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offered her services. The businesswoman had lots of connections and knew how to get things done, which was why I’d been happy to let her help.
    The five of us had been meeting for the last two months. The benefit was less than a week away, and it was crunch time.
    I scanned my papers. “We agreed to have the Bigtime Bachelors event at Quicke’s, starting two hours before the official benefit at the museum. We’ve sent out invitations to all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. Abby, how are we coming on that?”
    Abby unzipped a pocket on her enormous bag and pulled out some laminated, color-coded pages, along with an itemized list and three highlighters. “We signed the contract with Quicke’s to supply food and space for the bachelor auction, as well as food and drinks at the museum. Kyle Quicke haggled with me, but I got him down into our price range. Most of the bachelors and bachelorettes we approached have agreed to participate. I’m still tracking down a few stragglers, but we’ll have more than enough people.”
    “Good,” I replied. “What else?”
    “We also approved my costume ball idea for the overall theme,” Grace added in her soft voice.
    I grimaced. I’d been horrified when Grace had brought up the idea of a masquerade ball. There were more than enough people running around Bigtime in costumes already. But the others had agreed with Grace, and I’d been outvoted. Joanne, in particular, thought it sounded like marvelous fun, especially since the benefit was scheduled for Halloween night. Evidently, Joanne was tired of dressing up in the finest clothes money could buy, and she wanted to slum it in spandex. Designer-made, of course.
    “Right. That.” I tried to muster up some semblance of enthusiasm. “Are the invitations done yet?”
    Grace nodded, her coifed silver hair bobbing up and down. “I okayed the final proof a week ago, and they went out in the mail that same afternoon.”
    We’d been announcing the date of the benefit for weeks to drum up interest and solicit early donations. But I wanted to make sure all the bigwigs got a personal invitation to attend, as well as a follow-up phone call to confirm their RSVPs. Such specialized attention made them more agreeable to parting with some of their cash. You had to suck up a lot to get a whole lot more. That was the way the game was played in Bigtime.
    “And the decorations?” I asked.
    “We can’t put up much in the museum because of the security and climate-control issues, but I’ve arranged for the usual greenery and lights,” Grace replied. “They’ll arrive at the museum the day before the benefit.”
    “Good.” I turned to Joanne and Hannah, who were handling the most delicate part of the event. “And how are the other donations coming?”
    “Fine,” Joanne said. “For the most part.”
    There were lots of wealthy art lovers and collectors in the city, who had more than a few priceless pieces tucked away in their mansions. My idea had been to get the Bigtime high-society members to donate art from their private collections. The pieces would be housed in the museum’s new wing as part of a special exhibit that would open the night of the benefit. My plan was for the pieces to remain on display through the end of the year, so everyone in Bigtime could come and see them. Public interest alone, along with a small admission fee, should raise over two million, more than enough to pay off the new wing.
    “ For the most part? What does that mean?” I asked. “If it’s the security they’re worried about—”
    “It’s not the security,” Joanne said. “We’ve gotten verbal commitments from everyone to donate something.”
    “Verbal commitments? That’s all? The benefit’s in six days. Stuff should already be arriving at the museum.”
    My hair frizzed, and my fingertips itched with static. My luck always acted up when I was emotional or stressed out. The thought of the benefit being a miserable failure put me