“Bless Ridley’s soul, he’s as boring as vanilla pudding without the bananas,” said Marilee Bragg when Rivera asked about the mayor. As Basket Girls, they were sitting together on the stage, the baskets lined up in front of them. They were waiting for the Shriners to stop fussing with cables and the microphone so that the auction could start. Angie thought again how odd it was that none of the three black women who were participating were uncomfortable with this, and made a note to herself to ask the Bragg girls about it when she had them alone.

Marilee’s sister Anthea was saying, “It’s true. It gives me gooseflesh just to listen to the man talk.”

Miss Maddie giggled. She said, “Ridley’s talents were being wasted at his daddy’s funeral home. That MBA don’t mean much to the dead, but he balanced the town’s budget straightaway.”

“Truth is,” said Anthea Bragg, “folks were tired of the Ogilvies running everything all the time.” She said this in a whisper, as Nan Ogilvie was sitting on her other side.

“He’s a good auctioneer,” said Miss Maddie. “He’s got the patter.”

“Uh-huh,” said Anthea. “Got a tongue hung in the middle so it can flap at both ends.”

“Lucky Mrs. Mayor,” said Rivera, and Angie elbowed her.

Miss Maddie said, “Angeline, dear, stop fidgeting. You look lovely. Very ladylike. Wouldn’t your mama be proud?”

“Her mama would fall over flat,” said Rivera.

“I feel like ten pounds of potatoes in a five-pound bag,” Angie said.

“Don’t be silly,” Miss Maddie said. “You’ve got a lovely figure.”

“That dress looks better on you than it ever did on Anthea,” said Marilee, and: “Ouch. Leave off, sister, you know it’s true.”

“The whole town must be here,” said Rivera, rising up from her seat to look over the crowd. “Wasn’t Shirley Jackson from the South? I keep thinking about ‘The Lottery.’”

Nan Ogilvie turned to Rivera, her perfectly made-up face glowing beneath the brim of a hat the size of a small car. “It’s an auction, dear, not a lottery.”

“Nan, she’s talking about a short story,” said one of the Stillwaters. She gave Angie a quick apologetic smile.

“Oh,” said Nan Ogilvie, spreading her skirt around herself more artfully. And: “I’m far too busy to bother with fiction.”

Miss Maddie said, “Hush now, he’s about to get started. Girls, sit up straight, and smile.”

Here goes,” said Rob. “I bet Wyeth Horton twenty bucks that Ridley could shave fifteen seconds off Miss Maddie’s time.”

“I hope you got odds,” said Kai. “The volunteer firefighters have been raising money for months.”