“We’re three feet apart, Mrs. Delaney,” Callie points out.
“For now,” she says meaningfully, then walks away typing furiously.
“She’s going to turn this into something,” Callie mutters.
“Everything’s something to her.”
The auction starts with the mayor doing his usual speech about community and charity and blah blah blah. Nobody’s listening. They’re all waiting for the drama, which in Cedar Ridge means waiting for the Thompson pie to come up and seeing what the McCoys do about it.
We don’t have to wait long. Callie’s pie is third up, and the tension in the room ratchets immediately.
“Apple crumb pie from Miss Callie Thompson,” the mayor announces. “Let’s start the bidding at ten dollars.”
I raise my paddle before he’s finished talking. “Twenty.”
Every head in the room turns to stare. You could hear a pin drop. Or Mrs. Delaney’s fingers flying across her phone screen.
“Twenty dollars from Jesse McCoy,” the mayor says, clearly trying not to sound shocked. “Do I hear twenty-five?”
“Fifty,” Boone hollers.
“Seventy-five,” I counter.
“One hundred,” Wyatt says from his spot near the back.
The room erupts in whispers. A McCoy bidding on aThompson pie? Three McCoys bidding on a Thompson pie?
It just isn’t done.
“One hundred fifty,” I say loudly, making sure everyone hears.
“Two hundred,” Boone shouts.
“Three hundred,” Wyatt says, still calm.
Callie’s face is red, and she’s trying to disappear into the floor. I catch her eye and wink, which doesn’t help the blushing situation.
“Five hundred dollars,” I announce.
The gasps are audible. That’s more than most pies go for all night combined.
“Five hundred and seven,” Boone says, because he’s an idiot.
“Six hundred,” Wyatt says.
“One thousand dollars,” I say, and now people are actually standing up to get a better view.
“One thousand and seven,” Boone yells.
“Boone, that’s not how auctions work,” I tell him.
“I’m being specific!”
“You’re being weird!”
“One thousand and eight!” he counters, bidding against himself.
“Two thousand,” Wyatt says, and everyone shuts up.
