Page 58 of The Fake Out

I choked on a cough. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Years ago, it started with a lunch auction. The ladies would make a homemade basket lunch. The meals would get auctioned off along with the company of the woman who made them. But it seems the ladies are better at fighting over the men.”

“That seems a little sexist,” I said.

“But it’s the truth. There was once a four-way bidding war over a man that ended with a donation of over five thousand dollars.”

I bit back a laugh. “So how did this work, exactly?”

“A man would volunteer—”

“Or be volunteered,” Horace cut in, shoulders slumped like he’d been there himself.

“A gentleman would offer a skill or service.” Mrs. Katz strolled to the front of the room and faced the crowd. “Things like three hours of handyman work, or enjoy a home-cooked meal by Juan Fernandez. That man made the best fajitas. It was awful easy on the eyes to watch him make them, too.”

“You would like his fajitas,” Horace muttered.

Mrs. Katz shot him a scathing look.

Sarah nodded. “Years ago, Joe Price was the hot ticket. You remember that?”

It should be noted Joe Price was in his seventies and was permanently clothed in coveralls and grease as he owned an auto shop.

“I do, indeed.” Melinda sighed. “He was known to be very good with his hands.”

“Of course the quality of the man is important.” Mrs. Katz gave Horace a once-over. “Isn’t that right, Horace?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

Mrs. Katz cocked one eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know. I seem to remember some of the packages weren’t big sellers.”

“Just because no one appreciated learning about a fascinating topic…”

Mrs. Katz barked a laugh. “Fascinating topic? The history of railroads in Texas?”

“…doesn’t mean it had anything to do with the quality of the man.”

“If you say so.”

He crossed his arms. “I do say so.”

Stanley winced and threw his paws over his eyes. Same, puppers. Same.

“So, it’s decided then?” I said, before Mrs. Katz could reply. “We’re holding a silent auction.”

Horace frowned. “Maybe we could have some rules for this thing? Minimum bids and such?”

Mrs. Katz snorted. “Yes, and rules for the items donated. Nothing train-related, perhaps?”

Horace crossed his arms, shooting a glare at Mrs. Katz.

Although we didn’t call for a formal vote, it seemed everyone agreed.

“It will be a regular meat market, I expect,” Horace grumbled.

“Cheer up, Horace,” Sarah said. “Maybe someone will pay more than twenty dollars for you this time.”

TWENTY-FOUR