Page 6 of Phillip

“Or at least off course.” Phillip jerked the steering wheel and attacked the brakes. “Have a better plan?”

“I told you to act like a Blackthorne.” Brock tried to rock the cart. “You never learn.”

Phillip ignored Brock and kneeled on his seat. “Out the back. If we jump together, it might turn.”

Brock shook his head as they both climbed over their seats, precariously balancing next to their golf clubs.

Phillip looked over his shoulder at the tent. “Ready?”

Brock grumbled.

It was now or never. “One, two, three!”

***

The magical sound of happy guests chattering over leafy greens and the finest white wine filled both the tent and Ashley’s heart. The Laumet Society’s charity luncheon was, thus far, the pinnacle of her event-planning career. Even though she was grandfathered, or rather, grandmothered, into the exclusive club, her membership was only considered social, which didn’t mean much. She’d had to schmooze her way into handling this event, beating out well-known party and event planners. But she’d done it! The luncheon she’d spent nearly a year planning was now underway as the string quartet transitioned to “Amazing Grace.”

Lori Wynell, the local-news television reporter, smoothed her hair behind her ear. “We’re one minute out.”

Ashley swallowed over the knot in her throat. “Great.” While planning the charity event couldn’t have gone any better, she would do nearly anything to avoid live television. Public speaking was her Achilles’ heel. But Bitsy Montauk, reigning Laumet Society president for at least a decade, left her no choice, pushing her toward the camera with only polite introductions and strict instructions to share The Laumet Society’s charity app.

Ashley could do that. How hard could it be to answer a few questions and explain how to participate in the online silent auction? Perhaps the camera would spend more time on the array of donation items than her.

Either way, after a lifetime of instruction from her mother on graceful presentation, she could do this. Ashley balanced her weight in such a way that she kept her slingback heels from sinking into the thick carpet of perennial ryegrass. The golf course at the King Harbor Country Club looked like an emerald velvet rug. The cool, thin blades were perfect for golfing. But high heels, not so much.

“Ready?” Lori asked Ashley as her camerawoman, Trinity, moved into place.

You can do this.She nodded and focused on the delicate clink of silverware against china plates that filtered through the high-vaulted ceiling of the air-conditioned tent. “Yes.”

In the background, tuxedoed waitstaff worked their way through the elegant tables, clearing the salads and serving Maine lobster panzanella. She could picture each dish, garnished with grilled corn and roasted tomatoes, as clearly as she could recall each salad plate, with the decorative drizzles of olive oil and sprinkles of lemon zest. Everything was simply perfect.

Trinity extended five fingers. Lori cleared her throat, spoke to the newsroom, then to Ashley. “This will be a piece of cake.”

She hoped so. “Let’s get it over with.”

Lori smiled as though she understood Ashley’s nerves. Trinity signaled two seconds out, one, and showtime.

“Thanks, and that’s right, we are at the King Harbor Country Club, where The Laumet Society is hosting their annual luncheon and silent auction.”

Ashley’s heart skipped as Lori focused on her.

“Ashley Catherine Cartwright, the leading lady behind Picture Perfect, is here to share details about how viewers at home can participate in the charity auction.”

She leaned toward Lori’s microphone and wondered where to look.At Lori or the camera?She decided to do some of both. “The Laumet Society raises funds to help Maine’s homeless families, particularly their children, have a safe place to go, especially when the weather turns cold.”

Trinity glanced from her camera as Ashley paused, thinking that Lori would jump in for another question. The reporter paused briefly, unsaid questions passing between her and Trinity, before she asked, “How can viewers at home participate?”

Ashley recalled Bitsy’s wording. “This is the first year we’ve taken bids online. Anyone at home—”

“Move!” Trinity waved her arm. “Move! Now!”

Shocked, Ashley and Lori faltered, their high heels catching in the grass. Trinity pushed them aside, and they fell as a golf cart crashed into their tent.

CHAPTER THREE

The golf cart tore through the canvas tent wall and crashed into the silent auction table. Ashley gasped as the table turned. The string quartet screeched to a stop. Guests yelled and fled as silverware and plates crashed.

Everyone ran for safety except Ashley, Lori, and Trinity. The newscast duo morphed from society duty into recounting a catastrophe, narrating the collapse of the far side tent wall.

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