Page 5 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

That meant that one of the board members, Lucille Madden, was out right from the start. She was allergic to gluten, and while I did have a small gluten-free section it wasn’t what Breadcetera was known for.

Chad Maddox was a real estate lawyer by trade and said to be a ‘chocoholic.’ I circled his name on my printouts three times as a possible easy mark. His daughter was into equestrian sports, but I wasn’t sure how to work that to my advantage.

Milton Carlyle was on his third bypass, so he was a no-go. Jonas Byrd played for the Yankees for years before becoming an investment banker, and I had a cookie named after him. He was also said to be fond of donuts. The final board member, Dennis Jackson, was a minister and ran a youth center downtown. I wasn’t sure how to approach him yet.

I compiled my dox and started making connections. I discovered, to my delight, that four of the board members were participating in a charity mixed doubles tennis tournament at the Meachum Country Club that upcoming weekend.

Then I realized I had a dilemma. I didn't have a membership to the country club, and that was a prerequisite to gaining entry to the tournament. I mentioned it to Aunt Petunia that evening as I served her Tarragon Chicken over rice.

“I don’t suppose you know anybody with a country club membership I can team up with, do you?”

“Oh yeah,” Aunt Petunia said. “Daryl can hook you up—no, wait.”

Her face scrunched up in thought. “He’s dead, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t sweat it, dear. I’ll get Tyson to help. He’s got a membership too…”

“What?” I prompted when she didn’t go on further.

“Actually, this is quite embarrassing, but now that I think about it, Tyson is dead too.”

I held my hand up, growing alarmed by the increasingly morbid nature of our conversation. “That’s okay, you know what? Forget that I even—”

“Oh, wait, I know! Jimmy will be your part…”

I sighed. “He’s dead too, isn’t he?”

She nodded, looking sheepish.

“Don’t sweat it, Petunia,” I said with a frown. “I’m sorry, it must be so hard for you that so many of your friends have passed on of old age—”

“Old age?” Petunia sputtered. She fixed me with a frank stare. “Look, darling, Daryl took a horse tranquilizer and went scuba diving, Tyson went fishing for Marlin and hooked a Great White shark instead, and Jimmy…”

Her voice trailed off, and I knew I should have let it stop there. Yet, I just had to know…

“How did Jimmy die?”

“He choked on vomit.”

“Just like Hendrix? The poor man—”

“No, guitar god Hendrix choked on his own vomit,” Aunt Petunia said, looking a little green around the gills. “My Jimmy was Jimmy Spielman, and he choked on someone else’s vomit.”

“I’m…” I laughed anxiously. “Really sorry that I asked you that question.”

“Yeah, me too.” Aunt Petunia shrugged. “Anyway, sorry I can’t help you get into the country club tournament. Maybe you could ask the staff?”

“I don’t think any of them has ever mentioned golf or anything related to the country club, but I suppose I could try.”

“There you go. Now hurry up, that handsome British chef is about to say the F word a bunch of times to the rookies he’s training.”

She rolled into the living room, and I brought her TV tray and set it up across the wheelchair’s armrests. I settled in on the sofa and stared at the screen without really seeing it. There had to be a way to secure my membership in that tournament, but I wasn’t seeing it. I was about to toss the idea aside totally when Aunt Petunia had a sudden inspiration.

“Oh, I know!” She paused her show and turned to me with a grin. “If Breadcetera were to cater the charity tournament, pro bono of course, that should be enough to get your foot in the door.”

I gasped. “Aunt Petunia, you’re a genius!”

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