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what I mean, dear.” She jerked the gearshift intro reverse, and we exited the parking lot in a shower of gravel. Just as long as Mama maintained the illusion that her car was undamaged, and didn’t allude to the fact that her car needed a new paint job, one for which I would somehow be held accountable, what did the truth really matter?
    We drove back up River Road while I gathered my thoughts. Perhaps the smart thing was to hire a private detective to track down the elusive storage shed owner. If that didn’t pan out, then maybe I’d try calling some of the names on the list Mr. Cotter had given Mama. Maybe.
    But I’d only managed to gather a few of my thoughts when Mama made a sharp left on PlowGround Road. For a second or two my stomach remained behind on the road more traveled.
    â€œMama, where are we going? This isn’t the way back to the city.”
    â€œWe’re going to hobnob with the rich and famous—well, at least the rich.”
    â€œThere are plenty of rich people in town. In fact, downtown Charleston, the area south of Broad, has the fifth highest concentration of wealth in the country.”
    â€œYes, but those folks advertise their wealth just by being there. We’re going to see a rich woman who doesn’t care about showing off. It’s what she would want with the contents of a storage bin that makes her interesting.”
    â€œMama, you don’t make a lick—”
    Mama tossed the papers from her lap into mine. “That’s because I’m making two licks of sense. Read the top name.”
    â€œClaudette Aikenberg. So what?”
    â€œWell, he circled it, didn’t he?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œNow read the address.”
    â€œIt says 2513 Major Moolah Road. So?”
    â€œThat’s on Wadmalaw Island. Sudie Pridgen lives on Wadmalaw Island. She had our Sunday school class out there for a cookout last summer. There was a vacant lot next door, one with a marshview. Someone asked her the price, because the view was really stunning. She said a million five. Abby, she wasn’t talking rubles. And you know what else? A lot of the houses out there can’t even be seen from the roads. Believe me, that’s where the serious money lives.”
    â€œMama, a lot of really rich people enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Miss Aikenberg probably read about the auction in the paper—same as I—and thought it would be a fun way to spend a Saturday.”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    Mama stomped harder on the gas. I checked my seat belt. I also checked the rearview mirror. The last time Mama got a ticket, she invited the issuing officer over for a home-cooked meal. You can imagine my horror when, after a hard day’s work, I opened the front door only to find Tweedledum sitting on one of the Louis XIV chairs, eating a miniature quiche with both hands. Tweedledee, thank my lucky stars, had been assigned different duties for the day.
    Things went from bad to worse when Tweedledum wiped his fingers on the silk damask seat of his chair. Had it not been for the arrival of Greg, I might well have experienced the inside of a jail cell a whole lot sooner. Mama, of course, pretended to be utterly oblivious to Tweedledum’sbad manners. During the meal that followed, Greg sat beside me, instead of his usual place at the head of the table, and squeezed my knee every time he sensed that I was about to explode. Mama might well have gotten seriously involved with the miscreant had he not, at the meal’s conclusion, let loose with a belch that sounded like a sonic boom. Even that might have gone unnoticed if the tremendous force of it hadn’t knocked Daddy’s picture off the sideboard and onto the floor.
    At any rate, once my minimadre is on a mission, there is nothing, short of divine intervention, that can stop her. Having decided to give up prayers of petition for Lent, I was totally at Mama’s mercy. I