(Book II in the NSCM series) Rowena Flores has troubles... and we're not just talking about her lackluster love life.
Just when her life is finally getting back to normal, newly discovered hexing witch Rowena Flores is volun-told to participate in a...
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If they really wanted to get to know a contestant, beauty pageants should never ask questions about world peace or how to solve the world hunger problem. Instead, Rowena thought they should ask, "What did you do the last time you saw a homeless person?" She glanced at Carmen, who was talking into a purple karaoke microphone while standing on a makeshift stage of stacked wooden crates.
"Have you ever sent unsolicited nude pictures?" That would be a brilliant question.
Jeremiah, Rowena's friend who was an escort she met in the county lock-up for prostitution, scooted closer to her, wearing an annoyed expression.
"Jeremiah," Rowena whispered. "It's always fun to have you around, but you realize I was joking when I said you could be my beauty pageant adviser. This is not a real beauty pageant that's going to be televised." She lifted her arms and gestured around her. "We're having a pageant rehearsal in the store's loading bay."
Not to be deterred, Jeremiah shook his head. "Rowena, I watched you put neck cream under your eyes. You need me. Besides, I won several beauty pageants when I was younger. I'm here to navigate you through the cutthroat world of pageantry."
"You told me you were six when you won those pageants," Rowena reminded him. "How cutthroat could it have been?"
"Once, I entered my dressing room to find my Care Bear with its head cut off, drowning in a pool of ketchup."
Rowena's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yes. It was my favorite doll." Jeremiah's eyes narrowed on Sylvia Finch, the new assistant manager, and Rolando, who were both asking Carmen questions about the rise in unemployment. Liam was standing next to them, his arms crossed, his eyes closed, and his head facing the ground.
"Did you find out who did it?" Rowena asked, grateful she didn't have any children.
Jeremiah gave a single nod. "It was my mother."
Rowena stared at him for a beat, unsure if she heard him correctly.
"She wanted me to know how cutthroat the pageant world was."
"Okay," Rowena said, stretching out the last syllable. "Just promise not to leave any of my belongings in a puddle of ketchup. Except for French fries. Those can always swim in ketchup."
"You need to take this seriously, Rowena."
Her shoulders drooped, and they both turned back to Carmen at the same time. Jeremiah's jaw tightened. "Your cousin brought her own microphone. I told you to wear your alternate ballgown to practice. That way, she knows we mean business. It's an intimidation tactic."
Rowena raised a finger in the air. "One, I don't own a ballgown much less an alternate ballgown." A second finger joined the first. "Two, if I wanted to intimidate Carmen, I'd slash her tires and leave pictures of all her ex-husbands in the backseat with a pair of her dirty underwear."
