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deserves a cheerful event planner. “You look stunning, Dilly,” I said, admiring her trim figure and the Prada gown covered in jet-black beads.
    “No, you do. Look at your long neck. But just wait until next year. I’ll look much better after my little trip,” she said, winking. “Madeline, have you been watching? They are about to auction off your luncheon.” Dilly gestured toward to stage, where Brianna was pulling the microphone out of the hand of the Sotheby’s auctioneer.
    Ah, yes. Our luncheon. “Thanks, Dilly. I hope we raise a bundle.”
    “We will,” Dilly said, grabbing my hand in a girlfriendlike grasp, the largest stone in her ruby ring bruising my fingers in friendship. “Thanks to your smoking martinis.”
    Onstage, Brianna began reading the description of our offering, called a Flower and Gourmet Lover’s Garden Party for Twenty Ladies, including the flower-arranging lesson (two arrangements would be made and taken home by each of twenty guests; all flowers, vases, and extras were included) and a gourmet luncheon (including a special lobsterand-avocado salad) catered by Mad Bean Events. Brianna’sreading was surprisingly flawless, and it made me wonder if she was equally talented at reading her studio TelePrompTer under the influence. I would certainly be watching the local news with a new perspective.
    Brianna asked the crowd to open the bidding at $5,000. I, alone, gasped.
    Soon, a hand was raised, and although many of the diners were enjoying after-dinner refreshments and greeting their friends, enough guests were following the auction to keep the bidding lively.
    Holly brought over a plate filled with chocolate-dipped strawberries about the size of billiard balls. “Schnitzel! It’s up to thirteen thousand.”
    Brianna was getting dramatic, trying to keep the bidding going. “This money is going to the children ,” she pleaded. “Come on, people. Pay attention to me, here. Let’s focus! I’m asking for fourteen goddamn thousand now. Do I have fourteen?” She got a bid of $14,000, but the cross-conversations among the happy dinner crowd did not subside.
    “Did Brianna Welk just cuss out the guests?” Holly asked, with a whoop of shock.
    “One smoking martini too many, I’d say.”
    “Holy moley.”
    There seemed to be three women who were still in the bidding for the garden party and gourmet luncheon and I was a little overwhelmed at the money folks were willing to pay. By the time the bids reached $18,000, I began thinking I’d better add caviar to the menu.
    Brianna was wrestling to get the crowd to settle down so she could persuade the bidding upward. Just then, Albert Grasso’s date, Caroline, approached from out of nowhere.
    “You have some nerve,” she said, right in my face.
    “Hey, whoa!” Holly said, yelping as Caroline trod on her foot.
    “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked. “Because right now they are auctioning off—”
    “I don’t care if they are auctioning off your ass, sweetie,” she said, keeping her voice pleasant. “You and me are going to have a nice little talk.”
    I stared at her. What now?
    “Albert wants his papers back and he said you weren’t willing to cooperate. He’s not going to pay your blackmail money. I’ll have you know we have already called our lawyer and the police. Expect to find them at your doorstep with an arrest warrant.”
    “What?” Holly said, gasping again.
    “It’s a lucky thing, then,” I replied, “that I have over a dozen witnesses to testify I was working in my kitchen on this party all day and an eyewitness to my finding the litter dumped on the lawn.”
    “You do?” Caroline hesitated for just a minute.
    “Do I hear twenty thousand?” Brianna warbled over the PA. “Please, people, settle down.”
    “It is ludicrous for you and Mr. Grasso to come so unglued. But now that I think about it, I can’t possibly know to whom all those files actually belong.”
    “What are you saying?”