Chapter 6: Ninety Thousand Dollars

The Kincaid Foundation holds its charity auction every July in the hotel ballroom.

Lacey got us in by carrying trays.

"You are not bidding on anything," she said in the service hall.

"I'm not."

"June."

"I'm observing."

"You have forty-one dollars."

"I know my budget," I said, and went out to observe.

The auctioneer was a man in a green velvet jacket with a very large gavel.

Lot twelve was a weekend in Vermont. Lot thirteen was a signed guitar.

"Lot fourteen," the auctioneer said. "A private dinner for two with Mr. Thatcher Kincaid, at the restaurant of his choice."

The room made a noise.

Thatcher stood at the back wall in a black suit, checking his watch.

"Do I hear five hundred?"

I raised my hand.

"Forty-one dollars," I said.

The room laughed. I let it.

"Madam, the opening bid is five hundred."

"I understand. Five hundred is your opening bid. Mine is the counter."

I held up my laminated card.

"I close at sixty-one percent. I'm very good value."

"Forty-one dollars," the auctioneer said, "from the young lady with the card."

Lacey, at the back, put something in my bag.

"Thirty-eight," she whispered. "It's all I have until Friday. Do not tell me what you're doing."

"Seventy-nine dollars," I said.

"Five thousand," said a bright voice from table one.

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