Wands Have More Fun

by Rebecca Regnier

  Her dance wasn’t a routine, or something memorized and done by rote. It was art. I didn’t have to mark down any scores or numbers. I was quite literally mesmerized. And I would remember it.

  Then it was Christopher Pratt’s turn. He was one of the handful of boys who were giving it a go. Christopher may as well be named Sheki. Because he was a Catskills comedian in a 14-year-old boy’s skinny body.

  “First of all, I want to eliminate any confusion, I’m not THAT Chris Pratt.” Okay, not a bad open kid. Then he launched into his material.

  “What do you call a gangster snowman? Froze-T.” I laughed, politely, while suppressing a groan. I mean, at least the kid was trying.

  We made it through his performance; proof there was a higher power, though we would have to hear it again at the main show.

  The auditorium was relatively quiet when there was a disturbance backstage.

  “What? You have to be kidding me?” a woman was yelling back there. I strained to see. Pauline strained to keep the event on track.

  “Perhaps this is the perfect time for a five-minute break,” she announced, and I immediately got up and headed to the commotion backstage.

  Whereby I discovered Byron DeLoof slapping handcuffs on Babette Laplaisance.

  “I had nothing to do with it. Why would I kill her? I wasn’t even the beneficiary of her policy. It’s absurd. If I did do it, I’d have gotten so far out of town.”

  “Ma’am, you do have the right to remain silent.” It was more of a plea from DeLoof than a reading of rights.

  “Take her downtown, I’ll be right there.” DeLoof handed his suspect to two police officers. I feverishly snapped photos of the situation.

  “Well, that’s a scoop now, isn’t it?” DeLoof said to me. I realized he’d told me to get to the pageant earlier, not to insult me, but so I wouldn’t miss the arrest going down.

  “Lucky I was in the right place to catch it.”

  “Lucky or skilled, it’s a toss-up.”

  “Why did you arrest Babette LaPlaisance?”

  “She is being charged with the murder of her mother and the theft of the cash in her mother’s business.”

  “What lead you to the arrest?”

  “I cannot reveal the specifics, but it is safe to say she had a motive, due to her financial disputes with her mother, she had the opportunity, since she had keys to the dance studio, and she does not have an alibi.”

  “First-degree murder?”

  “Yes. Now I must go—I don’t have time to talk to Man Cave. Let him know what happened if he shows up.” DeLoof winked at me, and I felt like a real heel. I had the scoop now, and DeLoof had helped seal the deal. Yooperman would be chasing me for a once.

  I hustled over to the judge’s table where I’d stashed my laptop and started typing as fast as my fingers could carriage return. Oh, no, the comedy stylings of Christopher Pratt were rubbing off on me!

  Within five minutes, I had a story, I’d bragged about it to Justin, so the station was able to send out a breaking news alert on the app, and the full details were all posted to Facebook. Boom! Take that Yooperman! Long in the tooth, Louis Lane just beat you!

  All this in between displays of dizzying pubescent talent. My outlook was getting a bit sunnier all of a sudden.

  I got a text from Justin: “Good work, you’re not fired today. Congratulations.”

  Ha, it was enough.

  So, Babette Laplaisance poisoned her mother. She’d done it for the money in the safe. What did I know about that? The key question now, for me, was how? If the arsenic wasn’t in the cup, where was it? In my next follow up, I would ask Loof where Babette has slipped her mother arsenic. Had the police found it but not revealed that yet? They did that, I understood so that the public didn’t know a detail that a suspect did. If they could trip the suspect up—boom!— they got him, or her in this case.

  Babette really must have not liked her mother to kill her though. It boggled the mind what people could and would do.

  I had dropped the ball in my reportage, but Loof had knocked it out of the park. I was proud of the friendly neighborhood police detective.

  It was a good thirty minutes before Pauline could get everyone settled back in, but the show would go on, she made that very clear.

  I settled down and committed to enjoying the remaining acts, secure in the knowledge that I’d also earned my keep, at least for one day, at Your U.P. News.

  As the contestants returned, and the coterie of mothers jostled for pole position, I refocused on the job I had in front of me. My bitter mood had been greatly alleviated, thanks to recent circumstances.

  “Cookie?”

  Abbie Grubb, Tiffany’s mother, startled me, and I jumped a foot in my chair.

  “Uh, sure, thank you.” I took the baked good. She smiled and then went off to be of service to the pageant. I wondered if the things she did were to curry favor.

  But that wasn’t very charitable of me. I watched as she straightened up the tables, added new snacks. Abbie Grubb was just doing what she could for the pageant, trying to make things nice. I didn’t have to be best friends with the woman. She continued to busy herself as Rad Tadrick, and Carrie Detweiler returned to the judging table.

  They should have lowered their voices, but some people had no radar for that sort of thing.

  “That Sofia, yes, she’s really the best, incredible. No contest.” I worried that Abbie Grubb heard this too. I hoped it didn’t go further. Maybe she was minding her own business, and not as close as I was. It would stink if she did hear them. No one should hear that about their kid during a competition. I shot a mean look at the judges, hoping they understood that they should shut up.

  They responded with a stink eye back.

  We sat back down and endured—uh, I mean enjoyed—the rest of the talent competition. Judges would have the benefit of seeing two performances: one today in the prelims and then again during the pageant Saturday night. Pauline said this way we could form a well-rounded opinion of the talent offerings.

  Lucky me. I’d get to hear double the comedy stylings of Christopher Pratt (not that one).

  I shook it off though. I had redeemed myself with the scoop. I could handle all the reheated frozen jokes he could serve up.

  I was impressed with most of the talent, and Tiffany Grubb did a wonderful dance routine. It was not the artistry of Sofia Fisher, but it was darn good.

  I hoped her mother was proud of her performance, and I hoped they weren’t embittered by the thoughtless comments of the judges. It was another reason I was glad I had two football playing boys. Less opportunity for injury on the football field than in the pageant hall it appeared!

  It had been a long session, interrupted by an odd arrest. But, somehow, we’d gotten to the end of the pageant pre-judging. All fifteen performers had pizzazzed the heck out of us.

  “Thank you all for your hard work!” Pauline said as she prepared to release us.

  We all half stood up, but she halted our progress.

  “Despite the unfortunate circumstance with, uh, our fill-in choreographer, I am happy to say the show will go on as scheduled. Tonight, wear your finery for the gala.”

  “You know there’s a blizzard, right?” Former Mayor Fisk pointed out.

  We hadn’t been outside in a few hours, and what with the arrest and subsequent cavalcade of talent, who had time to worry about precipitation?

  “Oh, a little snow won’t stop us, will it now?” Pauline smiled, but there was a little strain in her game. I couldn’t blame her. Crime, nature, supernature, and my bad attitude all conspired to harsh her buzz. But she kept at it. God love her.

  We all had to get home, mainline coffee, and then spruce up for the Gala.

  I knew Pauline was excited about it, but I was thinking of my comfy jammies, some hot soup, and a good book. I needed a little down time, but I didn’t see it in the immediate future.

  Candy and Tatum had also spent a lot of time planning it, and Th
e Frog Toe was decked out and ready for the Miss (or Mister) Vernal Equinox Pageant Gala.

  Tatum didn’t do many private events, so I expected it was going to be spectacular. She had a non-alcoholic brew ready to go in honor of the underaged pageant participants.

  As we were released from the high school and stepped outside, I could see what Mayor Fisk was talking about. Rad Tadrick’s Michigan Ski Bum store was going to be booming if we had snow ski season till June.

  The blizzard that was supposed to skirt us and die down, according to the experts, was here. We had not, as they predicted, dodged a bullet. Not that I wished it on anyone but let Justin yell at someone else at Your U.P. News for a few days.

  “This is terrible!” Rad Tadrick remarked to no one in particular.

  “Yeah, maybe they should cancel the gala?” Carrie Detweiler suggested.

  But I knew Pauline. No way, no how was any part of her pageant going to be canceled.

  As I drove back home, my Jeep was buffeted by high winds. That was the downside of higher profile vehicles; sometimes, it felt like you’d topple over in the gusts.

  But I made it thanks to years of snow driving experience. That was a thing, and it was amazing how many people didn’t have the first clue about driving in this weather. For me, it was second nature.

  Brule and I had decided—if he could—to make a proper date of this gala. If we were going to be official, this shindig was as good a time as any to come out of the closet, so to speak.

  I made quick work of getting into the gown Agnes had selected. It was lower cut at the bodice and higher cut at the leg than I would have picked.

  “Are you sure about this?” I was feeling like it might be a little too vava voom for The Frog Toe.

  “Either you wear what I tell you, or you remain a tragic frump.”

  “Those are the choices, got it.”

  I saw Bubba curled up in the fluff area of the dining room that they’d created. I envied that dog right about now.

  I did a little more than usual for the makeup and actually used a curling iron on my hair. All in all, it was as dressed up as I’d been in a long time. Certainly, the most I’d ever fancied up since I’d moved back to my hometown. It was so completely out of place that I decided to cram my jeans and a sweatshirt in a bag, just in case. I knew I was technically off the clock, but, honestly, I was never truly free of breaking news. If the storm kept up, I could be out on some highway telling the viewers to stay off it. I did not want to do that in a lowcut/highcut evening gown.

  “That’s a charming evening bag. Are you bringing a bowling ball to the gala?”

  “Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and stay the night at my boyfriend’s place.”

  “Crassness is not appreciated.”

  My sass was just enough to shut Agnes up.

  Then, just in time, my date had arrived. Wow, that was weird to say.

  “Hello.” I opened the door to Etienne Brule in a tuxedo! Etienne in jeans was one thing, this was another level. His long steel colored hair was pulled back, his diamond cuff links gleamed, and his James Bond looking suit was custom made. It had me shaken and stirred.

  “You are beautiful,” he complimented me, but honestly, by comparison, he looked like Thor or something. I looked like the vacation fill-in presenter of the Showcase Showdown.

  But, right now, in Brule’s eyes, I was the bee’s knees. It made my own knees a little weak. He put out his hand for me to exit my house. As I did, a gust of wind blasted me in the face. I was certain my curled hair had gone from tousled to fork in the socket.

  “You shan’t walk in those,” Brule said, swooped me up in his arms, and carried me to my Jeep!

  He deposited me inside and quickly shut the door.

  “This is nasty, I appreciate the assist. I forgot how to walk in these things.” I pointed to my heels. I had also forgotten how much worse a spring blizzard could be than a run of the mill winter blizzard. And a fall blizzard? Forget about it.

  “It is my pleasure.” Brule started my Jeep, and my phone buzzed.

  Grrr.

  I gave Brule an apologetic look as I threw my bag in the backseat.

  “Yep?” I said into my phone.

  “This weather is becoming an issue.”

  “Hi, Justin.”

  Brule had started the drive to The Frog Toe. It was even slower going than when I’d come back from the high school.

  “This weather situation is a situation.”

  “I thought you said the meteorologists predicted we’d be fine.”

  I had to needle him a little, considering I’d been on the receiving end of it the last few days.

  “Yeah, well, not so much. Just keep your phone on. If we need you, we’ll be able to get you.” That was life as a reporter. And honestly, I kind of loved it.

  My date was skeptical.

  “I heard the way he addressed you. He is not respectful.”

  “He’s a twenty-something with a tiny bit of power. It’s worse than a demon from hell.”

  “I have met a few of those, they are irksome for certain.”

  I shook my head and smiled. I had no idea all the mysteries and magic that Etienne must have seen in his lifetime, or er, deathtime.

  “Wow, it is really coming down.”

  We arrived at The Frog Toe with only one minor fish tale at a stop light. I’d say that was pretty good.

  As we approached, we saw flashing lights, and dozens of cars in a line trying to get into the parking lot. Generally speaking, it was chaos.

  “What is happening here?” Brule wound his way through the melee of cars. Eventually, we arrived at the front of The Frog Toe. He pulled my Jeep upon over the curb right out the front.

  “You should not have to navigate that mess in that footwear or that gown. The gown is dangerous enough.”

  I felt myself blush. Still, I didn’t want my car towed, so I pushed my luck and asked for one more favor.

  “Can you put it somewhere, uh, out of the way while I figure this out?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Ha, thanks Farm Boy.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  What was I thinking assuming Brule was dropping a Princess Bride reference?

  I hoisted up my fancy dress and rushed inside The Frog Toe.

  And, of course, Yooperman was already in the middle of a Facebook Live for Man Cave.

  “The situation has gotten heated, and dangerous,” he was ranting.

  I fired up my camera as well. I did not need to hear from Justin about Man Cave scooping me yet again.

  I clicked my phone on to broadcast whatever the heck was happening, live, as it happened. Always a risk: who knows when someone would drop an f-bomb? But that’s the world we lived in now.

  “You say that one more time, I’m going to punch you in the face!” Tatum was about as mad as I’d ever seen her.

  “We can’t in good conscience allow the event to go on here. Your building is not up to code.” It was the same inspector who’d shut down The Broken Spine. This time he was shutting Tatum down.

  Something was going on here, more than this incident, but I couldn’t solve that right now. Things were moving too fast.

  “Marzie Nowak, Your U.P. News, we’re live. What’s going on here?” The inspector turned to me and proceeded to give me an official statement.

  “Representatives from the building code department performed a random unannounced inspection on these premises. The results are glaring and disturbing. Several support beams in the structure are compromised, the wood is rotten, they are weak, and now, with the heavy snow, they will not support this weight. We believe the roof is in danger of collapse.”

  “That’s complete crap! There is nothing wrong with the place. We had this checked last summer.”

  “We have no record of that.” Tatum was about to charge forward and—I don’t know—

  maybe claw out the inspector’s eyes, when Mario, her leather-clad bou
ncer/bartender/boytoy (the last part being unconfirmed) grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off her feet. Her fists and legs were flying.

  “I have three hundred people coming in here, we’ve got caterers on the way with food, and the decorations!” Oh boy, she was unhinged! She needed to be contained, and I had to keep reporting or see my competition kill me on this. Ugh!

  I searched for Candy, and she deployed Fawn and Georgianne to try to get Tatum to calm down. All the while, my iPhone camera was rolling, and so was Yooperman’s. This was not going to look good for Tatum. But right now, Tatum did not care.

  Pauline’s façade of the calm cruise director was beginning to sag. As event hiccups went, this one was a biggie. Her venue was being condemned as her paying ticket holders arrived.

  “I may have a solution.” And out of the assembled gawkers emerged fellow pageant judge Ridge Schutte.

  We turned our cameras to him, and he walked into the impromptu spotlight. He was now live in front of the Man Cave Dot Net audience and the Your U.P. News audience. Right now, I figured there had to be a couple thousand people watching.

  “I have just contacted the Governor of the Moose Lodge, Widow’s Bay Unaffiliated Chapter.”

  Unaffiliated? Governor? So, I guessed the Grand Poobah of the Moose was called governor? I learned something new every day.

  “Governor Phillip Lockwood has graciously agreed to open the hall. It is more than adequate to host this event. They’ve got an extensive kitchen as well.” Ridge directed that comment to me; he knew I’d been in that kitchen, uninvited, even if he couldn’t prove it.

  “There’s no need you—you pompous windbag!” Tatum was not in her right mind at this point, and I saw Georgianne and Fawn try, but fail, to contain her.

  Pauline stepped forward, and her smile looked genuine once again.

  “That is a wonderful solution. If the members of the media could help us get the word out that there’s a slight change of plans, I’d appreciate it. We can all head over to The Moose.”

  I knew this was not in any way Pauline’s plan. I knew Pauline’s plans were meticulous. And I knew she was showing all the poise she could muster as her event spiraled out of her control.