It was just before 7:00 p.m. when Martin and Jean arrived at Redeemer Lutheran Church in Webster for Good Friday services. The procession was already in place, but no one buzzed with excitement or moved aside to let them pass into the sanctuary when the Lundeens entered the narthex of the church. On the contrary, Pastor Lars Larson gave an annoyed sigh and grunted at them as they slid past to take their seats.
The church was almost full with parishioners who came from the north side of Burnett County, couples, for the most part, who lived on lakes or acreage in modest homes with their many children. None of the Howe glitz and glamour here. Just good, solid, conservative Lutheran folk.
Redeemer looked like a church is supposed to look – red brick exterior, large stained glass windows, ornate carved wooden altar, pulpit and baptismal fount. Red velvet cushions on the oak pews. Low, inefficient lighting in small candelabra that hovered 15 feet above the congregation. Larson was a popular, but aging pastor who should have retired two years ago, but the church council knew better than to disrupt the serenity of the congregation which liked Pastor Larson just fine and continued to fill the collection plate each Sunday morning. A young assistant pastor had been brought in a year ago to help with the transition for when Larson would ultimately retire, but Pastor Lars held fast and kept control over his reign of the Redeemer Lutheran flock.
Martin’s nose started to twitch as he stifled a sneeze from smelling the perfume worn by the woman sitting in front of him. Before he had a chance to reach for his nose to give it a rub, Jean had a fresh tissue in her hand. Martin took it and gave his nose a wipe. He looked over at his mother to give her a mouthed “thank you”, but her face was straight ahead and her eyes closed. It looked as if she were deep in meditation, but then her mouth crept into a smile, and she gave him a sideways look as she opened one eye a crack and wrinkled her nose. Martin almost laughed out loud.
Jean’s playfulness that began at Risky Dick’s was a refreshing change, but Martin found it unnerving. In all his life, he couldn’t remember ever observing his mother flirt with a man. Not even his father, Archie Lundeen. In fact, when Archie left all those years ago to go hunting, and never returned, his mother never said a word about it.
Martin looked over at his mother as they sang the processional hymn. For the first time, her looked at Jean not as his mother, but as a person. As she sang the verses, he noticed that her skin didn’t have the wrinkles of other 55 year old women. Her hair was full and attractive, if maybe a little too blond. Her wardrobe could use a little help, but Martin was pretty sure that if Oprah came calling to do a make-over, Jean would probably be game to do it.
Jean felt Martin’s eyes on her and she turned her head to look back at him. Her eyes looked amused but curious. “What?” she whispered. Martin smiled and shook his head. “Nothing.”
For the first time in his life, Martin realized his mother was pretty.
+ + +
Martin took his mother home after services, and they made plans to go to the 9:00 a.m. Easter Sunday service. “You don’t have to pick me up, Martin,” Jean said after she gave him a quick hug before getting out of his car when he dropped her off. “I’ll just meet you there around 8:45. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” he called after her as she jumped out of the car, slammed the door and hurried toward the front door, giving him a little wave. “See you Sunday!” he heard her say before she closed and locked her front door.
As he drove back to his apartment, Martin thought about the night, and wondered, again, at the sparks he thought he saw between Don and his mother. It was almost as if Don knew her somehow, like they had met before. But Martin knew that wasn’t possible. One of them would have said something.
Martin was driving into the parking lot by Risky Dick’s when a thought occurred to him. What if Don was playing his mother? What if he was just leading her on? His mother was so naïve, she’d never catch on. Suddenly, Martin’s protective instincts took over, and he decided he needed a beer before retiring for the night.
He threw the gear shift into park, got out of the car, slammed the door of his Mazda a little too hard, marched over to the door of Risky Dick’s, grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open with such force, it hit the wall before closing behind him. He stood in the doorway for a minute, and looked around the room, daring anyone to ask if he had a problem. Then he noticed that all the tablecloths were gone, the candles, the salt and pepper shakers. No Andrea Bocelli on the sound system. Just the regulars huddled over their drinks in various corners of the dark room.
“Did tonight even happen?” he asked himself.
Martin walked over to bar, pulled out a stool, plopped down and waited for Don to appear, which he did in a matter of minutes from the cellar where he was hauling up another keg of beer.
“Martin!” Don said, with obvious delight. “I didn’t expect to see you again tonight. I thought you and your mother…”
“Let’s talk about my mother,” Martin cut him off. “What the hell was going on here tonight?”
Don looked surprised and then frowned. “What do you mean? “
“Well, you do all this stuff, put on the dog, fix the place up, fix yourself up and then flirt with my mom like she’s some sort of…some sort of… babe. For God’s sake, Don, this is my mother!” Martin realized he was almost shouting by the end of his rant, and scowled at the many people who were looking over at their conversation. “Mind your own business!” he shouted at them.
He turned his attention back to Don who was slowly walking around the bar, pulling a bar stool behind him. He sat across from Martin after he pulled them both a Grain Belt.
“I don’t get you, Jimmy Olson,” Don said, shaking his head. “Is it so unusual for someone like me to want to make this place look as nice as possible so that when your mother comes to visit for the first time, she’s impressed rather than breathing down your neck about moving back home?” He took a long sip of his beer, and continued. “And, as for flirting with Jean Lundeen, why the hell shouldn’t I? She’s one beautiful woman and seems to be a lot of fun. Other than raising a son who can be a bit of a prick sometimes, she seems to be quite a capable and interesting woman.”
Martin looked at him, opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped. He saw that Don was looking back at him intently and with a little sadness in his face. Martin realized he’d hurt Don’s feelings. “Don, I’m sorry,” Martin mumbled. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know it even mattered to you that my mother was happy or impressed or anything. I didn’t know you owned the tablecloths and could turn this place into something other than…this.” Martin waved his hand around.
Don shrugged his shoulders. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t own the tablecloths, and I didn’t know until today that this place could be something other than this.” He smiled, reached across the bar and nudged Martin’s shoulder. “For the past year or so, I’ve been toying with the idea of cleaning the place up a bit and making it more respectable. Your mother coming tonight seemed like a good reason to test it out. The surprising treat was finding out how wonderful she is.”
Martin thought back to his realization at church and laughed softly. “I guess I never knew that behind all that annoying motherly behavior was a real person.”
“A real woman, Martin. A real woman.”
Martin shuddered, but nodded. “And Don, I gotta tell you, that pot roast was delicious!”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Chapter 22
While showing Jean his apartment caused Martin some worry, bringing her in to Risky Dick’s caused him major concern. He would have suggested another place, but doing so after she’d made the suggestion would have raised some red flags in Jean’s overly suspicious brain.
As they came around the building and Jean was chattering away about how nice his apartment looked, Martin braced himself for her reaction. He took her hand again and placed it in the crook of his arm, holding her close so she wouldn’t faint once she realized she was having dinner with her son in a place she normally wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Before Martin could put his hand on the door handle, the door swung open, and a man who looked a lot like Don Wardle, only clean, shaved and dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a crisp white shirt, held the door for them. “Good evening, Martin,” he said with mock formality. “And you must be Mrs. Lundeen.” He gave her a low bow, took her free hand, kissed it and said, “Welcome to my restaurant. My name is Don Wardle. I am so pleased to meet you”
Jean blushed and fluttered back to him, “Why Mr. Wardle, how gallant you are. I’m pleased to meet you as well.”
Don rose and held her hand just one second longer before he said, “Please, call me Don.”
Jean dropped her eyes and said shyly, “Well, you can call me Jean.”
Martin realized that he had gone from leading man to bit player in a matter of seconds within this little exchange. Don escorted Jean over to one of the tables at the center of the room, a table that had mysteriously acquired a red and white checked tablecloth, votive candles and cut glass salt and pepper shakers. Martin looked around and saw that the entire place had been transformed. Tableclothes, votives, the works on every table in the room. A sound system Martin didn't know existed played songs from Andre Bocelli's latest CD. The lighting was low, but you could see in most corners of the room. Instead of a seedy dive, Risky Dick's now looked, and felt, like a country bistro. Still rough around the edges, but a place where one could take his mother for a nice dinner. A couple of regulars sat at the bar, but it was clear that Don had told them to behave themselves.
Martin was going to crack a joke about wondering if he was in the wrong place, but saw the glint in Don’s eye and knew that this was all for Jean and ultimately, her continued acceptance of Martin’s independence. Don came over to Martin, slapped him on the back and said, “Come on now, Martin, don’t just stand there. Sit down and let me tell your mother how happy I am to have you as a tenant.”
Martin sat across from his mother, leaving a chair next to her for Don to pull up and join them. “Mrs. Lundeen,” Don said, but halted dramatically, with a staged shyness, “I mean, Jean…” He looked over at her and winked. She giggled and batted her eyelashes. Martin felt ill.
“Jean, I will tell you, you raised one fine young man here,” Don went on, clearly trying to win her over. “Pays his rent on time, keeps decent hours, no funny business with the ladies, if you know what I mean. And don’t think for a minute that his celebrity status at the Sentinel doesn’t add a little cache to the place.” He winked at her again, making her beam with pride as she looked across the table at Martin.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Don,” she said, with a motherly tone. “You know, I tried to get him to move out months and months ago, but he just felt his dear widowed mother needed his help and protection. Finally, I just said, ‘Dear, it’s time for you to leave the nest and soar like the eagle you are.’ I’m just happy that he’s found a new home that’s worthy of him.”
Martin rolled his eyes and wondered if his mother was demented or just being overly dramatic to impress Don, but he felt it better to let her get away with such a blatant lie, if only to keep the tone of the evening so positive. She made him move out? Good God! It didn’t hit him until much later that she referred to herself as a widow. “What was that all about?” he’d ask himself when reflecting on the night the following week.
“Well, Jean, I’m glad he landed here,” Don replied, keeping up the metaphor. “So what would you two like for dinner tonight?”
+ + +
Martin and Jean sat alone at the table as Don left to prepare their meal choices. Instead of the usual burgers and fries, Don had prepared a menu for the day that included walleye (for Catholics) and pot roast (for the Lutheran Lundeens and not-so-Catholic Catholics). The smell of the pot roast was so divine, neither Jean nor Martin could resist. “If we were Catholic, we'd have to confess this one,” Jean whispered conspiratorially to Don. Then she added, coyly, “Just something else to add to the list, I guess.”
“I like your style, Jean,” Don said. “Care to have a glass of wine with your meal and have a little more to confess?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Martin couldn’t help but understand his blatant flirtation. Something in Jean's expression told him that she understood it, too, and was all too happy to play along.
“Martin, what do you think?” she asked him excitedly. “Should we be naughty and each have a glass?” Since Martin had never seen his mother drink anything other than Communion wine, he was too dumb stuck to say anything, so he just nodded. Jean clapped her hands together happily, laughed and said, “Okay, Don, bring us two glasses of your favorite red wine.”
Don winked at her again and said, “At your service, pretty lady,” and he sashayed back to the bar with a little wiggle to his hips.
“What a lovely man,” Jean gushed. “So charming, and kind of cute…,” she trailed off, looking at him pouring the wine behind the bar.
“Cute, Mother? Are you kidding?” Martin’s face showed disgust, and he couldn’t believe he was observing a courtship ritual that involved his mother, of all people. And Don!
He followed her eyes over to the bar. Cleaned up, in that pressed white shirt and dress pants, he did look better than normal. He wasn’t so greasy looking. And his cologne was expensive and subtle, which was surprising. Martin could see how his mother might think he was “cute”, but hearing her say it made him think he was listening to a menopausal high school girl.
“Well, Don is a nice guy…could stand to lose a few pounds, though” Martin said, trying not to sound too negative. Jean cocked her head, as if trying to assess his physique. “You think so? Looks to me that he’s a man who just likes a good meal,” she replied. “I’ll bet he’s a wonderful cook.”
As they came around the building and Jean was chattering away about how nice his apartment looked, Martin braced himself for her reaction. He took her hand again and placed it in the crook of his arm, holding her close so she wouldn’t faint once she realized she was having dinner with her son in a place she normally wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Before Martin could put his hand on the door handle, the door swung open, and a man who looked a lot like Don Wardle, only clean, shaved and dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a crisp white shirt, held the door for them. “Good evening, Martin,” he said with mock formality. “And you must be Mrs. Lundeen.” He gave her a low bow, took her free hand, kissed it and said, “Welcome to my restaurant. My name is Don Wardle. I am so pleased to meet you”
Jean blushed and fluttered back to him, “Why Mr. Wardle, how gallant you are. I’m pleased to meet you as well.”
Don rose and held her hand just one second longer before he said, “Please, call me Don.”
Jean dropped her eyes and said shyly, “Well, you can call me Jean.”
Martin realized that he had gone from leading man to bit player in a matter of seconds within this little exchange. Don escorted Jean over to one of the tables at the center of the room, a table that had mysteriously acquired a red and white checked tablecloth, votive candles and cut glass salt and pepper shakers. Martin looked around and saw that the entire place had been transformed. Tableclothes, votives, the works on every table in the room. A sound system Martin didn't know existed played songs from Andre Bocelli's latest CD. The lighting was low, but you could see in most corners of the room. Instead of a seedy dive, Risky Dick's now looked, and felt, like a country bistro. Still rough around the edges, but a place where one could take his mother for a nice dinner. A couple of regulars sat at the bar, but it was clear that Don had told them to behave themselves.
Martin was going to crack a joke about wondering if he was in the wrong place, but saw the glint in Don’s eye and knew that this was all for Jean and ultimately, her continued acceptance of Martin’s independence. Don came over to Martin, slapped him on the back and said, “Come on now, Martin, don’t just stand there. Sit down and let me tell your mother how happy I am to have you as a tenant.”
Martin sat across from his mother, leaving a chair next to her for Don to pull up and join them. “Mrs. Lundeen,” Don said, but halted dramatically, with a staged shyness, “I mean, Jean…” He looked over at her and winked. She giggled and batted her eyelashes. Martin felt ill.
“Jean, I will tell you, you raised one fine young man here,” Don went on, clearly trying to win her over. “Pays his rent on time, keeps decent hours, no funny business with the ladies, if you know what I mean. And don’t think for a minute that his celebrity status at the Sentinel doesn’t add a little cache to the place.” He winked at her again, making her beam with pride as she looked across the table at Martin.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Don,” she said, with a motherly tone. “You know, I tried to get him to move out months and months ago, but he just felt his dear widowed mother needed his help and protection. Finally, I just said, ‘Dear, it’s time for you to leave the nest and soar like the eagle you are.’ I’m just happy that he’s found a new home that’s worthy of him.”
Martin rolled his eyes and wondered if his mother was demented or just being overly dramatic to impress Don, but he felt it better to let her get away with such a blatant lie, if only to keep the tone of the evening so positive. She made him move out? Good God! It didn’t hit him until much later that she referred to herself as a widow. “What was that all about?” he’d ask himself when reflecting on the night the following week.
“Well, Jean, I’m glad he landed here,” Don replied, keeping up the metaphor. “So what would you two like for dinner tonight?”
+ + +
Martin and Jean sat alone at the table as Don left to prepare their meal choices. Instead of the usual burgers and fries, Don had prepared a menu for the day that included walleye (for Catholics) and pot roast (for the Lutheran Lundeens and not-so-Catholic Catholics). The smell of the pot roast was so divine, neither Jean nor Martin could resist. “If we were Catholic, we'd have to confess this one,” Jean whispered conspiratorially to Don. Then she added, coyly, “Just something else to add to the list, I guess.”
“I like your style, Jean,” Don said. “Care to have a glass of wine with your meal and have a little more to confess?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Martin couldn’t help but understand his blatant flirtation. Something in Jean's expression told him that she understood it, too, and was all too happy to play along.
“Martin, what do you think?” she asked him excitedly. “Should we be naughty and each have a glass?” Since Martin had never seen his mother drink anything other than Communion wine, he was too dumb stuck to say anything, so he just nodded. Jean clapped her hands together happily, laughed and said, “Okay, Don, bring us two glasses of your favorite red wine.”
Don winked at her again and said, “At your service, pretty lady,” and he sashayed back to the bar with a little wiggle to his hips.
“What a lovely man,” Jean gushed. “So charming, and kind of cute…,” she trailed off, looking at him pouring the wine behind the bar.
“Cute, Mother? Are you kidding?” Martin’s face showed disgust, and he couldn’t believe he was observing a courtship ritual that involved his mother, of all people. And Don!
He followed her eyes over to the bar. Cleaned up, in that pressed white shirt and dress pants, he did look better than normal. He wasn’t so greasy looking. And his cologne was expensive and subtle, which was surprising. Martin could see how his mother might think he was “cute”, but hearing her say it made him think he was listening to a menopausal high school girl.
“Well, Don is a nice guy…could stand to lose a few pounds, though” Martin said, trying not to sound too negative. Jean cocked her head, as if trying to assess his physique. “You think so? Looks to me that he’s a man who just likes a good meal,” she replied. “I’ll bet he’s a wonderful cook.”
Chapter 21
Martin’s hair was still wet from his two-minute shower as he drove his Mazda into Jean’s driveway, but at least he was on time. He touched the ignition key, but didn’t get a chance to turn it off because Jean opened the door, and called out, “Don’t get out, Honey. I’ll be right there,” and disappeared back into the house, leaving the door ajar.
Martin put the car in park, leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, took in a big breath of air through his nose and let it out slowly. He was glad to have a quiet moment before Jean descended with all her Jean-ness. The slamming of the front door disrupted the quiet, and he lifted his head to see his mother scurry around the car to the passenger door, waving at him through the windshield. She appeared to be wearing a new dress, though Martin couldn't really tell. One over-embellished polyester garment with a matching short sleeved jacket from J.C. Penney tended to look exactly like the next one after a while.
“Oh, Martin, this is so wonderful,” Jean said as she crawled into the car, a little breathless. “I’ve been primping all day.”
Martin looked over at her as she buckled her seatbelt, and noticed her hair was styled and freshly bleached her trademark blond. “Did you have your hair done at Lady by Lovely? It looks pretty.”
Jean touched her hair, and nodded, obviously pleased that he had noticed. “I did. I was at the salon for almost 4 hours. Such luxury!” She looked over at Martin for the first time. “You look nice. It looks like you just got out of the shower.”
“That’s because I did just get out of the shower,” he said. “I spent the entire day getting my apartment ready for my mother’s visit, and barely had enough time to make it here by 5:30 to pick her up for the grand unveiling.”
Jean’s smile never left her face during the seven minute drive from downtown Siren to Risky Dick’s.
+ + +
Martin was glad that the parking lot was fairly empty when they drove in to Risky Dick’s. Being Good Friday, even the regulars would feel the need to repent and possibly go to church. The place wouldn’t be full until about 8:15 – long after Jean and Martin had finished their dinner and headed to Redeemer Lutheran Church down the highway.
Jean peered out of the car window at the building, trying to get the lay of the land. “Where is your apartment?” she asked, truly confused.
“There’s a stairway on the side. My place is just up the stairs, second door on the right,” Martin answered as he put the car in park. “Come on, Mom, I’m anxious for you to see it.”
Martin climbed out of the car, slammed the door and raced around the hood to open Jean’s door for her. He’d convinced himself that if he killed Jean with kindness, flattery and good manners, she wouldn’t notice the many warts in and around his apartment.
Martin held his hand out to help her out of the car, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as he walked her through the pothole filled parking lot, trying to keep her navy pumps from getting too muddy. “Now, Mom, you have to be a little careful on these stairs. They are pretty steep. Hold on to the railing.”
As Martin disengaged her hand from his arm, he reached over to the railing to test its strength. It felt strong and didn’t move when he nudged it with his hand. He bent over slightly to look at the construction which he remembered as being much more rickety, and saw a series of bright new nail heads securing the rail better than it had been in years.
Jean grabbed the rail and briskly climbed the steps ahead of Martin. She stood primly by the second door on the right, which had a new mail box attached, as well as a name plate Martin had never seen before. “Martin Lundeen, #2” it said, looking as official as it possibly could given the fact that it was above the biggest dive in Burnett County.
As he went to unlock his door, Martin noticed the exterior of his windows looked as clean as the insides, and he wondered if Sharla had done that when he was busy with something else that afternoon. But then, he realized it couldn’t have been Sharla. She never left the room the entire time they worked.
The squeaking hinges of his door had been oiled, and the door opened easily, allowing Martin and his mother to sweep into his apartment. In addition to the new decorations and freshly clean carpet, Martin could tell that someone had sprayed an extra dose of air freshener in the room, making it smell even cleaner and more inviting than when he had rushed out to pick up Jean.
“Oh, Martin, this place is just lovely!” Jean exclaimed. "The colors are so handsome, so masculine!" He watched her ooh and ahh over every little item he and Sharla had purchased at WalMart that afternoon. Someone had put some new magazines on his bedside table – GQ and The New Yorker – and some fresh flowers on the small coffee table, all intended to create an image of Martin Lundeen for a mother who wanted desperately to believe her son was living a sophisticated life in a quiet, affordable efficiency on the outskirts of town.
As they walked down the stairs to have dinner at Risky Dick’s, Martin thought to himself, “Somehow, I’m going to have to thank Don for all of this.”
Martin put the car in park, leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, took in a big breath of air through his nose and let it out slowly. He was glad to have a quiet moment before Jean descended with all her Jean-ness. The slamming of the front door disrupted the quiet, and he lifted his head to see his mother scurry around the car to the passenger door, waving at him through the windshield. She appeared to be wearing a new dress, though Martin couldn't really tell. One over-embellished polyester garment with a matching short sleeved jacket from J.C. Penney tended to look exactly like the next one after a while.
“Oh, Martin, this is so wonderful,” Jean said as she crawled into the car, a little breathless. “I’ve been primping all day.”
Martin looked over at her as she buckled her seatbelt, and noticed her hair was styled and freshly bleached her trademark blond. “Did you have your hair done at Lady by Lovely? It looks pretty.”
Jean touched her hair, and nodded, obviously pleased that he had noticed. “I did. I was at the salon for almost 4 hours. Such luxury!” She looked over at Martin for the first time. “You look nice. It looks like you just got out of the shower.”
“That’s because I did just get out of the shower,” he said. “I spent the entire day getting my apartment ready for my mother’s visit, and barely had enough time to make it here by 5:30 to pick her up for the grand unveiling.”
Jean’s smile never left her face during the seven minute drive from downtown Siren to Risky Dick’s.
+ + +
Martin was glad that the parking lot was fairly empty when they drove in to Risky Dick’s. Being Good Friday, even the regulars would feel the need to repent and possibly go to church. The place wouldn’t be full until about 8:15 – long after Jean and Martin had finished their dinner and headed to Redeemer Lutheran Church down the highway.
Jean peered out of the car window at the building, trying to get the lay of the land. “Where is your apartment?” she asked, truly confused.
“There’s a stairway on the side. My place is just up the stairs, second door on the right,” Martin answered as he put the car in park. “Come on, Mom, I’m anxious for you to see it.”
Martin climbed out of the car, slammed the door and raced around the hood to open Jean’s door for her. He’d convinced himself that if he killed Jean with kindness, flattery and good manners, she wouldn’t notice the many warts in and around his apartment.
Martin held his hand out to help her out of the car, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as he walked her through the pothole filled parking lot, trying to keep her navy pumps from getting too muddy. “Now, Mom, you have to be a little careful on these stairs. They are pretty steep. Hold on to the railing.”
As Martin disengaged her hand from his arm, he reached over to the railing to test its strength. It felt strong and didn’t move when he nudged it with his hand. He bent over slightly to look at the construction which he remembered as being much more rickety, and saw a series of bright new nail heads securing the rail better than it had been in years.
Jean grabbed the rail and briskly climbed the steps ahead of Martin. She stood primly by the second door on the right, which had a new mail box attached, as well as a name plate Martin had never seen before. “Martin Lundeen, #2” it said, looking as official as it possibly could given the fact that it was above the biggest dive in Burnett County.
As he went to unlock his door, Martin noticed the exterior of his windows looked as clean as the insides, and he wondered if Sharla had done that when he was busy with something else that afternoon. But then, he realized it couldn’t have been Sharla. She never left the room the entire time they worked.
The squeaking hinges of his door had been oiled, and the door opened easily, allowing Martin and his mother to sweep into his apartment. In addition to the new decorations and freshly clean carpet, Martin could tell that someone had sprayed an extra dose of air freshener in the room, making it smell even cleaner and more inviting than when he had rushed out to pick up Jean.
“Oh, Martin, this place is just lovely!” Jean exclaimed. "The colors are so handsome, so masculine!" He watched her ooh and ahh over every little item he and Sharla had purchased at WalMart that afternoon. Someone had put some new magazines on his bedside table – GQ and The New Yorker – and some fresh flowers on the small coffee table, all intended to create an image of Martin Lundeen for a mother who wanted desperately to believe her son was living a sophisticated life in a quiet, affordable efficiency on the outskirts of town.
As they walked down the stairs to have dinner at Risky Dick’s, Martin thought to himself, “Somehow, I’m going to have to thank Don for all of this.”
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Chapter 20
Martin pulled up in front of Wild Bill’s at 12:59 p.m., and waited for Sharla in the parking space closest to the door. He knew Sharla knew he was there. He’d see her peak out the window and give a little wave.
At 1:05, Sharla came out of the building, smiling and waving as she came up to Martin’s car. “Hi, Martin,” she said as she climbed into the front seat of his car. “Little Bill just drove in about two seconds before you got here. I was afraid I might have to bail on you. He always slides in just before his shift. I’m never sure he’ll show up.”
Martin put his arm on the back of the passenger seat to look behind him as he backed out of his parking space. He stole a glance at Sharla who, despite her irritation at Little Bill, still managed to smile.
“So,” she said when she caught him looking at her, “what did you do all morning?”
Martin shuddered a little, and replied, “I cleaned my carpet in the apartment. It was disgusting!” Sharla giggled. “I don’t doubt it. How dirty was the water when you dumped it out?”
“Which time?” Martin answered. “I went over it three times, and I’m still not sure it’s clean. If his apartments are any indication, it makes me wonder about Don and how clean he keeps that kitchen downstairs.”
Sharla giggled again. “Oh, Martin. That kitchen is spotless. I can tell. Anyway, Don can’t be responsible for how clean his tenants are. He’s just lucky to finally have one who is somewhat…fastidious.”
“Fastidious, Sharla? Is that what I am?” Martin said, with mock annoyance.
“Yes, you are fastidious. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Have you decided what color curtains and bedspread you’re going to buy today?”
+ + +
The hour drive to Forest Lake flew by, and Martin was almost disappointed when the Walmart came into view on the other side of Interstate 35. Throughout the 60-mile drive, he filled Sharla in on the mountains of evidence Shirley had found that showed Talbot was not only a pervert, but a predator. He also felt he needed to confirm what she believed to be true that, for the most part, Talbot’s targets had been Native American girls. Martin told Sharla enough about the effect on the girls lives, the subsequent violence and suicides, but not so much that she would be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. Martin knew she was tough, but selfishly, he didn’t want her to be in a sad mood for the rest of the afternoon.
Martin didn’t share with Sharla the fact that Shirley was one of Talbot’s victims.
+ + +
It was 1:55 when the car crossed the border between Wisconsin and Minnesota, and 2:00 p.m. on the dot when Martin and Sharla walked into the front door of the Forest Lake Walmart. The place was teeming with crazed parents, from both states, buying up Easter candy, baskets, adorable pink dresses with matching hats and cute little suits with clip-on ties. “Before we leave the store, Martin, we have to go to the Easter candy aisle,” Sharla said in a no-nonsense tone. “I need to pick up some of those little marshmallow chicks. But they have to be yellow.”
Martin looked over at her and laughed a little. “Seriously, Sharla? Peeps?” She looked back at him, frowned and said, “Absolutely. They are delicious.” He stifled his laughter. “Why yellow?” She let out a loud, dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. “The pink ones don’t taste right,” she explained. “Let’s get over to home furnishings.”
Sharla grabbed a shopping cart and led the way as they wove through the aisles of the store. Martin hadn’t been in the Walmart since the summer after his senior year in high school. That time, he followed his mother through the aisles as they shopped for his coming move to Milwaukee for college.
Sharla expertly navigated the store, taking the most direct route to an area filled with bedspreads, rugs, curtains, drapes and other home décor items. All together, there were probably 6 aisles of merchandise for them to peruse, and thankfully, things were arranged by category. All the bedspreads were in two aisles.
Sharla could see that Martin was overwhelmed by the number of choices. “Okay, Martin, let’s start with color,” Sharla directed. “Since your walls are blue, you should probably go with something in the cool tones, don’t you think?” He nodded and walked slowly down the first aisle, looking from side to side to see what was available in blues and greens. Suddenly, something caught his eye, and he went over to the shelf and yanked it out. “This is it!” he said, triumphantly. Sharla started to encourage him to keep looking, that there was a lot he hadn’t seen yet, but then she looked closely at his choice and had to agree. “Martin, it’s perfect.” A nubby light blue and chocolate brown plaid spread with a matching pillow sham. “You could maybe get some throw pillows to go with it,” Sharla added, and started toward the pillow aisle.
Before they were through, they had two smaller pillows, one in blue and one in brown, to go with the bedspread, some curtains in a lighter shade of blue than the walls of the apartment and a braided rug that brought in all the colors, plus some red, yellow and green. “Your place will look masculine, but warm and inviting,” Sharla said, using a Martha Stewart tone.
“Sharla, you’ve been reading too many decorating magazines behind the counter at Wild Bill’s,” Martin teased. “Seriously though, I really appreciate your help. This is going to look great.”
They made sure to pick up all the hardware needed to hang the curtains, paid at the checkout and walked out of Walmart at about 2:45, pleased that they picked up some time to actually put everything in place before Jean came over to inspect that evening. The drive home was filled with talking and laughing, and not one mention of Frank Talbot. They arrived at Risky Dick’s well before 4:00 p.m., which gave them over one hour to iron and hang the curtains, place the bedspread and pillows, and put down the rug. Sharla even hung the new shower curtain that Martin picked up at the last minute before they left the store.
They stood in the middle of the room, and admired their work. The colors matched perfectly, and the new rug covered much of the carpet which was clean, but still pretty ugly. “I’m not kidding, Martin. This looks really good,” Sharla said enthusiastically. “Do you like it?”
Martin looked over at her face, filled with earnest concern and a true desire that he like all that they had done. “Sharla, I love it,” he said softly. “Thank you, again. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She smiled and looked down, then looked up and gave him a quick hug. “You’d better hurry and take a shower," she said as she moved quickly toward the door. "It’s almost 5:00, you are filthy and sweaty, and you have to pick up your mom in 30 minutes!”
Had she hesitated in that hug one second more, Martin might have kissed her. But then, she pulled away, and he knew the time wasn't right. He wished he could invite Sharla to join his mother and him for dinner, and maybe church, but he knew the time wasn’t right for that either. “Okay, Sharla. Hey, maybe the next time I have dinner with my mom, you could join us.”
Sharla giggled and looked at him with a look that said she didn't believe him. “Sure, Martin. That sounds good. You just let me know when.”
At 1:05, Sharla came out of the building, smiling and waving as she came up to Martin’s car. “Hi, Martin,” she said as she climbed into the front seat of his car. “Little Bill just drove in about two seconds before you got here. I was afraid I might have to bail on you. He always slides in just before his shift. I’m never sure he’ll show up.”
Martin put his arm on the back of the passenger seat to look behind him as he backed out of his parking space. He stole a glance at Sharla who, despite her irritation at Little Bill, still managed to smile.
“So,” she said when she caught him looking at her, “what did you do all morning?”
Martin shuddered a little, and replied, “I cleaned my carpet in the apartment. It was disgusting!” Sharla giggled. “I don’t doubt it. How dirty was the water when you dumped it out?”
“Which time?” Martin answered. “I went over it three times, and I’m still not sure it’s clean. If his apartments are any indication, it makes me wonder about Don and how clean he keeps that kitchen downstairs.”
Sharla giggled again. “Oh, Martin. That kitchen is spotless. I can tell. Anyway, Don can’t be responsible for how clean his tenants are. He’s just lucky to finally have one who is somewhat…fastidious.”
“Fastidious, Sharla? Is that what I am?” Martin said, with mock annoyance.
“Yes, you are fastidious. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Have you decided what color curtains and bedspread you’re going to buy today?”
+ + +
The hour drive to Forest Lake flew by, and Martin was almost disappointed when the Walmart came into view on the other side of Interstate 35. Throughout the 60-mile drive, he filled Sharla in on the mountains of evidence Shirley had found that showed Talbot was not only a pervert, but a predator. He also felt he needed to confirm what she believed to be true that, for the most part, Talbot’s targets had been Native American girls. Martin told Sharla enough about the effect on the girls lives, the subsequent violence and suicides, but not so much that she would be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. Martin knew she was tough, but selfishly, he didn’t want her to be in a sad mood for the rest of the afternoon.
Martin didn’t share with Sharla the fact that Shirley was one of Talbot’s victims.
+ + +
It was 1:55 when the car crossed the border between Wisconsin and Minnesota, and 2:00 p.m. on the dot when Martin and Sharla walked into the front door of the Forest Lake Walmart. The place was teeming with crazed parents, from both states, buying up Easter candy, baskets, adorable pink dresses with matching hats and cute little suits with clip-on ties. “Before we leave the store, Martin, we have to go to the Easter candy aisle,” Sharla said in a no-nonsense tone. “I need to pick up some of those little marshmallow chicks. But they have to be yellow.”
Martin looked over at her and laughed a little. “Seriously, Sharla? Peeps?” She looked back at him, frowned and said, “Absolutely. They are delicious.” He stifled his laughter. “Why yellow?” She let out a loud, dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. “The pink ones don’t taste right,” she explained. “Let’s get over to home furnishings.”
Sharla grabbed a shopping cart and led the way as they wove through the aisles of the store. Martin hadn’t been in the Walmart since the summer after his senior year in high school. That time, he followed his mother through the aisles as they shopped for his coming move to Milwaukee for college.
Sharla expertly navigated the store, taking the most direct route to an area filled with bedspreads, rugs, curtains, drapes and other home décor items. All together, there were probably 6 aisles of merchandise for them to peruse, and thankfully, things were arranged by category. All the bedspreads were in two aisles.
Sharla could see that Martin was overwhelmed by the number of choices. “Okay, Martin, let’s start with color,” Sharla directed. “Since your walls are blue, you should probably go with something in the cool tones, don’t you think?” He nodded and walked slowly down the first aisle, looking from side to side to see what was available in blues and greens. Suddenly, something caught his eye, and he went over to the shelf and yanked it out. “This is it!” he said, triumphantly. Sharla started to encourage him to keep looking, that there was a lot he hadn’t seen yet, but then she looked closely at his choice and had to agree. “Martin, it’s perfect.” A nubby light blue and chocolate brown plaid spread with a matching pillow sham. “You could maybe get some throw pillows to go with it,” Sharla added, and started toward the pillow aisle.
Before they were through, they had two smaller pillows, one in blue and one in brown, to go with the bedspread, some curtains in a lighter shade of blue than the walls of the apartment and a braided rug that brought in all the colors, plus some red, yellow and green. “Your place will look masculine, but warm and inviting,” Sharla said, using a Martha Stewart tone.
“Sharla, you’ve been reading too many decorating magazines behind the counter at Wild Bill’s,” Martin teased. “Seriously though, I really appreciate your help. This is going to look great.”
They made sure to pick up all the hardware needed to hang the curtains, paid at the checkout and walked out of Walmart at about 2:45, pleased that they picked up some time to actually put everything in place before Jean came over to inspect that evening. The drive home was filled with talking and laughing, and not one mention of Frank Talbot. They arrived at Risky Dick’s well before 4:00 p.m., which gave them over one hour to iron and hang the curtains, place the bedspread and pillows, and put down the rug. Sharla even hung the new shower curtain that Martin picked up at the last minute before they left the store.
They stood in the middle of the room, and admired their work. The colors matched perfectly, and the new rug covered much of the carpet which was clean, but still pretty ugly. “I’m not kidding, Martin. This looks really good,” Sharla said enthusiastically. “Do you like it?”
Martin looked over at her face, filled with earnest concern and a true desire that he like all that they had done. “Sharla, I love it,” he said softly. “Thank you, again. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She smiled and looked down, then looked up and gave him a quick hug. “You’d better hurry and take a shower," she said as she moved quickly toward the door. "It’s almost 5:00, you are filthy and sweaty, and you have to pick up your mom in 30 minutes!”
Had she hesitated in that hug one second more, Martin might have kissed her. But then, she pulled away, and he knew the time wasn't right. He wished he could invite Sharla to join his mother and him for dinner, and maybe church, but he knew the time wasn’t right for that either. “Okay, Sharla. Hey, maybe the next time I have dinner with my mom, you could join us.”
Sharla giggled and looked at him with a look that said she didn't believe him. “Sure, Martin. That sounds good. You just let me know when.”
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Chapter 19
It was about 7:30 a.m. when Martin looked out the recently cleaned window of his apartment on Good Friday morning and decided the weather fit the day. Gloomy, gray, rainy. “Perfect,” he muttered to himself as he decided to get dressed for the day.
As Martin reached for a pair of dress slacks to wear with a button down shirt, his bowtie and corduroy jacket, he remembered the Sentinel office was closed for holiday. “I think I’ll skip the tie today,” he said out loud to himself. He also kicked himself for not sleeping in a little longer.
As he descended the steps from his apartment to get to Risky Dick’s for some breakfast, Martin thought about his day. He’d called his mother the night before after the service at St. Bart’s, and asked her to join him for Good Friday services at their church in Webster, Redeemer Lutheran Church. Martin had to hold the receiver from his ear to keep his mother’s shriek of delight from affecting his hearing. After Jean calmed down, he also suggested they have dinner together. “Oh, dinner and church with my handsome son,” she cooed. “How could I get so lucky?” Martin felt slightly nauseated.
Because his brain was on overload and he was tired, Martin didn’t control the situation very well when discussing a place to have dinner that evening. He should have just said, “Let’s meet at Adventures at 5:30.” Instead, he casually asked Jean the question, “So where should we have dinner?” and before he could catch himself from allowing free choice, his mother responded, “Well, how about that restaurant in your apartment building? What’s it called again?” Martin wanted to kick himself for being so careless, but answered, “Risky Dick’s.”
“Well that sounds fun,” Jean said happily. “You can show me your apartment, too. I can’t wait to see it.”
Because his mother would finally see the apartment where he lived and the bar where he spent much of his time, Martin decided that Good Friday would be spent making sure that Jean had as little to criticize as possible that evening. That meant, he’d have to go to the Wal-Mart in Forest Lake to get his new curtains and bedspread, he’d have to shampoo his carpet, and he’d have to prep Don for meeting Jean. He’d start with prepping Don while eating his poached eggs and toast, and fill up with gas at Wild Bill’s on his way to Forest Lake.
+ + +
“So, I get to meet the famous Jean Lundeen,” Don said with a certain smarmy sound in his voice, rubbing his hands together. Martin frowned at him and answered, “Yes, what of it?”
Don knew just how to punch Martin’s buttons and continued, “Well, from what I hear, she’s one hot little number…”
Martin looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Don, you’ve got to be kidding. My mother is so not a hot number…” He trailed off as he saw Don stifling a laugh. “Don, you’re hilarious,” he said grimly.
Don took Martin’s empty plate while filling his cup with hot coffee. “Oh, come on Martin. I’m just having a little fun with ya’. In all seriousness, I’m looking forward to meeting your mother.” Martin looked confused. “Why?”
“Well, I’ve seen her in town, and she has to be a fine woman. She raised you,” he said. Martin saw that he was serious and was touched. “I may even put on a clean shirt,” Don said as he turned away and wiggled his hips in a little dance back to the kitchen. “Who knows? I might ask her out on a date.”
For the second time in 24 hours, Martin felt nauseated.
+ + +
Martin’s gas tank was over three quarters full, but he went to Wild Bill’s anyway, hoping to see Sharla and invite her to go to Forest Lake with him for the shopping trip. He quickly topped off his tank, and went inside to find Sharla.
As usual, she was behind the counter, this time ringing up a sale of a 12 pack of Budwiser for four men who were sitting at one of the small tables in back playing cribbage. Martin looked at his watch. It was 9:00 a.m.
“Hi, Martin,” Sharla called to him, clearly delighted to see him. “I’m so glad you came in today. How’s the project going?”
He came over to the counter and smiled broadly at her. He noticed how cute she looked in her white cut-offs and purple Minnesota Vikings hooded sweatshirt. “It’s going pretty good. I’d like to tell you what we’ve found so far. Any chance you have this afternoon off? I’m driving over to Forest Lake to pick up some things for my apartment, and thought it would be nice if you came along. We could talk in the car…” he said, getting his request out in one big breath.
“Hmmm…let me see,” Sharla answered, taking a three-ring binder out from under the counter. “Uncle Bill has me working until 1:00. Would that be too late?”
Martin thought a minute and replied, “Well, let’s see. I could pick you up at 1:00, it takes an hour to get to Forest Lake, we’ll shop for an hour, another hour to get back. That should work. I just need to pick my mother up for dinner at 5:30.”
“Let’s do it then. Pick me up at 1:00,” Sharla said with a smile.
Martin nodded, and while he pulled out his money to pay for the gas, said, “Will do. Thanks, Sharla. I really appreciate you giving me a woman’s opinion on my apartment.”
Sharla giggled. “Well, I don’t know how much of a decorator I am, but I know what I like.” As she took the money, she said, “Hey, Martin. You know can come in here to see me any time you like without buying anything, don’t you? I mean, everybody knows Uncle Bill charges more for gas than anyone in Burnett County.”
As Martin reached for a pair of dress slacks to wear with a button down shirt, his bowtie and corduroy jacket, he remembered the Sentinel office was closed for holiday. “I think I’ll skip the tie today,” he said out loud to himself. He also kicked himself for not sleeping in a little longer.
As he descended the steps from his apartment to get to Risky Dick’s for some breakfast, Martin thought about his day. He’d called his mother the night before after the service at St. Bart’s, and asked her to join him for Good Friday services at their church in Webster, Redeemer Lutheran Church. Martin had to hold the receiver from his ear to keep his mother’s shriek of delight from affecting his hearing. After Jean calmed down, he also suggested they have dinner together. “Oh, dinner and church with my handsome son,” she cooed. “How could I get so lucky?” Martin felt slightly nauseated.
Because his brain was on overload and he was tired, Martin didn’t control the situation very well when discussing a place to have dinner that evening. He should have just said, “Let’s meet at Adventures at 5:30.” Instead, he casually asked Jean the question, “So where should we have dinner?” and before he could catch himself from allowing free choice, his mother responded, “Well, how about that restaurant in your apartment building? What’s it called again?” Martin wanted to kick himself for being so careless, but answered, “Risky Dick’s.”
“Well that sounds fun,” Jean said happily. “You can show me your apartment, too. I can’t wait to see it.”
Because his mother would finally see the apartment where he lived and the bar where he spent much of his time, Martin decided that Good Friday would be spent making sure that Jean had as little to criticize as possible that evening. That meant, he’d have to go to the Wal-Mart in Forest Lake to get his new curtains and bedspread, he’d have to shampoo his carpet, and he’d have to prep Don for meeting Jean. He’d start with prepping Don while eating his poached eggs and toast, and fill up with gas at Wild Bill’s on his way to Forest Lake.
+ + +
“So, I get to meet the famous Jean Lundeen,” Don said with a certain smarmy sound in his voice, rubbing his hands together. Martin frowned at him and answered, “Yes, what of it?”
Don knew just how to punch Martin’s buttons and continued, “Well, from what I hear, she’s one hot little number…”
Martin looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Don, you’ve got to be kidding. My mother is so not a hot number…” He trailed off as he saw Don stifling a laugh. “Don, you’re hilarious,” he said grimly.
Don took Martin’s empty plate while filling his cup with hot coffee. “Oh, come on Martin. I’m just having a little fun with ya’. In all seriousness, I’m looking forward to meeting your mother.” Martin looked confused. “Why?”
“Well, I’ve seen her in town, and she has to be a fine woman. She raised you,” he said. Martin saw that he was serious and was touched. “I may even put on a clean shirt,” Don said as he turned away and wiggled his hips in a little dance back to the kitchen. “Who knows? I might ask her out on a date.”
For the second time in 24 hours, Martin felt nauseated.
+ + +
Martin’s gas tank was over three quarters full, but he went to Wild Bill’s anyway, hoping to see Sharla and invite her to go to Forest Lake with him for the shopping trip. He quickly topped off his tank, and went inside to find Sharla.
As usual, she was behind the counter, this time ringing up a sale of a 12 pack of Budwiser for four men who were sitting at one of the small tables in back playing cribbage. Martin looked at his watch. It was 9:00 a.m.
“Hi, Martin,” Sharla called to him, clearly delighted to see him. “I’m so glad you came in today. How’s the project going?”
He came over to the counter and smiled broadly at her. He noticed how cute she looked in her white cut-offs and purple Minnesota Vikings hooded sweatshirt. “It’s going pretty good. I’d like to tell you what we’ve found so far. Any chance you have this afternoon off? I’m driving over to Forest Lake to pick up some things for my apartment, and thought it would be nice if you came along. We could talk in the car…” he said, getting his request out in one big breath.
“Hmmm…let me see,” Sharla answered, taking a three-ring binder out from under the counter. “Uncle Bill has me working until 1:00. Would that be too late?”
Martin thought a minute and replied, “Well, let’s see. I could pick you up at 1:00, it takes an hour to get to Forest Lake, we’ll shop for an hour, another hour to get back. That should work. I just need to pick my mother up for dinner at 5:30.”
“Let’s do it then. Pick me up at 1:00,” Sharla said with a smile.
Martin nodded, and while he pulled out his money to pay for the gas, said, “Will do. Thanks, Sharla. I really appreciate you giving me a woman’s opinion on my apartment.”
Sharla giggled. “Well, I don’t know how much of a decorator I am, but I know what I like.” As she took the money, she said, “Hey, Martin. You know can come in here to see me any time you like without buying anything, don’t you? I mean, everybody knows Uncle Bill charges more for gas than anyone in Burnett County.”
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Chapter 18
The Holy Catholic Church of Saint Bartholomew was located two blocks from the Adventures Mall on 1st Street in downtown Siren. Built in the mid-70’s, St. Bart’s was a plain, unadorned building with tiny, long, thin stained glass panes dotting the sides of the brick walls. The architect was following the conventional wisdom at the time that with an energy shortage, the warmth of the building would be best created in a closed up, bunker like structure, forgetting the warming and heating aspects that light would bring if allowed in through bigger windows. The inside of the sanctuary was a bit more embellished, but still stark in comparison to the other Catholic churches in Burnett County. No hand-carved marble altar and baptism font, no gold plated chalice or offering plates, no brocade altar cloths. It was as if the entire place was stuck in the 70’s - earth tone altar cloths, wooden collection plates, pottery chalice, straight, flat altar and a stainless steel bowl on a rectangular wooden pedestal for the baptism font. Even the priests wore simple woven robes with rough, woven vestments. Not a gold thread in sight.
Martin left his car in the Adventures Mall parking lot and walked over to the church. He knew that all Holy Week services would be crowded, even Holy Thursday, and parking would be at a premium. And no Burnett County sheriff would be giving out parking tickets tonight – they’d all be in church.
St. Bart’s Holy Thursday service started at 7:00 p.m., so arriving at 6:40 allowed Martin to park himself in a premium location in the very back pew by the main entrance in order to watch who came in and where they sat. He was the tenth person to be seated in the sanctuary, and he sat at the end of the pew, on the aisle, to give him the best vantage point.
As he watched the door, Martin began to feel guilty for being so calculating on a holy day, and in church even! As his eyes followed the waddling old ladies who took the same seats they had probably been sitting in for decades, he assessed his own spiritual bankruptcy and vowed to call his mother that night to make arrangements to accompany her to Good Friday and Easter services that weekend.
Martin thought of his mother and felt another flash of guilt. His last interaction with her on Palm Sunday was far from pleasant, and he wasn’t sure how Jean would react when he called her. One thing he was sure of though – she’d jump at the chance to go to church with Martin this weekend.
The pews in the sanctuary were gradually filling up, but Martin hadn’t seen anyone of interest in terms of who he hoped to talk to in terms of Talbot and the story. No Howes, no Daniels, no Talbot. Not even any of the other teachers from the high school. Just a lot of older women and couples that Martin was sure had driven in with their many children from the back woods areas surrounding the many lakes in the area.
It was 30 seconds to 7:00 p.m. when Martin could hear rustling and voices in the narthex of the church. He turned to see the commotion and saw Jeff and Karen Howe and their two beautiful teenage daughters coming in the doors. The priests and altar boys had already lined up for the procession, candles and incense lit, processional cross in place, everyone set and ready to go. Martin watched, transfixed, as all of the priests and altar boys left their positions to reach for Jeff’s hand and welcome the family. They all moved out of the way as the Howes made their way to the sanctuary entrance and down the center aisle to the very first pew on the left in front of the pulpit. There was no reserved sign on the pew, but the entire congregation knew that it was saved for the Howes, whenever they chose to show up.
Once Jeff and his harem were seated and settled, the organ hit its first cord, and the service began.
+ + +
Martin was never one to enjoy church services much and was even known to sleep through them, but he managed to stay awake and alert throughout this one because he saw it as an opportunity to watch Jeff Howe and the people around him. Jeff was attentive and acted devout, but it seemed to be just that – acting. The Howe daughters, Julie and Lauren, looked bored and antsy, and Karen Howe looked as she often did – agitated, irritated and nervous. And just on the verge of spitting tacks.
Martin watched as each and every person went up to the altar to receive the sacrament after the sermon. He didn’t see anyone of interest other than the Howes. He decided this was for the best because he’d easily be able to connect with his only available target - Jeff Howe.
+ + +
Martin planted himself right next to the door where the Howes entered the church, hoping to “run into them” as they exited the sanctuary. Sure enough, the Howes headed for that door and seemed in a rush to get out. Cursing his bad luck for the potential failure of his plan, Martin started moving toward the exit, but then saw that Father Bob O’Halloran grabbed Jeff’s elbow as he tried to sneak past the priest in order to avoid a lengthy conversation at the door. Karen, Julie and Lauren continued past Jeff and Father Bob, prepared to wait by the exit. Martin made his move.
“Well hi again, Karen,” Martin said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did you enjoy the service?” Martin could see that she was annoyed by the delay as she focused her gaze, through narrowed eyes, at Jeff as he spoke to the priest about the new building project. She slowly turned her head back toward Martin, and said, “Hello, Martin. Yes, we enjoyed the service very much.”
He turned to the girls. “Hi, I’m Martin Lundeen,” Martin said to the two Howe daughters, sticking out his hand. They shook it limply and murmured “Hello”. Karen jumped in, “Martin writes for the newspaper. He’s going to do a story on my shop, right Martin?” He nodded his head, and said, “Absolutely! Your mom’s store is great, and I’m looking forward to getting her some coverage.”
The two girls rolled their eyes and snickered, and turned to see if their father was almost done talking to the priest. “Why doesn’t he hurry up?” Julie whispered loudly to her mother. “Doesn’t he know I have a date later?”
Her comment was just loud enough for Jeff to hear. He looked up from his conversation with Father Bob, saw Karen’s and Julie’s frown and began moving away as the priest was still talking to him. “Father Bob, let’s get together next week for coffee , and we can talk about this,” Jeff said. “There are so many people who want your time tonight. Let’s set something up for later when we can really talk. I’ll try to bring Dayton Daniels with me.”
Jeff rushed over the Karen and the girls, ignoring Martin, and making noises apologizing to his family. “Well let’s just go,” Karen said, irritated. Martin saw his opportunity slipping away. “Good to see you, Karen. I’ll be in touch to set up that interview,” he said quickly before the Howes got away.
Jeff turned to him, suddenly interested, after not even noticing him before that moment. "An interview?” Martin stuck his hand out to Jeff and said quickly, “Hi, Mr. Howe. I’m Martin Lundeen with the Burnett County Sentinel. I’m planning on doing a story on your wife and her store.”
“Oh, really,” Jeff responded, clearly amused. “Well, that’s great! Maybe, with a little publicity, that place might finally turn a profit.” Karen glared at him, but Jeff continued, “I’ll look forward to seeing that story…Martin you said?” Martin nodded and said, “Yes, Martin Lundeen. By the way, I may be calling you sometime in the next few weeks, too. I’m doing another story on some of the teachers who are retiring this year…”
Jeff started moving towards the door. “Oh, okay, that’s fine.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my cell phone. Just call me whenever, and I’ll answer any questions you have about our fine teaching staff, retiring or otherwise.” Jeff flashed Martin one of his trademark winning grins, and shepherded his women out the door. “Happy Easter, Martin," he called as the heavy wooden door closed.
Martin didn’t know if he had been brushed off or played, but he didn’t care. He had Jeff Howe’s cell phone number, and would definitely call him when the time was right. What bothered Martin was that his request didn’t phase Jeff at all which meant he either didn’t know about Frank Talbot or felt he had done such a good job of hiding it for so long, he figured no one else knew about it. Either way, Martin was going to find out…and soon.
Martin left his car in the Adventures Mall parking lot and walked over to the church. He knew that all Holy Week services would be crowded, even Holy Thursday, and parking would be at a premium. And no Burnett County sheriff would be giving out parking tickets tonight – they’d all be in church.
St. Bart’s Holy Thursday service started at 7:00 p.m., so arriving at 6:40 allowed Martin to park himself in a premium location in the very back pew by the main entrance in order to watch who came in and where they sat. He was the tenth person to be seated in the sanctuary, and he sat at the end of the pew, on the aisle, to give him the best vantage point.
As he watched the door, Martin began to feel guilty for being so calculating on a holy day, and in church even! As his eyes followed the waddling old ladies who took the same seats they had probably been sitting in for decades, he assessed his own spiritual bankruptcy and vowed to call his mother that night to make arrangements to accompany her to Good Friday and Easter services that weekend.
Martin thought of his mother and felt another flash of guilt. His last interaction with her on Palm Sunday was far from pleasant, and he wasn’t sure how Jean would react when he called her. One thing he was sure of though – she’d jump at the chance to go to church with Martin this weekend.
The pews in the sanctuary were gradually filling up, but Martin hadn’t seen anyone of interest in terms of who he hoped to talk to in terms of Talbot and the story. No Howes, no Daniels, no Talbot. Not even any of the other teachers from the high school. Just a lot of older women and couples that Martin was sure had driven in with their many children from the back woods areas surrounding the many lakes in the area.
It was 30 seconds to 7:00 p.m. when Martin could hear rustling and voices in the narthex of the church. He turned to see the commotion and saw Jeff and Karen Howe and their two beautiful teenage daughters coming in the doors. The priests and altar boys had already lined up for the procession, candles and incense lit, processional cross in place, everyone set and ready to go. Martin watched, transfixed, as all of the priests and altar boys left their positions to reach for Jeff’s hand and welcome the family. They all moved out of the way as the Howes made their way to the sanctuary entrance and down the center aisle to the very first pew on the left in front of the pulpit. There was no reserved sign on the pew, but the entire congregation knew that it was saved for the Howes, whenever they chose to show up.
Once Jeff and his harem were seated and settled, the organ hit its first cord, and the service began.
+ + +
Martin was never one to enjoy church services much and was even known to sleep through them, but he managed to stay awake and alert throughout this one because he saw it as an opportunity to watch Jeff Howe and the people around him. Jeff was attentive and acted devout, but it seemed to be just that – acting. The Howe daughters, Julie and Lauren, looked bored and antsy, and Karen Howe looked as she often did – agitated, irritated and nervous. And just on the verge of spitting tacks.
Martin watched as each and every person went up to the altar to receive the sacrament after the sermon. He didn’t see anyone of interest other than the Howes. He decided this was for the best because he’d easily be able to connect with his only available target - Jeff Howe.
+ + +
Martin planted himself right next to the door where the Howes entered the church, hoping to “run into them” as they exited the sanctuary. Sure enough, the Howes headed for that door and seemed in a rush to get out. Cursing his bad luck for the potential failure of his plan, Martin started moving toward the exit, but then saw that Father Bob O’Halloran grabbed Jeff’s elbow as he tried to sneak past the priest in order to avoid a lengthy conversation at the door. Karen, Julie and Lauren continued past Jeff and Father Bob, prepared to wait by the exit. Martin made his move.
“Well hi again, Karen,” Martin said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did you enjoy the service?” Martin could see that she was annoyed by the delay as she focused her gaze, through narrowed eyes, at Jeff as he spoke to the priest about the new building project. She slowly turned her head back toward Martin, and said, “Hello, Martin. Yes, we enjoyed the service very much.”
He turned to the girls. “Hi, I’m Martin Lundeen,” Martin said to the two Howe daughters, sticking out his hand. They shook it limply and murmured “Hello”. Karen jumped in, “Martin writes for the newspaper. He’s going to do a story on my shop, right Martin?” He nodded his head, and said, “Absolutely! Your mom’s store is great, and I’m looking forward to getting her some coverage.”
The two girls rolled their eyes and snickered, and turned to see if their father was almost done talking to the priest. “Why doesn’t he hurry up?” Julie whispered loudly to her mother. “Doesn’t he know I have a date later?”
Her comment was just loud enough for Jeff to hear. He looked up from his conversation with Father Bob, saw Karen’s and Julie’s frown and began moving away as the priest was still talking to him. “Father Bob, let’s get together next week for coffee , and we can talk about this,” Jeff said. “There are so many people who want your time tonight. Let’s set something up for later when we can really talk. I’ll try to bring Dayton Daniels with me.”
Jeff rushed over the Karen and the girls, ignoring Martin, and making noises apologizing to his family. “Well let’s just go,” Karen said, irritated. Martin saw his opportunity slipping away. “Good to see you, Karen. I’ll be in touch to set up that interview,” he said quickly before the Howes got away.
Jeff turned to him, suddenly interested, after not even noticing him before that moment. "An interview?” Martin stuck his hand out to Jeff and said quickly, “Hi, Mr. Howe. I’m Martin Lundeen with the Burnett County Sentinel. I’m planning on doing a story on your wife and her store.”
“Oh, really,” Jeff responded, clearly amused. “Well, that’s great! Maybe, with a little publicity, that place might finally turn a profit.” Karen glared at him, but Jeff continued, “I’ll look forward to seeing that story…Martin you said?” Martin nodded and said, “Yes, Martin Lundeen. By the way, I may be calling you sometime in the next few weeks, too. I’m doing another story on some of the teachers who are retiring this year…”
Jeff started moving towards the door. “Oh, okay, that’s fine.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my cell phone. Just call me whenever, and I’ll answer any questions you have about our fine teaching staff, retiring or otherwise.” Jeff flashed Martin one of his trademark winning grins, and shepherded his women out the door. “Happy Easter, Martin," he called as the heavy wooden door closed.
Martin didn’t know if he had been brushed off or played, but he didn’t care. He had Jeff Howe’s cell phone number, and would definitely call him when the time was right. What bothered Martin was that his request didn’t phase Jeff at all which meant he either didn’t know about Frank Talbot or felt he had done such a good job of hiding it for so long, he figured no one else knew about it. Either way, Martin was going to find out…and soon.
Monday, January 12, 2009
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.”
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.”
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