Sharla walked through the door of Risky Dick’s at exactly 7:30 p.m., followed by Shirley Campbell. The two women were laughing and talking as they came in, and Martin was sure they had introduced themselves to each other in the parking lot.
Martin jumped off his bar stool, and hurried over to the door. “Hi, Guys, I see you’ve met.” Sharla and Shirley laughed together. “We sure did, Martin,” Sharla said, smiling at him. “What a great idea to invite Shirley to join us. But you know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were afraid to be alone with me!”
Martin’s face turned beet red. ‘No, hey, no, I just..” he struggled to find some words that wouldn’t give him away. Sharla giggled, and Shirley shook Martin by the shoulder. “Oh Martin, relax. She’s kidding,” Shirley assured him. “I think we all know you’d love to be alone with Sharla, if you just could finish this story.” She moved quickly to a table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Well come on, you guys, let’s get at it. I don’t have all night, and if we hurry, you just might salvage some of this date, Martin.”
Before Martin could feel any more embarrassed, Sharla took his hand, pulled him toward the table and said, “Come on, Martin, let’s get at it!”
Don came from back in the kitchen, and upon seeing Sharla and Shirley, hustled over to their table with a wet rag. “Ladies, let me make sure that table is clean for you.” He wiped down the sticky surface, stepped back to admire his work and then made a dramatic bow. “Ms. Whitefeather, Mrs. Campbell, I am at your service.”
Martin groaned, but Sharla and Shirley laughed out loud, obviously pleased to be fussed over by Don Wardle. Shirley whacked Martin on the arm and said, “Martin, you could learn a few things from Don.” She winked at Don and continued, “He knows how to treat women.”
Don grinned wickedly at Martin, bowed slightly again to Sharla and Shirley, and replied with mock modestly, “I only know that is the most wonderful thing in the world to be in the company of such beautiful women.” He threw the rag back to the bar and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, what can I get you folks.” It was almost as if Don suddenly remembered that his beautiful woman of the moment would be walking into Risky Dick’s at any moment, wanting his full attention. “How about a pitcher of Grain Belt? Are you in the mood for burgers tonight? I also have some pulled pork and barbeque sauce for sandwiches, if you’re interested.”
The group all agreed in unison that burgers were the meal of choice, and Don moved quickly to the kitchen. Martin could hear the sizzling of the ground beef on the griddle as he looked around the restaurant, taking in who of Burnett County’s citizenry was in the house. The place was unusually empty, something Martin was thankful for, though he didn’t know exactly why.
Don was back to the table with a pitcher of beer and three frosty mugs. “Here you go, Ladies, Martin.” He poured a mug for each of them, and went back to the bar to fill the pitcher up to the top again. “Here, this should keep you going for a while.” And he was gone again, back to the kitchen.
Martin picked up his mug and held it up. “To making sure Frank Talbot doesn’t hurt one more Indian girl.” Shirley and Sharla raised their mugs and clunked them into Martin’s. “To making sure Frank Talbot doesn’t hurt one more girl,” Shirley reiterated. “Indian or otherwise.”
+ + +
By the time Martin, Sharla and Shirley finished their burgers and had a couple of beers each, they had reviewed all they knew about Talbot’s activities, how the Sentinel had documented each incident (“or covered it up”, as Shirley liked to refer to it) and what they thought Martin should do next to corner him and wrap up his story at the same time.
“I think you should just interview Talbot and ask him point blank just what he thinks he’s been doing all these years,” Shirley suggested, indignantly. “And make sure you do it in public so lots of people can see him squirm.”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t know, Shirley. That seems a little too confrontational, and he’d probably cry ‘fowl’ to Clark.”
Sharla cut in. “And he’s such a snake, he’d deny it and probably pretty convincingly.” Shirley nodded. “You’re right. He’s a great liar.”
Each woman grew quiet as they each recalled their own humiliation and how Talbot had acted as if nothing happened in the limited aftermath. Martin got up and went to the bar to refill the pitcher. "Martin, would you bring me a Coke?" Sharla called after him. He looked around, craned his neck to see into the kitchen and couldn’t see Don anywhere. He called out, “Don, I’m refilling our pitcher and getting a Coke,” hoping he’d hear, and heard a muffled response from the store room behind the kitchen, “Help yourself.”
Martin moved toward the table and saw Sharla and Shirley deep in conversation. They shut up quickly when they saw him approach. “Here you go, Girls. If my journalism job doesn’t work out, I can be a bartender.” They looked at each other and began laughing. “Martin, you are a riot,” Shirley smiled up at him and held up her mug. “Fill me up, bar keep. I’m thirsty.”
Martin filled Shirley’s mug, set Sharla's Coke in front of her and was going to fill his own mug when he heard he heard the door open to Risky Dick’s. Jean Lundeen walked through the door, let out a gasp and said, “Martin, what are you doing here?”
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Chapter 30
Martin sat at of Don Wardle’s bar at 7:10, sipping a Grain Belt, nervously waiting for his dinner with Sharla and Shirley. Other than Don, Sharla hadn’t met any of his friends or family, which Martin knew was only a handful of people, but still. He felt like this was a big step, and he didn’t want to give anything away to anyone who would be sitting with him at Risky Dick’s, discussing the story and enjoying a meal.
When he asked Sharla to meet him for dinner, it felt like the most normal thing in the world. He liked her, that he knew for sure. And she seemed to like him. So why not get together?
But adding Shirley made it less like a date, and Martin hoped he hadn’t ruined whatever was developing between him and Sharla by missing a cue or acting on impulse. Inviting Shirley to join them felt pretty natural, too. He had a feeling that Shirley and Sharla would like each other. But maybe Sharla thought their dinner was a “date” date.
Martin looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and let out a big sigh. Don came up from the basement, carrying a full keg of beer and letting it drop with a “clunk” on the old linoleum behind the bar. He wiped his hands on his apron, put his hands on his hips and looked at Martin. “You know, Jimmy Olson? One of these days I’m going to figure out what the hell it is you keep seeing on my ceiling that makes you let out a sign like that.” Martin jerked his head down, opened his eyes and smiled at Don. “It isn’t your ceiling, Don, it’s me.”
Don chuckled. “You? What is it about you that makes you let out that sigh too deep for words?”
Martin gave a mock frown at Don’s Biblical poetry, then shook his head. “I don’t know. It just seems like every time I just go with the flow, I mess things up.” Don took Martin’s beer, and topped it off. “Like what?” he asked.
“Like I asked Sharla to meet me for dinner here tonight and made it almost seem like a work thing where we could talk about the story and Talbot. But it feels sort of like a date,” Martin explained. Don nodded. “So what’s wrong with that? It’s about time you started making some moves on that little cutie.”
Martin gave a slight shutter and continued. “Well, that’s kind of what I thought, but I don’t want to be too pushy, you know?” Don rolled his eyes.
“Don, cut it out! This isn’t easy for me, you know? I’ve never had a real date before, and I’ve never been particularly good with girls. I’m having a little trouble reading the cues…”
Don patted Martin’s hand. “Does she seem happy to see you when you stop by at Wild Bill’s?”
Martin nodded. “But she’s friendly, Don. She’s nice to everyone.”
Don shook his head. “Yeah, she’s friendly, but every time you ask her to do something or help you or whatever, she’s there, Martin, ready for action. I don’t see her doing that with the other guys that stop in to Wild Bill’s to pay too much for gas. She likes you, I can tell.”
Martin scratched his head and took a drink of his beer. “Well then, I think I messed this up,” he said. “I asked Shirley to join us to discuss the story. They will both be here at 7:30.”
Don let out a big whoop and slapped the bar. “Martin, you are something else.” He came around the bar and grabbed Martin’s shoulders from behind and shook him a little. “You think way too much, man, and you are way too sensitive. Relax! Okay, so you missed a chance to get your romance with Sharla jumpstarted tonight. You’re being natural and cool, and a go-getter. Women like that, trust me. No woman likes some guy mooning over them. The chase goes both ways, you know.”
Martin shook Don’s hands off his shoulders and turned around on his stool to face him. “The chase, Don? The chase? For God’s sake, please, no more advice. I’ll take it from here.” He smiled at Don and said, “Thanks, I appreciate the encouragement. Clearly, you have had more practice at this than I have.”
Don wiggled his eyebrows and winked at Martin. “Speaking of romance, guess who else is coming in for a burger and a beer tonight?” Don turned his back on Martin and sashayed back behind the bar. “The lovely Jean Lundeen will be joining us this evening at 8:00 p.m., and I plan to wow her once again with my charm and personality.”
Martin almost fell off the bar stool. “My mother...having dinner...with us?” he asked in a horrified tone that said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her, not here, not tonight.
Don straightened up, put his hands on the bar and leaned over to get his face closer to Martin’s. “She’s not having dinner with ‘us’, Martin. She’s having dinner with me.” Don was so close to Martin, he could smell cologne and noticed he had shaved and was wearing a clean, white Polo shirt instead of a greasy Risky Dick’s T-shirt. He slapped his hands on the bar, flashed Martin a big grin and moved toward the kitchen. “Make sure you stay out of our way, Martin. I want that gorgeous woman’s full attention.”
Once again, Martin felt ill and his head started to spin. He couldn’t decide what upset him more – Don’s in-your-face courtship of his mother, or Jean and Sharla meeting for the first time. Either way, he knew it wasn’t going to be good.
When he asked Sharla to meet him for dinner, it felt like the most normal thing in the world. He liked her, that he knew for sure. And she seemed to like him. So why not get together?
But adding Shirley made it less like a date, and Martin hoped he hadn’t ruined whatever was developing between him and Sharla by missing a cue or acting on impulse. Inviting Shirley to join them felt pretty natural, too. He had a feeling that Shirley and Sharla would like each other. But maybe Sharla thought their dinner was a “date” date.
Martin looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and let out a big sigh. Don came up from the basement, carrying a full keg of beer and letting it drop with a “clunk” on the old linoleum behind the bar. He wiped his hands on his apron, put his hands on his hips and looked at Martin. “You know, Jimmy Olson? One of these days I’m going to figure out what the hell it is you keep seeing on my ceiling that makes you let out a sign like that.” Martin jerked his head down, opened his eyes and smiled at Don. “It isn’t your ceiling, Don, it’s me.”
Don chuckled. “You? What is it about you that makes you let out that sigh too deep for words?”
Martin gave a mock frown at Don’s Biblical poetry, then shook his head. “I don’t know. It just seems like every time I just go with the flow, I mess things up.” Don took Martin’s beer, and topped it off. “Like what?” he asked.
“Like I asked Sharla to meet me for dinner here tonight and made it almost seem like a work thing where we could talk about the story and Talbot. But it feels sort of like a date,” Martin explained. Don nodded. “So what’s wrong with that? It’s about time you started making some moves on that little cutie.”
Martin gave a slight shutter and continued. “Well, that’s kind of what I thought, but I don’t want to be too pushy, you know?” Don rolled his eyes.
“Don, cut it out! This isn’t easy for me, you know? I’ve never had a real date before, and I’ve never been particularly good with girls. I’m having a little trouble reading the cues…”
Don patted Martin’s hand. “Does she seem happy to see you when you stop by at Wild Bill’s?”
Martin nodded. “But she’s friendly, Don. She’s nice to everyone.”
Don shook his head. “Yeah, she’s friendly, but every time you ask her to do something or help you or whatever, she’s there, Martin, ready for action. I don’t see her doing that with the other guys that stop in to Wild Bill’s to pay too much for gas. She likes you, I can tell.”
Martin scratched his head and took a drink of his beer. “Well then, I think I messed this up,” he said. “I asked Shirley to join us to discuss the story. They will both be here at 7:30.”
Don let out a big whoop and slapped the bar. “Martin, you are something else.” He came around the bar and grabbed Martin’s shoulders from behind and shook him a little. “You think way too much, man, and you are way too sensitive. Relax! Okay, so you missed a chance to get your romance with Sharla jumpstarted tonight. You’re being natural and cool, and a go-getter. Women like that, trust me. No woman likes some guy mooning over them. The chase goes both ways, you know.”
Martin shook Don’s hands off his shoulders and turned around on his stool to face him. “The chase, Don? The chase? For God’s sake, please, no more advice. I’ll take it from here.” He smiled at Don and said, “Thanks, I appreciate the encouragement. Clearly, you have had more practice at this than I have.”
Don wiggled his eyebrows and winked at Martin. “Speaking of romance, guess who else is coming in for a burger and a beer tonight?” Don turned his back on Martin and sashayed back behind the bar. “The lovely Jean Lundeen will be joining us this evening at 8:00 p.m., and I plan to wow her once again with my charm and personality.”
Martin almost fell off the bar stool. “My mother...having dinner...with us?” he asked in a horrified tone that said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her, not here, not tonight.
Don straightened up, put his hands on the bar and leaned over to get his face closer to Martin’s. “She’s not having dinner with ‘us’, Martin. She’s having dinner with me.” Don was so close to Martin, he could smell cologne and noticed he had shaved and was wearing a clean, white Polo shirt instead of a greasy Risky Dick’s T-shirt. He slapped his hands on the bar, flashed Martin a big grin and moved toward the kitchen. “Make sure you stay out of our way, Martin. I want that gorgeous woman’s full attention.”
Once again, Martin felt ill and his head started to spin. He couldn’t decide what upset him more – Don’s in-your-face courtship of his mother, or Jean and Sharla meeting for the first time. Either way, he knew it wasn’t going to be good.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Chapter 29
Martin got back to the Sentinel building about 1-1/2 hours later then he’d told Sam he would. He and Sharla just kept talking, and before he knew it, it was almost 4:20 p.m. He raced back to the Sentinel office and rushed into the building, just in time to run into Shirley leaving for the day. “Gotta get to my mom’s and…”. Shirley stopped mid-sentence. She could see Martin was lost in thought, and checked the front parking lot to see if anyone was coming in with him. “Hey, Martin, are you okay?” She moved closer to him and looked him right in the eyes. He looked back at her with a look that told her he had just gathered an important piece of information. “You’ve found something out about Talbot,” she whispered, urgently. “What’s up?”
He pushed past her gently and said, “Come back to my cube. I want to look at some of the old papers from the early 80s.”
Shirley followed him back to his desk, trying to keep her Swedish clogs from clomping too loudly across the old wooden floors. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody here,” Martin reassured her. For 4:30 in the afternoon on a Monday, the place was unusually dead, not a soul in sight. And most of the lights had been turned off. “Jeez,” Martin muttered, “doesn’t anyone work a full eight hours anymore?”
“You should talk, Lover Boy,” Shirley replied. “Where the heck have you been for the past hour and a half? Smooching it up with your honey?”
Martin stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to face Shirley so quickly, she almost ran into him. She leered up at him, a satisfied smirk on her face. “For your information, Shirley, I was not smooching up Sharla Whitefeather…” Shirley’s face changed to one of shock. “Sharla Whitefeather. Hoohoo, Martin, I was just kidding. You were with Sharla Whitefeather?” She said it in such shock and amazement that Martin thought she didn’t think he had a prayer with Sharla. He tried to mask his hurt, and continued through her laugher, “Shirley, knock it off. I went to see Sharla, who is a friend of mine, by the way, to get some information on the Tribal Community.” Shirley stopped laughing, and listened. “I was interviewing Karen Howe today and something about her reaction when I mentioned Talbot made me think she might be one of his victims.”
Martin moved into his cube, sat behind his desk and motioned her to sit down on the folding chair next to his desk. He could see Shirley was confused and getting ready to pooh pooh his idea, but he held up his hand. “Let me finish. I know what you’re going to say, ‘he only preys on Native American girls’. Well, I got to thinking, what if Karen was part Indian? And that’s why I went to Wild Bill’s. I knew Sharla would know.”
Shirley looked at him and squinted her eyes. “Karen Howe? No way…,” she said, and then saw Martin nodding his head. “Karen Howe, an Indian?”
Martin kept nodding. “Yep, on her mother’s side. 50%. An ethnic fact hidden by her father’s money and power in Burnett County.” Martin slapped his hand on his desk. “Now, if I can just find something from around the time he attacked her, something that would prove he made a move on her, a bad one.” He dug through his pile of papers, found a batch from the 1980s and handed half of them to Shirley. “I remember something about Karen’s family in the papers from when we looked before,” Martin said, half to himself. “Something about their family or their kids or something…”
“Martin, I can’t do this right now,” Shirley protested. “I told you, I have to go to my mother’s and make her dinner tonight. Her Meals on Wheels volunteer is on vacation, and I need to make sure she gets something to eat.”
Martin looked up from digging in his pile, and slumped back in his seat. Then, he sat up again and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Shirley. I’m going to find something, and will report back.” He smiled at her. “Say, what are you doing for dinner tonight? Are you just fixing dinner for your mom or staying to eat with her?”
Shirley thought a minute. “I was going to stay and eat with her, but what did you have in mind?”
“Sharla and I are having a burger at Risky Dick’s. We’re going to talk over the story and throw some ideas around for how we can trap Frank Talbot.” His eyes looked eager as he talked. “If you join us, it will be one more brain for us to tap into. And Don will be there, too. He knows what’s going on. I figure you can all help me figure out my next steps.”
He stopped and looked satisfied with himself. Shirley looked at him intently, got up and started moving out of the cube. “Martin, you are something,” she said, laughing a little. “Okay, I’ll be there. It will be fun.” She groaned. “What time?”
“7:30 sharp,” Martin replied.
“Okay, 7:30 sharp it is then,” Shirley said as she turned to walk out of the newsroom. “And you can pay for dinner since I’m sure you were planning on treating Ms. Whitefeather to dinner as well?” She looked back at him and winked. “Don’t worry, Martin, the secrets of your love life are safe with me.”
He pushed past her gently and said, “Come back to my cube. I want to look at some of the old papers from the early 80s.”
Shirley followed him back to his desk, trying to keep her Swedish clogs from clomping too loudly across the old wooden floors. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody here,” Martin reassured her. For 4:30 in the afternoon on a Monday, the place was unusually dead, not a soul in sight. And most of the lights had been turned off. “Jeez,” Martin muttered, “doesn’t anyone work a full eight hours anymore?”
“You should talk, Lover Boy,” Shirley replied. “Where the heck have you been for the past hour and a half? Smooching it up with your honey?”
Martin stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to face Shirley so quickly, she almost ran into him. She leered up at him, a satisfied smirk on her face. “For your information, Shirley, I was not smooching up Sharla Whitefeather…” Shirley’s face changed to one of shock. “Sharla Whitefeather. Hoohoo, Martin, I was just kidding. You were with Sharla Whitefeather?” She said it in such shock and amazement that Martin thought she didn’t think he had a prayer with Sharla. He tried to mask his hurt, and continued through her laugher, “Shirley, knock it off. I went to see Sharla, who is a friend of mine, by the way, to get some information on the Tribal Community.” Shirley stopped laughing, and listened. “I was interviewing Karen Howe today and something about her reaction when I mentioned Talbot made me think she might be one of his victims.”
Martin moved into his cube, sat behind his desk and motioned her to sit down on the folding chair next to his desk. He could see Shirley was confused and getting ready to pooh pooh his idea, but he held up his hand. “Let me finish. I know what you’re going to say, ‘he only preys on Native American girls’. Well, I got to thinking, what if Karen was part Indian? And that’s why I went to Wild Bill’s. I knew Sharla would know.”
Shirley looked at him and squinted her eyes. “Karen Howe? No way…,” she said, and then saw Martin nodding his head. “Karen Howe, an Indian?”
Martin kept nodding. “Yep, on her mother’s side. 50%. An ethnic fact hidden by her father’s money and power in Burnett County.” Martin slapped his hand on his desk. “Now, if I can just find something from around the time he attacked her, something that would prove he made a move on her, a bad one.” He dug through his pile of papers, found a batch from the 1980s and handed half of them to Shirley. “I remember something about Karen’s family in the papers from when we looked before,” Martin said, half to himself. “Something about their family or their kids or something…”
“Martin, I can’t do this right now,” Shirley protested. “I told you, I have to go to my mother’s and make her dinner tonight. Her Meals on Wheels volunteer is on vacation, and I need to make sure she gets something to eat.”
Martin looked up from digging in his pile, and slumped back in his seat. Then, he sat up again and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Shirley. I’m going to find something, and will report back.” He smiled at her. “Say, what are you doing for dinner tonight? Are you just fixing dinner for your mom or staying to eat with her?”
Shirley thought a minute. “I was going to stay and eat with her, but what did you have in mind?”
“Sharla and I are having a burger at Risky Dick’s. We’re going to talk over the story and throw some ideas around for how we can trap Frank Talbot.” His eyes looked eager as he talked. “If you join us, it will be one more brain for us to tap into. And Don will be there, too. He knows what’s going on. I figure you can all help me figure out my next steps.”
He stopped and looked satisfied with himself. Shirley looked at him intently, got up and started moving out of the cube. “Martin, you are something,” she said, laughing a little. “Okay, I’ll be there. It will be fun.” She groaned. “What time?”
“7:30 sharp,” Martin replied.
“Okay, 7:30 sharp it is then,” Shirley said as she turned to walk out of the newsroom. “And you can pay for dinner since I’m sure you were planning on treating Ms. Whitefeather to dinner as well?” She looked back at him and winked. “Don’t worry, Martin, the secrets of your love life are safe with me.”
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Chapter 28
Frank Talbot stood by the windows of his physics classroom, looking out on the student parking lot. The final bell had just rung, and student were streaming out of the building and going to their cars to make their way to after-school jobs or to The Chattering Squirrel to get a snack. "I wonder how many of them are going home to basements of empty houses to engage in God knows what before their parents come home for the day..." Frank thought.
Frank hitched up his Dockers and smoothed his hair with both hands. He looked down at his greasy palms and wiped them on the seat of his pants. He brushed some dandruff from his shoulders, put his hands on his hips and continued to look out the window.
His gaze traveled over the jocks, the beauty queens and the brains, and finally settled on a group of freshmen Indian girls that sat in the grass under the tree. It wasn’t really spring yet, but it was warm for early April, and the sun was out, and they’d taken off their shoes and rolled up their pant to feel the warmth on their legs.
Talbot took in a shallow breath and squinted his eyes to determine which girls in the group were in his classes. He picked out three of the five, and noted that they were not pretty and not very confident. He could tell by the way they picked at the grass and avoided looking at anyone who passed that they were probably weak and wouldn’t resist. “Perfect,” he thought to himself.
He looked at his watch and noted the date. “Only 48 days,” he said to himself. “Only 48 more days…”
Suddenly, Talbot turned from the window and went back to his desk. He pulled out his student lists and noted which of his classes during the day each of the girls was within his influence. He checked their last names to see if he knew their parents from newspaper articles or school board meetings. He wondered how close they were as friends and if they would talk to each other. “I’ll have to think of a way to keep them from comparing notes,” he thought. Usually time worked to his advantage. Time that would allow for excused absences, truancy or dropping out. But he only had 48 days.
His thoughts turned to the Siren School Board and Jeff Howe. “Damn that asshole,” Frank thought. “How dare he demand that I retire?”
Actually, Jeff only suggested that Talbot might like to retire, stating he was of retirement age and the district needed to downsize. But in Talbot’s mind, it was a demand, close to a veiled threat. “But how did Howe know?” he wondered. “Unless that arrogant little bitch of a wife of his told him.”
Talbot thought back to his early missteps and began to pace. He remembered back to his early days of teaching when he didn't plan his moves, didn't do his homework, before he learned he had to be careful. He moved from the desk to the chalkboard, clapped two erasers three times, moved back to the window and then back to his desk. “What would she have told him, though?” he said out loud. “Nothing happened…nothing much.”
He thought back 24 years to when Karen was a freshman at Siren High, and he carelessly took an opportunity. He tried, he came so close, but Karen worked her way out of his grasp, pulled her ripped shirt back on and ran out the door. It was about two weeks later that he discovered Karen had a very wealthy and powerful father who asked no questions when she begged to go to a private boarding school in Milwaukee. Karen came back to Burnett County after graduating from Northwestern University and after marrying Jeff Howe, who continued to pursue her even though she was educated over the years in locations that were hundreds of miles away.
The first and last time Frank saw Karen Howe after that incident was at a school board reception for the new superintendent six years ago. She acted as if he didn’t even exist.
“What an arrogant little bitch…”
Frank hitched up his Dockers and smoothed his hair with both hands. He looked down at his greasy palms and wiped them on the seat of his pants. He brushed some dandruff from his shoulders, put his hands on his hips and continued to look out the window.
His gaze traveled over the jocks, the beauty queens and the brains, and finally settled on a group of freshmen Indian girls that sat in the grass under the tree. It wasn’t really spring yet, but it was warm for early April, and the sun was out, and they’d taken off their shoes and rolled up their pant to feel the warmth on their legs.
Talbot took in a shallow breath and squinted his eyes to determine which girls in the group were in his classes. He picked out three of the five, and noted that they were not pretty and not very confident. He could tell by the way they picked at the grass and avoided looking at anyone who passed that they were probably weak and wouldn’t resist. “Perfect,” he thought to himself.
He looked at his watch and noted the date. “Only 48 days,” he said to himself. “Only 48 more days…”
Suddenly, Talbot turned from the window and went back to his desk. He pulled out his student lists and noted which of his classes during the day each of the girls was within his influence. He checked their last names to see if he knew their parents from newspaper articles or school board meetings. He wondered how close they were as friends and if they would talk to each other. “I’ll have to think of a way to keep them from comparing notes,” he thought. Usually time worked to his advantage. Time that would allow for excused absences, truancy or dropping out. But he only had 48 days.
His thoughts turned to the Siren School Board and Jeff Howe. “Damn that asshole,” Frank thought. “How dare he demand that I retire?”
Actually, Jeff only suggested that Talbot might like to retire, stating he was of retirement age and the district needed to downsize. But in Talbot’s mind, it was a demand, close to a veiled threat. “But how did Howe know?” he wondered. “Unless that arrogant little bitch of a wife of his told him.”
Talbot thought back to his early missteps and began to pace. He remembered back to his early days of teaching when he didn't plan his moves, didn't do his homework, before he learned he had to be careful. He moved from the desk to the chalkboard, clapped two erasers three times, moved back to the window and then back to his desk. “What would she have told him, though?” he said out loud. “Nothing happened…nothing much.”
He thought back 24 years to when Karen was a freshman at Siren High, and he carelessly took an opportunity. He tried, he came so close, but Karen worked her way out of his grasp, pulled her ripped shirt back on and ran out the door. It was about two weeks later that he discovered Karen had a very wealthy and powerful father who asked no questions when she begged to go to a private boarding school in Milwaukee. Karen came back to Burnett County after graduating from Northwestern University and after marrying Jeff Howe, who continued to pursue her even though she was educated over the years in locations that were hundreds of miles away.
The first and last time Frank saw Karen Howe after that incident was at a school board reception for the new superintendent six years ago. She acted as if he didn’t even exist.
“What an arrogant little bitch…”
Chapter 27
Martin backed his Mazda out of the Adventures Mall parking lot and headed back to the Sentinel office. “Man oh man, what was that woman’s problem?” Sam asked. “What the heck did you say to her anyway when you two were back in her office? Did you make a pass at her or something?”
Martin frowned and shot a quick glance at him. “Yeah, right. No, Sam, I didn’t do or say anything. One minute I was telling her about the series, the next minute, she’s too busy to talk to us anymore.” Irritated, he honked at a driver that cut him off. “Did you get anything good during the fifteen minutes we were talking in the office?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I got a few things. She shouldn’t have given me a map of the store with that stupid list.” They both started laughing. “I’ll dump the pictures on my computer and send them to you. Or do you want to see them right away?”
Martin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got an errand to run.” He pulled into the Sentinel parking lot and said to Sam, “If anyone asks, I’ll be back around 3:00 p.m.”
+ + +
It took Martin about 3 minutes to get to Wild Bill’s. He had to talk to Sharla and get her read on his conversation with Karen Howe.
There was no one in the store when Martin walked through the door to Wild Bill’s. Even Sharla wasn’t behind the counter. He drummed his fingers on the cash register and tried to make some noise to let someone know he was there. “Hello, is anyone here? Sharla?” he called, stepping around the counter to peer down the short aisles that led to the back office.
“Hang on, hang on, I’ll be right there,” her voice came back muffled from the farthest corner of the store. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Martin heard her tennis shoe footsteps hurrying down one of the aisles up to the front. “Oh, Martin, it’s you!” she said in perhaps the happiest voice Martin had ever heard. She clapped her hands and said, “I am so happy to see you!” Her obvious delight made him completely forget thinking he shouldn’t see her for a while.
Martin smiled at her and replied, “Well, it’s really good to see you, too. I’ve missed you…” He couldn’t believe he said exactly what he was feeling, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sharla looked down and then peeked up at him through her bangs and smiled back at him. “So, are you buying your usual two and a half gallons of gas today?”
Martin laughed out loud. “No, I just came here to see you, Sharla, and get your thoughts on something related to my story about Frank Talbot.”
Sharla’s face instantly got serious. “Really? What have you found out?”
“Well, I’m not sure, and that’s why I wanted to talk with you,” he said. “I went over to interview Karen Howe today at Delights of the North Woods…”
Sharla interrupted him. “Oh, that is such a nice store.”
Martin hesitated and laughed again. “Yes, yes it is a nice store, Sharla. But during the interview, things got a little weird.” He explained his idea for the series, how Karen and the store figured into the series, and his plan to corner Talbot. “Things were going along great. I asked her some questions about the shop and told her how her story fit with the others in the series. I mentioned Talbot being part of the series as a long time teacher who is retiring, and she just clammed up. It was like I hit her in the stomach.”
Sharla frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Well let’s see, here. Maybe she had friends that were assaulted by him, or maybe she…” A sudden look of realization came over Sharla’s face. “Wait a minute, do you think she was one of the girls he abused?”
“That’s thought crossed my mind,” Martin answered. “Let me ask you, is Karen part Indian?”
“Karen Howe?” Sharla practically shouted her name. “Oh, I don’t think so, unless…” She stopped mid-sentence, thought for a moment and then took off for the office in the back. “Hang on, Martin. I’m going to check something.” She came back a few minutes later with a business card. “Let me make a quick call,” she said and picked up the phone from behind the counter.
Martin started to get nervous. “Now wait a minute, Sharla, who are you calling? We can’t just let this whole thing get out.”
Sharla shook her head at him and poked him in the arm. “I’m calling Uncle Bill. I’ll make something up about why I’m asking and he won’t think twice about. Just trust me. He’s got so many other things to worry about right now.” She winked at him from behind her bangs. She looked down at the business card and began dialing. “He’s meeting with an accountant today. He needs help straightening out the mess created by that white woman.”
The store was silent for a moment as Sharla waited for someone on the other end of the line to answer her call. “Hello, I’m looking for Bill Whitefeather. Is he there?” She nodded and said, “I’ll hold.”
Martin still felt a little panicked. “How…?” he began as Sharla continued to hold, and she held up her finger and held it to her lips.
“Hi, Uncle Bill. It’s Sharla,” she said into the receiver. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sitting here with a couple of ‘customers’, and they’ve got a bet going.” She paused as Bill probably grumbled about being bothered. “I know, Uncle Bill, but they won’t leave me alone until I find the answer, and I know you’ll know the answer that will settle their bet.” She laughed and nodded, and then said, “Okay, here’s what they want to know. Is Jeff Howe’s wife part Indian?”
Sharla put her head down and listened intently to the voice coming through the receiver. It seemed like forever until she nodded her head and said, “Okay, thanks Uncle Bill." And then, to the phantom customers, loud enough for Bill to hear, "Hey, Buddy, you win the bet!” When she hung up the phone, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled at him with a self satisfied grin. “Well, you won’t believe it, but yes, Karen Howe is half Indian.”
+ + +
Bill Whitefeather, as a leader in the tribal community, knew the lineage of every Native American in Burnett County. And as such, he knew that Karen Howe’s mother was indeed a full blooded Indian. Karen’s father, who came from a wealthy and influential family, broke with convention and married her anyway. And Karen, as their daughter, overcame the normal prejudice that permeated Burnett County when she was a young girl because she was part of that wealthy and influential family but also, because she was pretty and accomplished. And over time, and certainly by the time Jeff Howe started dating her, it was pretty much forgotten that she had 50% Indian blood pumping through her veins.
Martin looked at Sharla in amazement. “I’m not sure I like it that you can lie so easily,” he teased her. Sharla laughed. “Oh, it was just a little white lie. And Uncle Bill won’t even remember that I asked him.” She stopped laughing and became very serious.
“So, do you think he could have assaulted Karen, too?” Martin asked Sharla carefully.
“Martin, I think he’s capable of doing anything as long as he thinks he can get away with it.”
Martin frowned and shot a quick glance at him. “Yeah, right. No, Sam, I didn’t do or say anything. One minute I was telling her about the series, the next minute, she’s too busy to talk to us anymore.” Irritated, he honked at a driver that cut him off. “Did you get anything good during the fifteen minutes we were talking in the office?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I got a few things. She shouldn’t have given me a map of the store with that stupid list.” They both started laughing. “I’ll dump the pictures on my computer and send them to you. Or do you want to see them right away?”
Martin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got an errand to run.” He pulled into the Sentinel parking lot and said to Sam, “If anyone asks, I’ll be back around 3:00 p.m.”
+ + +
It took Martin about 3 minutes to get to Wild Bill’s. He had to talk to Sharla and get her read on his conversation with Karen Howe.
There was no one in the store when Martin walked through the door to Wild Bill’s. Even Sharla wasn’t behind the counter. He drummed his fingers on the cash register and tried to make some noise to let someone know he was there. “Hello, is anyone here? Sharla?” he called, stepping around the counter to peer down the short aisles that led to the back office.
“Hang on, hang on, I’ll be right there,” her voice came back muffled from the farthest corner of the store. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Martin heard her tennis shoe footsteps hurrying down one of the aisles up to the front. “Oh, Martin, it’s you!” she said in perhaps the happiest voice Martin had ever heard. She clapped her hands and said, “I am so happy to see you!” Her obvious delight made him completely forget thinking he shouldn’t see her for a while.
Martin smiled at her and replied, “Well, it’s really good to see you, too. I’ve missed you…” He couldn’t believe he said exactly what he was feeling, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sharla looked down and then peeked up at him through her bangs and smiled back at him. “So, are you buying your usual two and a half gallons of gas today?”
Martin laughed out loud. “No, I just came here to see you, Sharla, and get your thoughts on something related to my story about Frank Talbot.”
Sharla’s face instantly got serious. “Really? What have you found out?”
“Well, I’m not sure, and that’s why I wanted to talk with you,” he said. “I went over to interview Karen Howe today at Delights of the North Woods…”
Sharla interrupted him. “Oh, that is such a nice store.”
Martin hesitated and laughed again. “Yes, yes it is a nice store, Sharla. But during the interview, things got a little weird.” He explained his idea for the series, how Karen and the store figured into the series, and his plan to corner Talbot. “Things were going along great. I asked her some questions about the shop and told her how her story fit with the others in the series. I mentioned Talbot being part of the series as a long time teacher who is retiring, and she just clammed up. It was like I hit her in the stomach.”
Sharla frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Well let’s see, here. Maybe she had friends that were assaulted by him, or maybe she…” A sudden look of realization came over Sharla’s face. “Wait a minute, do you think she was one of the girls he abused?”
“That’s thought crossed my mind,” Martin answered. “Let me ask you, is Karen part Indian?”
“Karen Howe?” Sharla practically shouted her name. “Oh, I don’t think so, unless…” She stopped mid-sentence, thought for a moment and then took off for the office in the back. “Hang on, Martin. I’m going to check something.” She came back a few minutes later with a business card. “Let me make a quick call,” she said and picked up the phone from behind the counter.
Martin started to get nervous. “Now wait a minute, Sharla, who are you calling? We can’t just let this whole thing get out.”
Sharla shook her head at him and poked him in the arm. “I’m calling Uncle Bill. I’ll make something up about why I’m asking and he won’t think twice about. Just trust me. He’s got so many other things to worry about right now.” She winked at him from behind her bangs. She looked down at the business card and began dialing. “He’s meeting with an accountant today. He needs help straightening out the mess created by that white woman.”
The store was silent for a moment as Sharla waited for someone on the other end of the line to answer her call. “Hello, I’m looking for Bill Whitefeather. Is he there?” She nodded and said, “I’ll hold.”
Martin still felt a little panicked. “How…?” he began as Sharla continued to hold, and she held up her finger and held it to her lips.
“Hi, Uncle Bill. It’s Sharla,” she said into the receiver. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sitting here with a couple of ‘customers’, and they’ve got a bet going.” She paused as Bill probably grumbled about being bothered. “I know, Uncle Bill, but they won’t leave me alone until I find the answer, and I know you’ll know the answer that will settle their bet.” She laughed and nodded, and then said, “Okay, here’s what they want to know. Is Jeff Howe’s wife part Indian?”
Sharla put her head down and listened intently to the voice coming through the receiver. It seemed like forever until she nodded her head and said, “Okay, thanks Uncle Bill." And then, to the phantom customers, loud enough for Bill to hear, "Hey, Buddy, you win the bet!” When she hung up the phone, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled at him with a self satisfied grin. “Well, you won’t believe it, but yes, Karen Howe is half Indian.”
+ + +
Bill Whitefeather, as a leader in the tribal community, knew the lineage of every Native American in Burnett County. And as such, he knew that Karen Howe’s mother was indeed a full blooded Indian. Karen’s father, who came from a wealthy and influential family, broke with convention and married her anyway. And Karen, as their daughter, overcame the normal prejudice that permeated Burnett County when she was a young girl because she was part of that wealthy and influential family but also, because she was pretty and accomplished. And over time, and certainly by the time Jeff Howe started dating her, it was pretty much forgotten that she had 50% Indian blood pumping through her veins.
Martin looked at Sharla in amazement. “I’m not sure I like it that you can lie so easily,” he teased her. Sharla laughed. “Oh, it was just a little white lie. And Uncle Bill won’t even remember that I asked him.” She stopped laughing and became very serious.
“So, do you think he could have assaulted Karen, too?” Martin asked Sharla carefully.
“Martin, I think he’s capable of doing anything as long as he thinks he can get away with it.”
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Chapter 26
As Martin and Sam made their way down the short hall to Delights of the North Woods, Martin smelled cinnamon coming from the store. The windows were beautiful, completely re-done, and all the displays inside the store looked fresh and new. Karen herself stood behind the counter in a brand new outfit, her hair and make-up perfect.
She came from behind the counter when she saw Martin and Sam enter the store. “Gentlemen, welcome,” she said to them with a false note of gaiety in her voice. “I am so happy to have you visit Delights of the North Woods.”
Karen crossed the floor to first shake hands with Martin. “Martin, such a pleasure to see you again.” She looked over at Sam and moved to shake his hand as well. “Hello, I’m Karen Howe. I own Delights of the North Woods.” She shook Sam’s hand and looked him square in the face as he responded, visibly flustered, “Sam Jackson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Howe.”
Martin jumped in, “Sam’s our photographer. He’ll be taking some pictures of your beautiful new windows and displays.”
Karen seemed to glow she was so pleased. “Oh that would be just wonderful,” she enthused. “Where should we start?”
Martin glanced over at Sam. “Why don’t you take some photos while I ask Karen some questions?” Sam nodded and made his way to the front of the store. Karen looked after him as he moved away and got another look of panic on her face. “Shouldn’t we stay with him?” she asked Martin. “What if he takes pictures of the wrong things?”
Martin looked at her. “Wrong things? I think everything in your store is great.”
Karen shook her head. “No, no, no. He should take pictures of things that would make good grad gifts.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Martin. “Isn’t that what your story is about?”
Martin was surprised at how confrontational Karen seemed. “Well yes, of course.” His eyes followed Sam as he walked away. “Sam, hold up. Karen wants to point out some things that are particularly good for grad gifts.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Karen. “Okay. What do you suggest, Ms. Howe?”
Karen pulled a list she’d prepared out of the back pocket of her slacks. “Here are some shots that I think would be good for your story.” She handed the list to Sam and went over where each item was located in the store. “Can you figure this out, Sam?” She smiled at him sweetly and patted him lightly on the shoulder. Sam looked at Martin and then back to Karen. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good! Now Martin, let’s go back to my office, and you can ask me your questions.” She moved past him and led the way to the back of the store. Martin glanced back at Sam who was watching Karen hurry away. They both shrugged their shoulders and went to their assigned tasks.
+ + +
The cinnamon fragrance Martin and Sam smelled as they entered the store was coming from Karen’s office. She was simmering some potpourri in a tiny crock pot on her desk, and Martin realized it was a strategic move to create ambience in the store.
Karen motioned Martin to sit down in a flowered over-stuffed chair that sat in the corner of the small office. The chair was so soft and worn, Martin sank into the cushion and his knees were pratically to his chin. Hand embroidered sayings were framed on the wall's throughout the office, uplifting and spiritual sayings that Martin felt sure inspired Karen Howe daily. Karen’s antique mahogany desk and surrounding shelves were filled with photos of her accomplished and beautiful daughters. Martin noticed that there wasn’t one single photo of Jeff Howe in the close to 40 framed photographs in the office.
“So, why don’t you ask me your questions,” Karen directed.
“Okay, let’s start with how you came up with the idea for the store, how long you’ve been open, you know, the story of how Delights of the North Woods was born.”
Karen launched into a 10-minute passionate history of her beloved shop, how it was her lifelong dream that began when she was a little girl who liked “playing store” with her friends. Her dream became a reality six years before when friends and family invested in her and the store. “I really felt that Siren deserved a first class shopping experience for all the moments in life that require a very special gift. Thankfully, I had many people who believed in me.” She smiled a self-satisfied smile and folded her arms across her chest.
Martin smiled back at her. “That is really lovely, Karen. So what do you see as trends in graduation gift giving?”
Karen looked off thoughtfully and then returned her gaze to Martin. “Journals are very popular. We have some lovely leather journals with pens that make a wonderful graduation gift. You know, something for young people to capture their thoughts and ideas as they embark on their new adventures.”
Martin nodded. “Other ideas?”
Karen sighed. “Well, of course! Candles, photo frames, photo albums. We also have scrap booking materials. What graduate wouldn’t love to document their journey with a lovely scrapbook?”
Martin pressed. “What about those graduates who just want cash? Why should someone get them a gift if they just want cash?" Karen got up from her chair and stood over Martin. “Well, cash is so crass. It doesn’t create a lovely memory. It will be spent on…well, who knows what. People need gifts, things to mark the transitions in their lives.” Her voice was raised, and she was getting agitated.
Martin decided to change course to keep things calm. “Okay, Karen, let’s switch gears. Did I tell you how this story will be part of a series on graduation and the end of the school year?”
Karen seemed to be jolted out of her agitation, and she calmed down. “Oh, really? How nice. A series? What will be some of the other stories?”
“Well, I’ll be talking to Carl Olson over at the Lodge at Crooked Lake about prom plans. And Jan Prestrud about prom dresses. Kyle Johanson about college finances. You know, all aspects of the end of high school.”
Karen’s face brightened, and she seemed to be getting more relaxed. “This sounds just wonderful! What else?”
Martin warmed to the conversation. “Well, we’re also doing a piece that honors a teacher who is retiring after more than 30 years of service.” Before Karen could ask the teacher’s name, Martin said, “Frank Talbot. He is the focus of that story.”
Karen face froze, and she stared at Martin. “Frank Talbot?” she said weakly.
Martin looked at her face and noticed for the first time the chiseled features, the high cheek bones, the straight black hair, the dark eyes. “Did you ever have Frank Talbot for a teacher, Karen?”
Karen didn’t answer Martin. She just stood up and said quietly, “I think we should go out and see how Sam is doing, Martin.” And as she walked out of the office, Martin knew that Karen Howe had been one of Frank Talbot’s victims.
She came from behind the counter when she saw Martin and Sam enter the store. “Gentlemen, welcome,” she said to them with a false note of gaiety in her voice. “I am so happy to have you visit Delights of the North Woods.”
Karen crossed the floor to first shake hands with Martin. “Martin, such a pleasure to see you again.” She looked over at Sam and moved to shake his hand as well. “Hello, I’m Karen Howe. I own Delights of the North Woods.” She shook Sam’s hand and looked him square in the face as he responded, visibly flustered, “Sam Jackson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Howe.”
Martin jumped in, “Sam’s our photographer. He’ll be taking some pictures of your beautiful new windows and displays.”
Karen seemed to glow she was so pleased. “Oh that would be just wonderful,” she enthused. “Where should we start?”
Martin glanced over at Sam. “Why don’t you take some photos while I ask Karen some questions?” Sam nodded and made his way to the front of the store. Karen looked after him as he moved away and got another look of panic on her face. “Shouldn’t we stay with him?” she asked Martin. “What if he takes pictures of the wrong things?”
Martin looked at her. “Wrong things? I think everything in your store is great.”
Karen shook her head. “No, no, no. He should take pictures of things that would make good grad gifts.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Martin. “Isn’t that what your story is about?”
Martin was surprised at how confrontational Karen seemed. “Well yes, of course.” His eyes followed Sam as he walked away. “Sam, hold up. Karen wants to point out some things that are particularly good for grad gifts.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Karen. “Okay. What do you suggest, Ms. Howe?”
Karen pulled a list she’d prepared out of the back pocket of her slacks. “Here are some shots that I think would be good for your story.” She handed the list to Sam and went over where each item was located in the store. “Can you figure this out, Sam?” She smiled at him sweetly and patted him lightly on the shoulder. Sam looked at Martin and then back to Karen. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good! Now Martin, let’s go back to my office, and you can ask me your questions.” She moved past him and led the way to the back of the store. Martin glanced back at Sam who was watching Karen hurry away. They both shrugged their shoulders and went to their assigned tasks.
+ + +
The cinnamon fragrance Martin and Sam smelled as they entered the store was coming from Karen’s office. She was simmering some potpourri in a tiny crock pot on her desk, and Martin realized it was a strategic move to create ambience in the store.
Karen motioned Martin to sit down in a flowered over-stuffed chair that sat in the corner of the small office. The chair was so soft and worn, Martin sank into the cushion and his knees were pratically to his chin. Hand embroidered sayings were framed on the wall's throughout the office, uplifting and spiritual sayings that Martin felt sure inspired Karen Howe daily. Karen’s antique mahogany desk and surrounding shelves were filled with photos of her accomplished and beautiful daughters. Martin noticed that there wasn’t one single photo of Jeff Howe in the close to 40 framed photographs in the office.
“So, why don’t you ask me your questions,” Karen directed.
“Okay, let’s start with how you came up with the idea for the store, how long you’ve been open, you know, the story of how Delights of the North Woods was born.”
Karen launched into a 10-minute passionate history of her beloved shop, how it was her lifelong dream that began when she was a little girl who liked “playing store” with her friends. Her dream became a reality six years before when friends and family invested in her and the store. “I really felt that Siren deserved a first class shopping experience for all the moments in life that require a very special gift. Thankfully, I had many people who believed in me.” She smiled a self-satisfied smile and folded her arms across her chest.
Martin smiled back at her. “That is really lovely, Karen. So what do you see as trends in graduation gift giving?”
Karen looked off thoughtfully and then returned her gaze to Martin. “Journals are very popular. We have some lovely leather journals with pens that make a wonderful graduation gift. You know, something for young people to capture their thoughts and ideas as they embark on their new adventures.”
Martin nodded. “Other ideas?”
Karen sighed. “Well, of course! Candles, photo frames, photo albums. We also have scrap booking materials. What graduate wouldn’t love to document their journey with a lovely scrapbook?”
Martin pressed. “What about those graduates who just want cash? Why should someone get them a gift if they just want cash?" Karen got up from her chair and stood over Martin. “Well, cash is so crass. It doesn’t create a lovely memory. It will be spent on…well, who knows what. People need gifts, things to mark the transitions in their lives.” Her voice was raised, and she was getting agitated.
Martin decided to change course to keep things calm. “Okay, Karen, let’s switch gears. Did I tell you how this story will be part of a series on graduation and the end of the school year?”
Karen seemed to be jolted out of her agitation, and she calmed down. “Oh, really? How nice. A series? What will be some of the other stories?”
“Well, I’ll be talking to Carl Olson over at the Lodge at Crooked Lake about prom plans. And Jan Prestrud about prom dresses. Kyle Johanson about college finances. You know, all aspects of the end of high school.”
Karen’s face brightened, and she seemed to be getting more relaxed. “This sounds just wonderful! What else?”
Martin warmed to the conversation. “Well, we’re also doing a piece that honors a teacher who is retiring after more than 30 years of service.” Before Karen could ask the teacher’s name, Martin said, “Frank Talbot. He is the focus of that story.”
Karen face froze, and she stared at Martin. “Frank Talbot?” she said weakly.
Martin looked at her face and noticed for the first time the chiseled features, the high cheek bones, the straight black hair, the dark eyes. “Did you ever have Frank Talbot for a teacher, Karen?”
Karen didn’t answer Martin. She just stood up and said quietly, “I think we should go out and see how Sam is doing, Martin.” And as she walked out of the office, Martin knew that Karen Howe had been one of Frank Talbot’s victims.
Chapter 25
Martin and Sam were just out of the Sentinel building and heading toward the Mazda when Martin had a thought. “Just a minute, Sam,” he said, stopping dead in his tracks. “Karen Howe told me that if ever I was going to do a story on the store, I should give her some notice. Maybe I should give her a call before we take off.”
“Marty, you think way too much,” Sam said. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Sam, I’ll buy you your lunch,” Martin said as he turned to go back into the building. “Just give me a second to give her a call.” Sam gave a loud dramatic sigh, and kept moving toward the Mazda.
Martin pulled the door back open and came back into the Sentinel reception area. Shirley Campbell was sitting at her desk, talking into the mouthpiece of her headset. It was obvious that the caller was none too pleased about something, and Shirley could barely get a word in edgewise.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooksy, I do know…yes, I do know how frustrating…you are absolutely right…awful having to go out to the middle of the yard…yes, I heard you…in your bathrobe…and the paper was soaked.” Shirley looked at Martin as he walked through the door, and rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Cooksy, please calm down. I’ll put you through to Lars Larson.”
After passing off Mrs. Cooksy to an unsuspecting Lars, Shirley ripped the headset off and threw it onto her desk. “My God, Martin, you’d think it killed her to walk outside in her robe!”
Martin chuckled and walked toward her desk. “How would you like to do me a quick favor to take your mind off of Mrs. Cooksy?” he asked her. “Can you find the phone number for Delights from the North Woods? I need to call Karen Howe.”
Shirley pulled her Rolodex towards her and flipped through the cards. “Did I put that under Howe or Delights…?” she said, finally stopping at the Ds. “Well, it isn’t under the Ds so it must be under the Hs…” She moved each card slowly and finally stopped. “Okay, Martin, here’s the number – 702-680-4762.” As Martin scribbled the number down on the new legal pad, she pushed the cards back to the rear of the holder, and pushed the holder back to the corner of her desk and whispered up to him, “What’s up, Martin? Back to straight journalism? Did you give up on the investigative stuff?” She looked up at him with a stern look on her face, challenging him, but hoping he’d say “no”.
“No, no,” he whispered back, trying to reassure her. “Just making sure I don’t get into water that is so hot, Clark pulls me off the project. We’re doing a whole series on end of the school year stuff, graduation, prom, college plans and of course, the tribute to a retiring teacher. I hope to make nice with Karen with an interview on graduation gift giving so that an interview with Jeff Howe might be a little more relaxed and hopefully revealing.” Martin looked into the inner office to see if anyone could hear them, and turned back to Shirley.
Shirley nodded. “Okay, good. Do you want me to call Karen for you and set up the interview?”
“That would be great, Shirley,” Martin replied. “Tell her I’ll be there around 1:30. Make it sound official.”
Shirley snorted. “Okay, Martin. Official it is. Excuse me while I make an appointment for the important journalist, Mr. Martin Lundeen.” She grinned at him, put on her head set and started dialing. “Hello, Karen? Shirley Campbell at the Sentinel…”
+ + +
Martin and Sam parked the Mazda in the parking lot at Adventures Mall and walked in the building through the entry on the east side. Adventures Mall was one long corridor with 10 shops, five on each side. Martin and Sam had to pass Delights from the North Woods to get to the Chattering Squirrel, and Martin thought it would be smart to stick his head in just in case Karen wasn’t up to talking with him that day.
As they came up to Karen’s store, Martin saw her busily rearranging merchandise in the front window. Karen saw him and got a panicked look on her face. “Shirley said you were coming at 1:30!” she yelled from behind the window. “You’re over an hour early!”
Martin shook his head. “We’re going to lunch at the Squirrel. We’ll see you at 1:30.”
Karen’s face softened, and she waved them on. “Enjoy your lunch. See you later,” she said through the window and went back to her rearranging.
Martin and Sam reached the Chattering Squirrel and found business brisk. Only one table was available, right by the kitchen door. Sam moved quickly past Martin to get to the table and sat down. “You’ve got to grab these tables when you can, Marty,” he said urgently. “I’ve waited for over 25 minutes to get a table here at the Squirrel sometimes. Man, do they do a good business.”
Martin glanced around the restaurant and though it was busy, they weren’t in danger of having to wait for anything. He looked at Sam and wondered how the poor guy would handle the hustle and bustle of a real city. Instead of making a snide comment at Sam’s expense, he decided to be kind. “You’re right, Sam. And you know why they do such a good business? Because they make a great sandwich. Let’s order.”
+ + +
Sam was finishing his sandwich and licking his fingers. “Man, that was good pulled pork,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. Martin could see the pork in his teeth, and the BBQ sauce on his chin. He looked away for a moment. “How was your sandwich, Marty?” Sam asked.
Martin looked back at him. “Delicious,” he responded enthusiastically.
Sam rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so what are we doing with Karen Howe and the store?” he asked.
“Well, she’s got the nicest gift shop in town, so I want to include her in the series. Show us ideas for gifts for graduates, you know. Trends in gift giving, that sort of stuff.” Martin felt like he was making it up as he went along.
“That’s good, that’s good,” said Sam. “You’re pretty smart, Marty. I never would have thought of that.”
Martin sat up in his chair. “Thanks, Sam. When we get to Delights, just follow my lead.”
Sam nodded. “But how will you fit this part in with the rest?” he asked. "This seems like a funny place to start the series."
Martin was impressed that Sam could see that interviewing Karen Howe first was probably not that smart. “I’ve got to figure that out, Sam,” Martin answered honestly. “Once we have a few more parts under our belts, it will start to make sense. Can I count on you to work this with me?” Martin asked him.
“You bet, Marty. I’m your guy. Just tell me what you want me to do and when. I’ll be there.”
Martin motioned to Connie for the check. “I appreciate it, Sam. Let me pay for our lunch, and we’ll get to our interview with Ms. Karen Howe.”
“Marty, you think way too much,” Sam said. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Sam, I’ll buy you your lunch,” Martin said as he turned to go back into the building. “Just give me a second to give her a call.” Sam gave a loud dramatic sigh, and kept moving toward the Mazda.
Martin pulled the door back open and came back into the Sentinel reception area. Shirley Campbell was sitting at her desk, talking into the mouthpiece of her headset. It was obvious that the caller was none too pleased about something, and Shirley could barely get a word in edgewise.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooksy, I do know…yes, I do know how frustrating…you are absolutely right…awful having to go out to the middle of the yard…yes, I heard you…in your bathrobe…and the paper was soaked.” Shirley looked at Martin as he walked through the door, and rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Cooksy, please calm down. I’ll put you through to Lars Larson.”
After passing off Mrs. Cooksy to an unsuspecting Lars, Shirley ripped the headset off and threw it onto her desk. “My God, Martin, you’d think it killed her to walk outside in her robe!”
Martin chuckled and walked toward her desk. “How would you like to do me a quick favor to take your mind off of Mrs. Cooksy?” he asked her. “Can you find the phone number for Delights from the North Woods? I need to call Karen Howe.”
Shirley pulled her Rolodex towards her and flipped through the cards. “Did I put that under Howe or Delights…?” she said, finally stopping at the Ds. “Well, it isn’t under the Ds so it must be under the Hs…” She moved each card slowly and finally stopped. “Okay, Martin, here’s the number – 702-680-4762.” As Martin scribbled the number down on the new legal pad, she pushed the cards back to the rear of the holder, and pushed the holder back to the corner of her desk and whispered up to him, “What’s up, Martin? Back to straight journalism? Did you give up on the investigative stuff?” She looked up at him with a stern look on her face, challenging him, but hoping he’d say “no”.
“No, no,” he whispered back, trying to reassure her. “Just making sure I don’t get into water that is so hot, Clark pulls me off the project. We’re doing a whole series on end of the school year stuff, graduation, prom, college plans and of course, the tribute to a retiring teacher. I hope to make nice with Karen with an interview on graduation gift giving so that an interview with Jeff Howe might be a little more relaxed and hopefully revealing.” Martin looked into the inner office to see if anyone could hear them, and turned back to Shirley.
Shirley nodded. “Okay, good. Do you want me to call Karen for you and set up the interview?”
“That would be great, Shirley,” Martin replied. “Tell her I’ll be there around 1:30. Make it sound official.”
Shirley snorted. “Okay, Martin. Official it is. Excuse me while I make an appointment for the important journalist, Mr. Martin Lundeen.” She grinned at him, put on her head set and started dialing. “Hello, Karen? Shirley Campbell at the Sentinel…”
+ + +
Martin and Sam parked the Mazda in the parking lot at Adventures Mall and walked in the building through the entry on the east side. Adventures Mall was one long corridor with 10 shops, five on each side. Martin and Sam had to pass Delights from the North Woods to get to the Chattering Squirrel, and Martin thought it would be smart to stick his head in just in case Karen wasn’t up to talking with him that day.
As they came up to Karen’s store, Martin saw her busily rearranging merchandise in the front window. Karen saw him and got a panicked look on her face. “Shirley said you were coming at 1:30!” she yelled from behind the window. “You’re over an hour early!”
Martin shook his head. “We’re going to lunch at the Squirrel. We’ll see you at 1:30.”
Karen’s face softened, and she waved them on. “Enjoy your lunch. See you later,” she said through the window and went back to her rearranging.
Martin and Sam reached the Chattering Squirrel and found business brisk. Only one table was available, right by the kitchen door. Sam moved quickly past Martin to get to the table and sat down. “You’ve got to grab these tables when you can, Marty,” he said urgently. “I’ve waited for over 25 minutes to get a table here at the Squirrel sometimes. Man, do they do a good business.”
Martin glanced around the restaurant and though it was busy, they weren’t in danger of having to wait for anything. He looked at Sam and wondered how the poor guy would handle the hustle and bustle of a real city. Instead of making a snide comment at Sam’s expense, he decided to be kind. “You’re right, Sam. And you know why they do such a good business? Because they make a great sandwich. Let’s order.”
+ + +
Sam was finishing his sandwich and licking his fingers. “Man, that was good pulled pork,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. Martin could see the pork in his teeth, and the BBQ sauce on his chin. He looked away for a moment. “How was your sandwich, Marty?” Sam asked.
Martin looked back at him. “Delicious,” he responded enthusiastically.
Sam rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so what are we doing with Karen Howe and the store?” he asked.
“Well, she’s got the nicest gift shop in town, so I want to include her in the series. Show us ideas for gifts for graduates, you know. Trends in gift giving, that sort of stuff.” Martin felt like he was making it up as he went along.
“That’s good, that’s good,” said Sam. “You’re pretty smart, Marty. I never would have thought of that.”
Martin sat up in his chair. “Thanks, Sam. When we get to Delights, just follow my lead.”
Sam nodded. “But how will you fit this part in with the rest?” he asked. "This seems like a funny place to start the series."
Martin was impressed that Sam could see that interviewing Karen Howe first was probably not that smart. “I’ve got to figure that out, Sam,” Martin answered honestly. “Once we have a few more parts under our belts, it will start to make sense. Can I count on you to work this with me?” Martin asked him.
“You bet, Marty. I’m your guy. Just tell me what you want me to do and when. I’ll be there.”
Martin motioned to Connie for the check. “I appreciate it, Sam. Let me pay for our lunch, and we’ll get to our interview with Ms. Karen Howe.”
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