Chasing a Blond Moon(120)

The two had room-temperature IQs, huge egos, and excessive ambition. Their audience was said to be largely composed of the mullet-andmilitia crowd, those locals across the peninsula who claimed to love their country and hate their government.

“The captain asks that you talk to them,” LeBlanc said.

“Have they asked for someone?”

“Not yet. They’re out by our sign.”

“Crew?”

“One camera operator with Spurse. Midge has her recorder over her shoulder.”

“Get me a tray with three cups, sugar, milk, and a jug of coffee. Is Romy working today?”

Romy van Essen was a Northern Michigan graduate student who worked as an intern with the wildlife biologists. She was in her late twenties and had worked several years as a TV reporter in Mt. Pleasant before deciding she needed a life of more substance, and returned to school in Marquette. She would go to Alaska-Fairbanks to start her Ph.D. in the fall. She was a great kid, and a friend of Nantz’s. Though no longer in the TV biz, she carried a small video camera everywhere and shot footage of everything.

“Okay,” Fern said, heading for the canteen.

Romy came to his office and looked in, “Wass’up?”

“The Secret Squirrels,” he said. “Grab your camera.”

Fern met him at the door with the tray of goodies, including a plate of Pecan Sandies. Romy came with her camera. “Just follow my lead,” he said. “Make sure you keep pressing tight on Midge’s face. She’s got a lot of wrinkles and she covers them with enough makeup to ski on.”

“Not to worry,” Romy van Essen said.

Midge Private saw them coming and turned to face them. Spurse was talking at the camera pointed by his operator, a man with a port wine stain on the right side of his face.

Service held out the tray. “Coffee and cookies?” Romy van Essen pointed her camera and began to record. It made no sound.

“Bribes won’t do you any good,” Midge said.

“Sound level,” Romy said.

“We thought you’d probably like a snack and a pick-me-up,” Service said, raising his voice. He looked at Romy. “Sound okay?”

Romy said, “Perfect.”

Service turned back to Private. “We call this hospitality, not a bribe.”

Midge Private glared at Romy’s camera.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Recording for the record,” Romy said politely. “To keep the record accurate. You shoot and edit your tape. We show ours in its entirety, let people see what we’re seeing.”

“Like the DNR has budget to buy air time,” Midge Private shot back sarcastically.

“Not the DNR,” Service said. “Outside donors.”

Egon Spurse had finished his bit and turned to join them. “Hey, Service,” Spurse said. “Thought your office was over ta Newberry.”

“I moved.”

“At citizen expense, no doubt,” Midge Private said.

Spurse saw the tray, grabbed a handful of cookies and stuffed his mouth.

“What can we help you with?” Service asked Midge, who immediately thrust her microphone at him. “I have a source inside the DNR who has shown me a memorandum directing gray shirts to make life miserable for bear- and deer-baiters this fall.”

Service smiled. “The baiting rules are designed to protect the herd,” he explained. “When the animals congregate, they can pass bovine TB, and I’m sure you and your listeners are just as concerned about the threat of Chronic Wasting Disease coming across the state line from Wisconsin.”

Romy stepped forward, her camera up.

“Get that outta my face!” Midge snapped.

“Camera off,” Romy said. “I’m sorry, Ms. Private.” Service saw a green light still illuminated on the side of the camera. “You’ve got something on your blouse,” Romy said.

Midge stared down and began brushing herself. “Keep that camera off.”

“Since the camera’s off,” Service said, “You and Igor ought to take a ride over to the Rock River. Our officers have come across some extremely interesting situations over there—you know, people who’ve gotten themselves into unusual positions.”

Midge glared at him. “You egotistical asshole.”

Egon Spurse said, “It’s Egon, not Igor,” and took more cookies.

“In fact,” Service said, “you should talk to Lt. McKower about Rock River. She’s got a great story to tell. Pictures, too.”

“What about baiting?” Midge Private asked, trying to regain control, but the mention of pictures had clearly put her off balance.

“I believe in baiting,” Service said. “As long as the rules are followed.” He looked down at her. “By the way, are you carrying? You know the new CCW law requires you to declare yourself when you encounter a police officer.”