Wands Have More Fun

by Rebecca Regnier

  Today’s events were ready to begin.

  The fifteen contestants would be showing off their public speaking skills with an explanation of their platforms or, as Pauline dubbed it, their main area of service.

  The kids had to be civic-minded as well as talented plus good public speakers. It really was a lot. And the amount of work they had to do to even be qualified to be in this pageant softened me up a bit to the whole idea. It’s hard to stay cynical when you watch enthusiastic kids working hard.

  After the interview and presentations, they’d be working together to learn some sort of dance for the main pageant event.

  I hoped during the dance rehearsals there’d be no need for judges. But I was wrong. Pauline wanted all five judges on hand to watch how the contestants interacted, helped one another, and contributed to the group project. That wasn’t going to be officially scored, but it would be “good input” into our final decision.

  Pauline wanted to be sure the title holder of the first Miss (or Mister) Vernal Equinox was worthy of the crown.

  Each of the judge’s names was neatly printed on cards and displayed in front of our designated seat at the judge’s table. And, of course, Ridge Schutte was seated next to me.

  I quickly palmed my name tag and was about to switch it with Mayor Fisk or maybe Carrie Detweiler, anything was better than sitting next to Ridge. But I was too late.

  I heard a hiss behind me that blew my hair from my ear and set my teeth on edge.

  “Good morning, Wicked Witch of the North.” He said it under his breath, and it was not for comedic effect.

  “Congressman Schutte.” This was going to be ugly.

  Maybe I could diffuse it, for the sake of Pauline’s hard work. It wouldn’t do for us to get in a screaming match.

  “I don’t know what you did, but I do know I caught you trespassing at The Fraternal Order of the Moose.”

  “Oh yeah? I think you’ve maybe hallucinated.” I had caught Ridge cheating during his failed campaign for mayor but couldn’t prove it. I’d even confronted him on it. He knew what I thought about him and vice versa.

  Now he’d caught me sneaking and couldn’t prove it. We were sort of even if you looked at it that way. Though standing in a kitchen at The Moose Lodges was no paid rumor campaign to smear an opponent, I was sure that now, in his eyes, I was just as sneaky as he was.

  “I saw you, and that cat doctor and the Honorable Mayor.” He spat out the words ‘Honorable Mayor’ like they were poison.

  “Congressman Schutte, you know, and I know, if you had caught me or Candy doing anything remotely illegal, you’d have called the police. I think you might have had a bad dream?”

  “Don’t think I won’t call the police yet on this.”

  “How’s everyone doing? Let’s take our seats and begin!” Pauline broke up our little confrontation and I pretended as if Ridge was not in the room. It was the only way to not want to break out a spell that caused boils on his face. I knew I had that power, and I was reminded of the Rowan Wand I was going to craft. I was supposed to be good, to ward off evil, not cause evil. Still, I really wanted to watch Ridge Schutte squirm a little and break out in some uncomfortable pox. I suppressed the urge.

  In the end, we were here for the kids. They had prepared for the Miss (or Mister) Vernal Equinox pageant. They were earnest, young, and innocent and they didn’t deserve to have the adults in the room ruin their enthusiasm. It’s for the kids. It’s for the kids. It’s for the kids.

  I’d have to keep reminding myself of that one.

  “Our first participant is Brandy Byrd.”

  “Introduce yourself, please,” Pauline instructed the teen. She was young—they were all, so young. She was pretty. They were all pretty, to my eyes. Ugh, I did not relish the idea of pitting kid against kid. I swallowed down my concern about that and listened.

  “I’m Brandy Byrd.”

  “Speak up.” My attention was diverted by the command. It was a whispered yell, if that was possible, from the audience.

  I realized the spectators of today’s proceedings were the parents. I recognized the gear. There were cell phone cameras all the way up to high powered professional equipment. There were tripods lining the edge of the aisle. The event would be documented for all time! Or until they graduated high school and it all went in the attic or the cloud, never to be seen again. But you couldn’t tell a proud parent that. They’d learn it eventually. I had.

  The “speak up” had come from the mom/coach/paparazzi section.

  Brandy tried again.

  “I’m BRANDY BYRD, WITH TWO Ys!”

  We did hear her better, and now I was rooting for her because her mom was, well, like moms are. I also had to check to see did she mean two ‘Y’s in Brandy or bird? Were there three ‘Y’s”? Focus Marzie, focus.

  “What’s your main area of service?” Pauline gave her the prompt to remind her why she was standing there being told to speak up by her mother, who was clearly fine with speaking up.

  “I am addicted to stopping addiction.”

  Her mom indicated that she should smile, mimicking her daughter’s posture as though she were at the mic herself. Brandy with the multiple ‘y’s adjusted her stance so it mirrored her mother’s.

  “Could you tell us more about that?” I asked and smiled back at her. I wanted her to feel comfortable. And not catch nine types of critiques at the dinner table tonight.

  “I volunteer at school, passing out information on the dangers of drinking, gambling, smoking, vaping, huffing, and drugs.”

  “Wonderful,” I said and then wrote something on my paper while smiling. I hoped she felt supported. I was so far sucking as a judge because the last thing I wanted to do was compare this girl to any other girl. I imagined the poor thing handing out pamphlets at the high school to her peers. I’m sure that went over really well.

  She seemed to be done, though her mother seemed to not want her to be done. She was making an arm motion for her to elaborate, but the moment was gone. Brandy Byrd walked away from the spotlight.

  “Next, this is Sofia Fisher.” Where had I heard that name?

  “Hi Sofia,” Carrie Detweiler, Miss Chippewa County 1999 welcomed the girl. Sofia was beautiful. Her waves of chestnut hair fell effortlessly. It shone in the way that only hair that had never been processed or teased could shine. Several of the girls wore makeup; Sofia had nude lip-gloss on, and nothing else. Her own thick eyelashes and beautiful skin didn’t need it. Wow, if modeling agents came to the Upper Peninsula, they’d sign up Sofia in a hot second. Modeling agents did not come to the Upper Peninsula though, so this particular girl was in the Miss (or Mister) Vernal Equinox Pageant, alas.

  “Hello, I’m so excited to participate in this! It’s historic, the first one ever!” Sofia Fisher was natural, bubbly, pretty for sure, and no one had to tell her to stand up straight or project. Confidence was almost palpable in her. That was the thing about confidence; you couldn’t give it to your kids. They had to earn it themselves. Kids knew when things were handed to them or if they actually worked hard for it. And some kids were just born with it.

  Ugh, parenting, another reason it was so hard. “Here, son! I bought you some confidence, it’s under the tree next to the Power Ranger Action Figures!” Nope, didn’t work like that at all.

  Sofia’s confidence was natural, it appeared.

  “What’s your main area of service?” Pauline asked her.

  “I train comfort animals.”

  “Wow, tell us about that,” I said.

  “I help my dogs and dogs in the area provide love, cuddles, and just smiles for people who need it. It involves my screening for the temperament because they must be sort of calm to start, and then I can begin to train them so they can handle many situations and be calm in new surroundings. We go to hospitals, nursing homes, and veterans’ centers all over the state.”

  I was impressed. “I think when I was your age, decorating my Trapper Keeper was my main hobby,
” I said.

  “Trapper whatter?” she asked with a smile. She even handled my attempt at humor with grace. Fourteen-year-olds with grace? They didn’t make those in the 80s.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I shook my head and pretended to write something down again. That girl was impressive.

  Next up was Tiffany Grupp.

  I knew I’d heard that name before, and it came back to me. I’d interviewed her at the scene of Miss Florine’s the other day. There were probably several girls and boys in the pageant that trained with Miss Florine. I took that into account too. They’d experienced a loss, and there they all were, giving their best. I tried to do the same.

  “I’m Tiffany Grupp.” Tiffany’s confidence was not as evident as the first few girls. Her voice was quieter. But she was pretty too; maybe to my old eyes, all young people were now pretty? She was more done up than the previous few girls. Her mother, if I recall, had all of the things from lashes to locks, and so did the daughter. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was just a different level of extra than the first few contestants.

  “What’s your main area of service?”

  “I knit.” This was a hobby, but not necessarily of service to anyone. We all waited for a beat.

  Instead of the obvious command from the audience, this time, I heard a stage whisper from the wings.

  “OLD PEOPLE!”

  “Oh, oops, sorry yes, I knit old people.” Muffled laughter broke out among the panel of judges.

  Tiffany Grupp knitted old people, and here I was thinking we just grew wild on our own.

  “Do you mean you knit for old people?” I prompted her, and she shook her head, realizing her mistake.

  “Yes, that’s it, sorry. I knit for old people. Whoops.”

  It was a shaky first effort from Tiffany Grubb. But it was also funny, charming even. And the next time I needed an old person, I’d call her up to knit one.

  There were thirteen girls and three boys vying for the title.

  I was incredibly impressed by the boys, mainly because they were doing what they wanted and not what traditional pageantry told them they had to do. Though of the boys, one had a case of the mumbles, one’s mission in life was to see all the Marvel Movies in order, again. And one dropped an F-bomb during the interview portion.

  So, while social change was happening here in Upper Michigan, the crown would likely go to a Miss instead of a Mister after our initial introduction to the fifteen contestants.

  Finally, it was time for the contestants to work on their dance number.

  A woman who I hadn’t met yet introduced herself to the judges.

  “I’m Babette Laplaisance.” I realized that this had to be the daughter of Miss Florine.

  “Despite her recent loss, Babette is going to teach the girls the number that her mother choreographed especially for this event.” I looked at Babette. It was stunning that she could be here, so close to a tragedy in her family.

  “Thank you, so sorry about your mother,” I said, and Babette shrugged. Well, we all deal with grief in our own way. Shrugging though? I reminded myself I wasn’t here to judge Babette in this time of her family’s tragedy. She was helping Pauline with the pageant, and I was grumpy for no good reason.

  Babette began to run the kids through choreography, and we casually observed. I noticed Sofia was also good at dancing. She effortlessly picked up the steps, and I watched her help the mumbling boy with a few moves as well.

  “Oh, look! It’s so nice when the experienced dancers help each other.” Tiffany Grubb’s mom approached the judge’s table with her comment and a plate of cookies. She was pulling out all the stops for Tiffany.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to point out that it wasn’t her daughter I’d noticed helping.

  “Look, over there. How cute that Tiffany is showing that group what to do.” I looked to where she pointed and didn’t see anything but a small scrum behind Babette. No one was picking it up, and no one was helping. The best dancer in that pack was for sure Tiffany, but she appeared to lack that outgoing confidence of Sofia, who was placing one of the boy’s arms on his hip, so he could stand the way Babette wanted them to.

  “See, with the blonde hair.” As the mom pointed out, Tiffany again, her name came to me. Abbie, Abbie Grubb. I could forget names faster than I could forget the periodic table of elements.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Tiffany wasn’t smiling, she was doing the steps, but it clearly wasn’t fun.

  If her mom hadn’t pointed her out, I’m not sure I would have noticed her, even with all the extra her mother had piled on. And that wasn’t what the daughter wanted I suspected. It must be a living hell to be an introvert and have your mother push you into being in pageants or a dance class. It felt like that was what was happening here.

  Pauline came up to me, thankfully, because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to talk to parents. Even to thank them for cookies or whatever Abbie Grubb was trying to serve up.

  “Okay, we done?”

  “How do you think it went?”

  “Really well, Pauline. I think you did a great job of getting this together. Any one of the contestants could be a fine Miss or Mister Vernal Equinox.”

  My compliment was genuine. I had started the day with major annoyance about having to do this, but it really was well organized, and I could see how it fit into the whole tourism, Widow’s Bay as a destination, thing.

  “Thanks, girlfriend. You’re sprung.”

  “Don’t let Ridge see me go. And thank you for putting up with me.”

  I hugged Pauline, and she shook her head. She would drag me kicking and screaming into fitness classes, broom flying, and even beauty pageants and darn if I didn’t come out the other side and like it.

  Pauline went over to Ridge and Rad Tadrick, to release them as well I suspected. I watched until she stood between their line of sight and me. And then I snuck out. I didn’t need Ridge knowing a darn thing more than he already did about my comings and goings.

  I hustled to my Jeep. The school was a quick drive away from The Moose Lodge. Most things in Widow’s Bay were quick trips if you stayed in town.

  The sun was just about to set; we’d spent the whole afternoon with the pageant contestants. I had to admit it went rather quickly. But now I had some surveillance to do.

  Chapter 10

  My plan was to sit back. Watch. And see what the heck the Fraternal Order of The Moose Lodge was doing. I parked my Jeep around the corner and pulled out my binoculars. I’d thrown them in the Jeep today knowing I was going on a stakeout. I chuckled to myself at how my work life was getting more and more adventurous. As a television reporter, stakeouts usually weren’t possible, what with satellite trucks and vehicles marked with station logos.

  For the first ten minutes or so, cars pulled into The Moose Lodge parking lot, men walked inside, and nothing too exciting happened.

  “Well, all be darned, that’s who it is.”

  One of the members walked in, and his tattered down parka looked very familiar.

  I had forgotten that I’d thought I’d recognized the voice of a Moose member who’d volunteered for whatever tonight’s festivities were.

  It had flown out of my head with the wands and the vision and the pageant. But there he was again, Yooperman. He was a member of the lodge and he’d volunteered but been rejected for whatever the heck was going on.

  The reporter for the Man Cave Dot Com was none other than a Moose Lodge member. I’d bet the website could be traced right back to this address.

  I made a note to ask Justin Lemorre to do a little digging on that front. I mean anyone who wanted to open a newspaper or start a website could do it. But it was interesting that Yooperman’s agenda seemed to line up with The Moose Lodge, which was firmly in the anti-DLC camp with Ridge Schutte.

  Aunt Dorothy was right as rain about Ridge or Alvarado or anyone swooping in and trying to find footing to control our town. It only took a little crack before every ear f
lap wearing khaki sporting dude with a beer cozy tried to muscle their ideas down our throats.

  I was getting riled up just sitting there and realized I was just supposed to be collecting information. I was supposed to be observing just what The Moose Lodge and their merry band of volunteers were up to.

  Aha! It looked like the assembled group was now filing out. They formed two lines, a path of sorts. Then six guys walked out through the path. The Moose Lodge Members saluted them like they were about to storm the beach at Normandy or something. Oh, brother.

  A minivan pulled up, and the six got inside.

  Now it was going to be tricky. I needed to follow and not get caught. But that’s where I had an advantage.

  I waited for a beat and turned on my cell.

  “It’s a light blue minivan, a Ford Windstar.”

  “Got it.” Tatum had volunteered to be my literal wingman. She’d outfitted herself with an earphone for her cell, so she didn’t go haywire up there. She mounted her broom and went high enough up to be hidden, but low enough to keep an eye on the van.

  “Okay, north, toward Lulu Road.”

  With her help, I could stay far back, and she could stay far up. If things got weird, I’d drive away, and she’d fly away home.

  “Appreciate you doing this,” I said to her. Every night was a busy night when you ran the hottest micro-brewery in the Upper Peninsula.

  “It’s a win-win for me. I’m assuaging my guilt over missing the last meeting and the Wand Wood thingy and, of course, if in any way this sticks it to Ridge Schutte, how can I say no? Whoa. Stay in your lane, buddy.”

  “What?”

  “I nearly hit a bird.”

  “Okay, less chatter, more broom focus.”

  “Yep, left at the four-way stop up there.”

  I followed her directions and concentrated on not distracting her from observing and flying. We were getting better at broom flying, but we were still new. I didn’t need another disaster on my hands due to Tatum crashing into the trees.

  “They’re pulling onto a dirt road. You’re going to have to give up the ghost here.”