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.”