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…”