses. Kyle Johanson about college finances. You know, all aspects of the end of high school.”
Karen’s face brightened, and she seemed to be getting more relaxed. “This sounds just wonderful! What else?”
Martin warmed to the conversation. “Well, we’re also doing a piece that honors a teacher who is retiring after more than 30 years of service.” Before Karen could ask the teacher’s name, Martin said, “Frank Talbot. He is the focus of that story.”
Karen face froze, and she stared at Martin. “Frank Talbot?” she said weakly.
Martin looked at her face and noticed for the first time the chiseled features, the high cheek bones, the straight black hair, the dark eyes. “Did you ever have Frank Talbot for a teacher, Karen?”
Karen didn’t answer Martin. She just stood up and said quietly, “I think we should go out and see how Sam is doing, Martin.” And as she walked out of the office, Martin knew that Karen Howe had been one of Frank Talbot’s victims.
She came from behind the counter when she saw Martin and Sam enter the store. “Gentlemen, welcome,” she said to them with a false note of gaiety in her voice. “I am so happy to have you visit Delights of the North Woods.”
Karen crossed the floor to first shake hands with Martin. “Martin, such a pleasure to see you again.” She looked over at Sam and moved to shake his hand as well. “Hello, I’m Karen Howe. I own Delights of the North Woods.” She shook Sam’s hand and looked him square in the face as he responded, visibly flustered, “Sam Jackson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Howe.”
Martin jumped in, “Sam’s our photographer. He’ll be taking some pictures of your beautiful new windows and displays.”
Karen seemed to glow she was so pleased. “Oh that would be just wonderful,” she enthused. “Where should we start?”
Martin glanced over at Sam. “Why don’t you take some photos while I ask Karen some questions?” Sam nodded and made his way to the front of the store. Karen looked after him as he moved away and got another look of panic on her face. “Shouldn’t we stay with him?” she asked Martin. “What if he takes pictures of the wrong things?”
Martin looked at her. “Wrong things? I think everything in your store is great.”
Karen shook her head. “No, no, no. He should take pictures of things that would make good grad gifts.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Martin. “Isn’t that what your story is about?”
Martin was surprised at how confrontational Karen seemed. “Well yes, of course.” His eyes followed Sam as he walked away. “Sam, hold up. Karen wants to point out some things that are particularly good for grad gifts.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Karen. “Okay. What do you suggest, Ms. Howe?”
Karen pulled a list she’d prepared out of the back pocket of her slacks. “Here are some shots that I think would be good for your story.” She handed the list to Sam and went over where each item was located in the store. “Can you figure this out, Sam?” She smiled at him sweetly and patted him lightly on the shoulder. Sam looked at Martin and then back to Karen. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good! Now Martin, let’s go back to my office, and you can ask me your questions.” She moved past him and led the way to the back of the store. Martin glanced back at Sam who was watching Karen hurry away. They both shrugged their shoulders and went to their assigned tasks.
+ + +
The cinnamon fragrance Martin and Sam smelled as they entered the store was coming from Karen’s office. She was simmering some potpourri in a tiny crock pot on her desk, and Martin realized it was a strategic move to create ambience in the store.
Karen motioned Martin to sit down in a flowered over-stuffed chair that sat in the corner of the small office. The chair was so soft and worn, Martin sank into the cushion and his knees were pratically to his chin. Hand embroidered sayings were framed on the wall's throughout the office, uplifting and spiritual sayings that Martin felt sure inspired Karen Howe daily. Karen’s antique mahogany desk and surrounding shelves were filled with photos of her accomplished and beautiful daughters. Martin noticed that there wasn’t one single photo of Jeff Howe in the close to 40 framed photographs in the office.
“So, why don’t you ask me your questions,” Karen directed.
“Okay, let’s start with how you came up with the idea for the store, how long you’ve been open, you know, the story of how Delights of the North Woods was born.”
Karen launched into a 10-minute passionate history of her beloved shop, how it was her lifelong dream that began when she was a little girl who liked “playing store” with her friends. Her dream became a reality six years before when friends and family invested in her and the store. “I really felt that Siren deserved a first class shopping experience for all the moments in life that require a very special gift. Thankfully, I had many people who believed in me.” She smiled a self-satisfied smile and folded her arms across her chest.
Martin smiled back at her. “That is really lovely, Karen. So what do you see as trends in graduation gift giving?”
Karen looked off thoughtfully and then returned her gaze to Martin. “Journals are very popular. We have some lovely leather journals with pens that make a wonderful graduation gift. You know, something for young people to capture their thoughts and ideas as they embark on their new adventures.”
Martin nodded. “Other ideas?”
Karen sighed. “Well, of course! Candles, photo frames, photo albums. We also have scrap booking materials. What graduate wouldn’t love to document their journey with a lovely scrapbook?”
Martin pressed. “What about those graduates who just want cash? Why should someone get them a gift if they just want cash?" Karen got up from her chair and stood over Martin. “Well, cash is so crass. It doesn’t create a lovely memory. It will be spent on…well, who knows what. People need gifts, things to mark the transitions in their lives.” Her voice was raised, and she was getting agitated.
Martin decided to change course to keep things calm. “Okay, Karen, let’s switch gears. Did I tell you how this story will be part of a series on graduation and the end of the school year?”
Karen seemed to be jolted out of her agitation, and she calmed down. “Oh, really? How nice. A series? What will be some of the other stories?”
“Well, I’ll be talking to Carl Olson over at the Lodge at Crooked Lake about prom plans. And Jan Prestrud about prom dresses. Kyle Johanson about college finances. You know, all aspects of the end of high school.”
Karen’s face brightened, and she seemed to be getting more relaxed. “This sounds just wonderful! What else?”
Martin warmed to the conversation. “Well, we’re also doing a piece that honors a teacher who is retiring after more than 30 years of service.” Before Karen could ask the teacher’s name, Martin said, “Frank Talbot. He is the focus of that story.”
Karen face froze, and she stared at Martin. “Frank Talbot?” she said weakly.
Martin looked at her face and noticed for the first time the chiseled features, the high cheek bones, the straight black hair, the dark eyes. “Did you ever have Frank Talbot for a teacher, Karen?”
Karen didn’t answer Martin. She just stood up and said quietly, “I think we should go out and see how Sam is doing, Martin.” And as she walked out of the office, Martin knew that Karen Howe had been one of Frank Talbot’s victims.
Chapter 25
Martin and Sam were just out of the Sentinel building and heading toward the Mazda when Martin had a thought. “Just a minute, Sam,” he said, stopping dead in his tracks. “Karen Howe told me that if ever I was going to do a story on the store, I should give her some notice. Maybe I should give her a call before we take off.”
“Marty, you think way too much,” Sam said. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Sam, I’ll buy you your lunch,” Martin said as he turned to go back into the building. “Just give me a second to give her a call.” Sam gave a loud dramatic sigh, and kept moving toward the Mazda.
Martin pulled the door back open and came back into the Sentinel reception area. Shirley Campbell was sitting at her desk, talking into the mouthpiece of her headset. It was obvious that the caller was none too pleased about something, and Shirley could barely get a word in edgewise.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooksy, I do know…yes, I do know how frustrating…you are absolutely right…awful having to go out to the middle of the yard…yes, I heard you…in your bathrobe…and the paper was soaked.” Shirley looked at Martin as he walked through the door, and rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Cooksy, please calm down. I’ll put you through to Lars Larson.”
After passing off Mrs. Cooksy to an unsuspecting Lars, Shirley ripped the headset off and threw it onto her desk. “My God, Martin, you’d think it killed her to walk outside in her robe!”
Martin chuckled and walked toward her desk. “How would you like to do me a quick favor to take your mind off of Mrs. Cooksy?” he asked her. “Can you find the phone number for Delights from the North Woods? I need to call Karen Howe.”
Shirley pulled her Rolodex towards her and flipped through the cards. “Did I put that under Howe or Delights…?” she said, finally stopping at the Ds. “Well, it isn’t under the Ds so it must be under the Hs…” She moved each card slowly and finally stopped. “Okay, Martin, here’s the number – 702-680-4762.” As Martin scribbled the number down on the new legal pad, she pushed the cards back to the rear of the holder, and pushed the holder back to the corner of her desk and whispered up to him, “What’s up, Martin? Back to straight journalism? Did you give up on the investigative stuff?” She looked up at him with a stern look on her face, challenging him, but hoping he’d say “no”.
“No, no,” he whispered back, trying to reassure her. “Just making sure I don’t get into water that is so hot, Clark pulls me off the project. We’re doing a whole series on end of the school year stuff, graduation, prom, college plans and of course, the tribute to a retiring teacher. I hope to make nice with Karen with an interview on graduation gift giving so that an interview with Jeff Howe might be a little more relaxed and hopefully revealing.” Martin looked into the inner office to see if anyone could hear them, and turned back to Shirley.
Shirley nodded. “Okay, good. Do you want me to call Karen for you and set up the interview?”
“That would be great, Shirley,” Martin replied. “Tell her I’ll be there around 1:30. Make it sound official.”
Shirley snorted. “Okay, Martin. Official it is. Excuse me while I make an appointment for the important journalist, Mr. Martin Lundeen.” She grinned at him, put on her head set and started dialing. “Hello, Karen? Shirley Campbell at the Sentinel…”
+ + +
Martin and Sam parked the Mazda in the parking lot at Adventures Mall and walked in the building through the entry on the east side. Adventures Mall was one long corridor with 10 shops, five on each side. Martin and Sam had to pass Delights from the North Woods to get to the Chattering Squirrel, and Martin thought it would be smart to stick his head in just in case Karen wasn’t up to talking with him that day.
As they came up to Karen’s store, Martin saw her busily rearranging merchandise in the front window. Karen saw him and got a panicked look on her face. “Shirley said you were coming at 1:30!” she yelled from behind the window. “You’re over an hour early!”
Martin shook his head. “We’re going to lunch at the Squirrel. We’ll see you at 1:30.”
Karen’s face softened, and she waved them on. “Enjoy your lunch. See you later,” she said through the window and went back to her rearranging.
Martin and Sam reached the Chattering Squirrel and found business brisk. Only one table was available, right by the kitchen door. Sam moved quickly past Martin to get to the table and sat down. “You’ve got to grab these tables when you can, Marty,” he said urgently. “I’ve waited for over 25 minutes to get a table here at the Squirrel sometimes. Man, do they do a good business.”
Martin glanced around the restaurant and though it was busy, they weren’t in danger of having to wait for anything. He looked at Sam and wondered how the poor guy would handle the hustle and bustle of a real city. Instead of making a snide comment at Sam’s expense, he decided to be kind. “You’re right, Sam. And you know why they do such a good business? Because they make a great sandwich. Let’s order.”
+ + +
Sam was finishing his sandwich and licking his fingers. “Man, that was good pulled pork,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. Martin could see the pork in his teeth, and the BBQ sauce on his chin. He looked away for a moment. “How was your sandwich, Marty?” Sam asked.
Martin looked back at him. “Delicious,” he responded enthusiastically.
Sam rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so what are we doing with Karen Howe and the store?” he asked.
“Well, she’s got the nicest gift shop in town, so I want to include her in the series. Show us ideas for gifts for graduates, you know. Trends in gift giving, that sort of stuff.” Martin felt like he was making it up as he went along.
“That’s good, that’s good,” said Sam. “You’re pretty smart, Marty. I never would have thought of that.”
Martin sat up in his chair. “Thanks, Sam. When we get to Delights, just follow my lead.”
Sam nodded. “But how will you fit this part in with the rest?” he asked. "This seems like a funny place to start the series."
Martin was impressed that Sam could see that interviewing Karen Howe first was probably not that smart. “I’ve got to figure that out, Sam,” Martin answered honestly. “Once we have a few more parts under our belts, it will start to make sense. Can I count on you to work this with me?” Martin asked him.
“You bet, Marty. I’m your guy. Just tell me what you want me to do and when. I’ll be there.”
Martin motioned to Connie for the check. “I appreciate it, Sam. Let me pay for our lunch, and we’ll get to our interview with Ms. Karen Howe.”
“Marty, you think way too much,” Sam said. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Sam, I’ll buy you your lunch,” Martin said as he turned to go back into the building. “Just give me a second to give her a call.” Sam gave a loud dramatic sigh, and kept moving toward the Mazda.
Martin pulled the door back open and came back into the Sentinel reception area. Shirley Campbell was sitting at her desk, talking into the mouthpiece of her headset. It was obvious that the caller was none too pleased about something, and Shirley could barely get a word in edgewise.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooksy, I do know…yes, I do know how frustrating…you are absolutely right…awful having to go out to the middle of the yard…yes, I heard you…in your bathrobe…and the paper was soaked.” Shirley looked at Martin as he walked through the door, and rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Cooksy, please calm down. I’ll put you through to Lars Larson.”
After passing off Mrs. Cooksy to an unsuspecting Lars, Shirley ripped the headset off and threw it onto her desk. “My God, Martin, you’d think it killed her to walk outside in her robe!”
Martin chuckled and walked toward her desk. “How would you like to do me a quick favor to take your mind off of Mrs. Cooksy?” he asked her. “Can you find the phone number for Delights from the North Woods? I need to call Karen Howe.”
Shirley pulled her Rolodex towards her and flipped through the cards. “Did I put that under Howe or Delights…?” she said, finally stopping at the Ds. “Well, it isn’t under the Ds so it must be under the Hs…” She moved each card slowly and finally stopped. “Okay, Martin, here’s the number – 702-680-4762.” As Martin scribbled the number down on the new legal pad, she pushed the cards back to the rear of the holder, and pushed the holder back to the corner of her desk and whispered up to him, “What’s up, Martin? Back to straight journalism? Did you give up on the investigative stuff?” She looked up at him with a stern look on her face, challenging him, but hoping he’d say “no”.
“No, no,” he whispered back, trying to reassure her. “Just making sure I don’t get into water that is so hot, Clark pulls me off the project. We’re doing a whole series on end of the school year stuff, graduation, prom, college plans and of course, the tribute to a retiring teacher. I hope to make nice with Karen with an interview on graduation gift giving so that an interview with Jeff Howe might be a little more relaxed and hopefully revealing.” Martin looked into the inner office to see if anyone could hear them, and turned back to Shirley.
Shirley nodded. “Okay, good. Do you want me to call Karen for you and set up the interview?”
“That would be great, Shirley,” Martin replied. “Tell her I’ll be there around 1:30. Make it sound official.”
Shirley snorted. “Okay, Martin. Official it is. Excuse me while I make an appointment for the important journalist, Mr. Martin Lundeen.” She grinned at him, put on her head set and started dialing. “Hello, Karen? Shirley Campbell at the Sentinel…”
+ + +
Martin and Sam parked the Mazda in the parking lot at Adventures Mall and walked in the building through the entry on the east side. Adventures Mall was one long corridor with 10 shops, five on each side. Martin and Sam had to pass Delights from the North Woods to get to the Chattering Squirrel, and Martin thought it would be smart to stick his head in just in case Karen wasn’t up to talking with him that day.
As they came up to Karen’s store, Martin saw her busily rearranging merchandise in the front window. Karen saw him and got a panicked look on her face. “Shirley said you were coming at 1:30!” she yelled from behind the window. “You’re over an hour early!”
Martin shook his head. “We’re going to lunch at the Squirrel. We’ll see you at 1:30.”
Karen’s face softened, and she waved them on. “Enjoy your lunch. See you later,” she said through the window and went back to her rearranging.
Martin and Sam reached the Chattering Squirrel and found business brisk. Only one table was available, right by the kitchen door. Sam moved quickly past Martin to get to the table and sat down. “You’ve got to grab these tables when you can, Marty,” he said urgently. “I’ve waited for over 25 minutes to get a table here at the Squirrel sometimes. Man, do they do a good business.”
Martin glanced around the restaurant and though it was busy, they weren’t in danger of having to wait for anything. He looked at Sam and wondered how the poor guy would handle the hustle and bustle of a real city. Instead of making a snide comment at Sam’s expense, he decided to be kind. “You’re right, Sam. And you know why they do such a good business? Because they make a great sandwich. Let’s order.”
+ + +
Sam was finishing his sandwich and licking his fingers. “Man, that was good pulled pork,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. Martin could see the pork in his teeth, and the BBQ sauce on his chin. He looked away for a moment. “How was your sandwich, Marty?” Sam asked.
Martin looked back at him. “Delicious,” he responded enthusiastically.
Sam rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so what are we doing with Karen Howe and the store?” he asked.
“Well, she’s got the nicest gift shop in town, so I want to include her in the series. Show us ideas for gifts for graduates, you know. Trends in gift giving, that sort of stuff.” Martin felt like he was making it up as he went along.
“That’s good, that’s good,” said Sam. “You’re pretty smart, Marty. I never would have thought of that.”
Martin sat up in his chair. “Thanks, Sam. When we get to Delights, just follow my lead.”
Sam nodded. “But how will you fit this part in with the rest?” he asked. "This seems like a funny place to start the series."
Martin was impressed that Sam could see that interviewing Karen Howe first was probably not that smart. “I’ve got to figure that out, Sam,” Martin answered honestly. “Once we have a few more parts under our belts, it will start to make sense. Can I count on you to work this with me?” Martin asked him.
“You bet, Marty. I’m your guy. Just tell me what you want me to do and when. I’ll be there.”
Martin motioned to Connie for the check. “I appreciate it, Sam. Let me pay for our lunch, and we’ll get to our interview with Ms. Karen Howe.”
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Chapter 24
When Martin drove into the Sentinel parking lot on Monday, he felt as if it had been weeks since he’d been to the office and months since he’d thought about Talbot and his next steps.
Between fixing up his apartment, spending a lot of time with his mother over the weekend and observing perhaps the most disturbing courtship ritual in history between Don and his mother, he woke that morning with a sense of exhaustion and the uncomfortable feeling that his entire world had shifted.
And then, there was his dream about Sharla on Friday night. Perhaps it was the fact that she had been in his apartment, making his bed and hanging his curtains, that she invaded his subconscious while he slept. His plan to go over to Wild Bill’s on Saturday morning to see if she wanted to catch a bite or see a movie that evening changed abruptly when he woke in a cold sweat early Saturday morning, fresh off a dreamy but erotic encounter that left Martin embarrassed and ashamed to even think about Sharla, much less see her for a while.
So instead, he spent the balance of Saturday reviewing his file on Talbot and plotting his strategy, and then, bracing himself for Easter Sunday with Jean, something he could have left off of his to-do list. The afterglow of Jean’s Good Friday flirtation with Don carried over into Easter Sunday, and her mood was happy, curious and even fun. Not one annoying bit of prying, interfering comment or politically incorrect observance. Easter services were predictably inspiring, brunch at Adventures was pleasant, and an afternoon of cribbage completed the uneventful feast of the resurrection of our Lord. The day was downright enjoyable.
+ + +
Martin was the first person at the Sentinel office, and he was glad for a bit of solitude. He knew that Clark Grayson would come bounding into the office any minute, ready to rally the troops and motivate his staff into post-Easter action. Spring was a big time for journalism in Burnett County. The tourism season was just around the corner, and advertisers would be lining up soon, so editorial had to be relevant and compelling. Graduation, prom, community festivals, grand openings of new vacation properties – God only knew what provocative topics would be gracing the front pages of the Burnett County Sentinel in the next few weeks.
At 10:00 a.m., Clark did indeed sail through the cubicle corral, clapping his hands and shouting in a sing-song voice, “Brainstorming time, people! Conference room, five minutes.” Heads popped up as his voice cracked through the silence, and a few low groans emanated from all corners of the office. Clark didn’t hear them, though. He just strode into his office and slammed the door, rattling the glass walls, and sat down to make a few phone calls before his brainstorming. If the staff had to sit and cool their heels for fifteen minutes, so be it.
Martin came into the conference room about 10 minutes later and sat by Sam Jackson, who was busy doodling on a legal pad. “So, Martin, how was your weekend? Any big dates to report on?” Sam asked and snickered. “Nothing much on my end, Sam. You? Did you finally connect with that girl from Hayward you’ve been stalking?” Martin responded with a straight face, refusing to let Sam Jackson get to him. Sam loved to act like the big stud, but his social life was less exciting than Martin’s. Everyone at the table, including Sam, laughed, but they all looked at Martin a bit differently. Jokes flew around the newsroom constantly, but Martin rarely, if ever, participated.
Before anyone else made a crack, Clark strode into the room with some files under one arm and a large mug filled to the brim with coffee in his hand. As coffee splashed out onto the floor, he pulled the chair at the end away from the table, and sat down with a thud. The chair beneath him scraped the floor as he pulled himself closer to the table. Everyone sat patiently as he took a long, slow slurp of coffee and let out a loud, breathy, satisfied “aaahhh” after swallowing.
“Okay, troops, what new ideas have you come up with for the next six issues?” Clark asked enthusiastically. Martin closed one eye and cocked his head, looking closely at Clark. For the years Martin had worked for the Sentinel, this annual ritual took place, but no new ideas ever came forth. Martin wondered why Clark even bothered to ask.
“The room was silent for a good 90 seconds when Martin said, “Well, I have an idea about a springtime series. Clark, you know I’m doing the story on the retiring teacher…” Clark interrupted, “Frank Talbot, right?” Martin continued quickly, “Yeah, yeah, Frank Talbot. Anyway, I thought I do a whole series on the end of the school year. You know, report on prom, college plans of the popular kids in schools, summer jobs outlook…” He really hadn’t thought the whole thing through, but Martin felt it was important to deflect little attention from his Talbot story by expanding to include more topics. He thought that if he had a lot going on, Clark wouldn’t kill the Talbot story if it got too controversial. It would be part of an entire series, too big to kill.
Clark closed his eyes and stroked his chin dramatically. “Hmmm…I like it. I like it,” he said softly to himself. “But how do we bring in advertisers?” Ronnie Hempel jumped in, “I could sell each segment to a different advertiser. They’ll eat it up!”
The sound of the buzzing around the table grew as everyone chimed in. Martin sat back and listened as they each tried to embellish his idea or make it their own. Once Clark blessed the ideas and gave everyone their marching orders, Martin looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and thought to himself, “Now, on to cornering Frank Talbot…”
+ + +
Martin sat in the conference room for another 20 minutes before going back to his cubicle, head back, eyes closed, thinking. He knew his suggestion for a series was going to mean a lot more work for him over the next six weeks, but he knew that if he worked it right, he could do his interviews, write his stories and nail Frank Talbot all at the same time. “The questions is,” he thought to himself, “where do I start?”
He thought through his story options and how they fit together. The Talbot story was easy. For sure he’d need to interview Jeff Howe and maybe Dayton Daniels, as School Board Chair and Vice Chair, for their quotes on Talbot’s stellar teaching career. There would be other teachers and students to question. Friends, family, neighbors. Perhaps a former student. And then there was the interview of Talbot himself.
If he selected the students for the Talbot story correctly, he could do one interview for several other stories as well. Talbot, prom and graduation party plans could all be worked into one carefully planned interview. Clark would insist on including advertisers in the stories, so he’d have to go talk to Carl Olson, the general Manager of the Lodge at Crooked Lake, which was sure to be the location of the prom. Jan Prestrud, the owner of Jan’s Bridal Shoppe in Siren where many of the girls purchased their prom dresses, would just love a visit from Martin and had been begging him for “a little ink” for months. Karen Howe’s name jumped into his head, and he decided she’d be someone to talk to about finding the perfect graduation gift.And of course, he’d have to talk to Jeremy Brown who owned the tent and party rental shop in Luck. And maybe Kyle Johanson, the president of Sterling Bank in Luck, who could give some insight into financing a college education. Martin decided to schedule a trip to Luck soon. He remembered from combing all the newspapers that Talbot was a resident of Luck.
As the stories started building in his head, Martin suddenly sat up in his chair, stood up quickly and bolted to his cubicle. He decided he needed to write things down and start setting up appointments as soon as possible. He needed a plan, and he needed one right now.
+ + +
By the time Martin finished writing down all his thoughts and developing his plan, it was lunchtime. He looked at his list of potential interviews and decided he’d make Karen Howe first on the list. He peaked out over his cubicle walls to see if Sam Jackson was anywhere in sight. Martin saw Sam’s shaggy head of strawberry blond hair over by the copy machine at the opposite side of the room. “Hey, Sam,” Martin called across the office. Sam turned his head to look at Martin and yelled back, “Whatcha need, Marty?”Martin suppressed an urge to correct Sam on the name. He needed Sam at this very moment to accompany him to the Mall to photograph Karen Howe. “Do you have lunch plans?” Martin shouted. “If you don’t, would you come with me to take some photos at Karen Howe’s shop in the Mall? I’ll buy you a sandwich at the Chattering Squirrel.”
“No plans. I’d love lunch,” Sam shouted back. “Let me go grab my camera.”
“Tell Karen I’ll call her soon to tell her about special ad rates for companies and shops featured in your stories, Martin,” Ronnie Hempel yelled from his cubicle.
“Now that’s good thinking, Hempel!” Clark yelled from behind the closed door of his office.Martin smiled as he collected his tape recorder, a brand new legal pad and several Bic pens. “This could be easier then I thought…”
Between fixing up his apartment, spending a lot of time with his mother over the weekend and observing perhaps the most disturbing courtship ritual in history between Don and his mother, he woke that morning with a sense of exhaustion and the uncomfortable feeling that his entire world had shifted.
And then, there was his dream about Sharla on Friday night. Perhaps it was the fact that she had been in his apartment, making his bed and hanging his curtains, that she invaded his subconscious while he slept. His plan to go over to Wild Bill’s on Saturday morning to see if she wanted to catch a bite or see a movie that evening changed abruptly when he woke in a cold sweat early Saturday morning, fresh off a dreamy but erotic encounter that left Martin embarrassed and ashamed to even think about Sharla, much less see her for a while.
So instead, he spent the balance of Saturday reviewing his file on Talbot and plotting his strategy, and then, bracing himself for Easter Sunday with Jean, something he could have left off of his to-do list. The afterglow of Jean’s Good Friday flirtation with Don carried over into Easter Sunday, and her mood was happy, curious and even fun. Not one annoying bit of prying, interfering comment or politically incorrect observance. Easter services were predictably inspiring, brunch at Adventures was pleasant, and an afternoon of cribbage completed the uneventful feast of the resurrection of our Lord. The day was downright enjoyable.
+ + +
Martin was the first person at the Sentinel office, and he was glad for a bit of solitude. He knew that Clark Grayson would come bounding into the office any minute, ready to rally the troops and motivate his staff into post-Easter action. Spring was a big time for journalism in Burnett County. The tourism season was just around the corner, and advertisers would be lining up soon, so editorial had to be relevant and compelling. Graduation, prom, community festivals, grand openings of new vacation properties – God only knew what provocative topics would be gracing the front pages of the Burnett County Sentinel in the next few weeks.
At 10:00 a.m., Clark did indeed sail through the cubicle corral, clapping his hands and shouting in a sing-song voice, “Brainstorming time, people! Conference room, five minutes.” Heads popped up as his voice cracked through the silence, and a few low groans emanated from all corners of the office. Clark didn’t hear them, though. He just strode into his office and slammed the door, rattling the glass walls, and sat down to make a few phone calls before his brainstorming. If the staff had to sit and cool their heels for fifteen minutes, so be it.
Martin came into the conference room about 10 minutes later and sat by Sam Jackson, who was busy doodling on a legal pad. “So, Martin, how was your weekend? Any big dates to report on?” Sam asked and snickered. “Nothing much on my end, Sam. You? Did you finally connect with that girl from Hayward you’ve been stalking?” Martin responded with a straight face, refusing to let Sam Jackson get to him. Sam loved to act like the big stud, but his social life was less exciting than Martin’s. Everyone at the table, including Sam, laughed, but they all looked at Martin a bit differently. Jokes flew around the newsroom constantly, but Martin rarely, if ever, participated.
Before anyone else made a crack, Clark strode into the room with some files under one arm and a large mug filled to the brim with coffee in his hand. As coffee splashed out onto the floor, he pulled the chair at the end away from the table, and sat down with a thud. The chair beneath him scraped the floor as he pulled himself closer to the table. Everyone sat patiently as he took a long, slow slurp of coffee and let out a loud, breathy, satisfied “aaahhh” after swallowing.
“Okay, troops, what new ideas have you come up with for the next six issues?” Clark asked enthusiastically. Martin closed one eye and cocked his head, looking closely at Clark. For the years Martin had worked for the Sentinel, this annual ritual took place, but no new ideas ever came forth. Martin wondered why Clark even bothered to ask.
“The room was silent for a good 90 seconds when Martin said, “Well, I have an idea about a springtime series. Clark, you know I’m doing the story on the retiring teacher…” Clark interrupted, “Frank Talbot, right?” Martin continued quickly, “Yeah, yeah, Frank Talbot. Anyway, I thought I do a whole series on the end of the school year. You know, report on prom, college plans of the popular kids in schools, summer jobs outlook…” He really hadn’t thought the whole thing through, but Martin felt it was important to deflect little attention from his Talbot story by expanding to include more topics. He thought that if he had a lot going on, Clark wouldn’t kill the Talbot story if it got too controversial. It would be part of an entire series, too big to kill.
Clark closed his eyes and stroked his chin dramatically. “Hmmm…I like it. I like it,” he said softly to himself. “But how do we bring in advertisers?” Ronnie Hempel jumped in, “I could sell each segment to a different advertiser. They’ll eat it up!”
The sound of the buzzing around the table grew as everyone chimed in. Martin sat back and listened as they each tried to embellish his idea or make it their own. Once Clark blessed the ideas and gave everyone their marching orders, Martin looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and thought to himself, “Now, on to cornering Frank Talbot…”
+ + +
Martin sat in the conference room for another 20 minutes before going back to his cubicle, head back, eyes closed, thinking. He knew his suggestion for a series was going to mean a lot more work for him over the next six weeks, but he knew that if he worked it right, he could do his interviews, write his stories and nail Frank Talbot all at the same time. “The questions is,” he thought to himself, “where do I start?”
He thought through his story options and how they fit together. The Talbot story was easy. For sure he’d need to interview Jeff Howe and maybe Dayton Daniels, as School Board Chair and Vice Chair, for their quotes on Talbot’s stellar teaching career. There would be other teachers and students to question. Friends, family, neighbors. Perhaps a former student. And then there was the interview of Talbot himself.
If he selected the students for the Talbot story correctly, he could do one interview for several other stories as well. Talbot, prom and graduation party plans could all be worked into one carefully planned interview. Clark would insist on including advertisers in the stories, so he’d have to go talk to Carl Olson, the general Manager of the Lodge at Crooked Lake, which was sure to be the location of the prom. Jan Prestrud, the owner of Jan’s Bridal Shoppe in Siren where many of the girls purchased their prom dresses, would just love a visit from Martin and had been begging him for “a little ink” for months. Karen Howe’s name jumped into his head, and he decided she’d be someone to talk to about finding the perfect graduation gift.And of course, he’d have to talk to Jeremy Brown who owned the tent and party rental shop in Luck. And maybe Kyle Johanson, the president of Sterling Bank in Luck, who could give some insight into financing a college education. Martin decided to schedule a trip to Luck soon. He remembered from combing all the newspapers that Talbot was a resident of Luck.
As the stories started building in his head, Martin suddenly sat up in his chair, stood up quickly and bolted to his cubicle. He decided he needed to write things down and start setting up appointments as soon as possible. He needed a plan, and he needed one right now.
+ + +
By the time Martin finished writing down all his thoughts and developing his plan, it was lunchtime. He looked at his list of potential interviews and decided he’d make Karen Howe first on the list. He peaked out over his cubicle walls to see if Sam Jackson was anywhere in sight. Martin saw Sam’s shaggy head of strawberry blond hair over by the copy machine at the opposite side of the room. “Hey, Sam,” Martin called across the office. Sam turned his head to look at Martin and yelled back, “Whatcha need, Marty?”Martin suppressed an urge to correct Sam on the name. He needed Sam at this very moment to accompany him to the Mall to photograph Karen Howe. “Do you have lunch plans?” Martin shouted. “If you don’t, would you come with me to take some photos at Karen Howe’s shop in the Mall? I’ll buy you a sandwich at the Chattering Squirrel.”
“No plans. I’d love lunch,” Sam shouted back. “Let me go grab my camera.”
“Tell Karen I’ll call her soon to tell her about special ad rates for companies and shops featured in your stories, Martin,” Ronnie Hempel yelled from his cubicle.
“Now that’s good thinking, Hempel!” Clark yelled from behind the closed door of his office.Martin smiled as he collected his tape recorder, a brand new legal pad and several Bic pens. “This could be easier then I thought…”
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