Pinto de Mayo.

Chris was incognito at the farmer’s market when the call came in, startling him enough that he dropped his phone on the tomatoes before fumbling to answer.  

“Hello,” he said as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, motioning to the woman by the vegetable scale that he’d buy the tomatoes he’d probably just bruised.

“Mr. Pine?  This is Jacob Donavan down at Providence Saint Joseph Foundation.  You gave me your direct number during the meeting last week in case we had questions about the benefit.”

“Oh, right. Hi,” Chris said, handing some cash over for his vegetables and then retreating from the crowds.  “What can I do for you?  Is everything going okay with the promotion?  Donations coming in?”

“Well, yes.  It’s been quite successful so far, and we still have a few days before we close the entry process and select a winner. But I’m afraid we may have to disqualify one of the donors.”

“Why’s that?” Chris asked, wandering under the shade of coral trees.  It was a lovely day in Los Angeles: mid-spring at 72 degrees with a soft breeze coming from the ocean.   It was hard to think about work — even charity work — when he was carrying a bag of fresh vegetables and the whole park was in bloom and the air smelled of blossoms and handmade pastries.

“It seems we’re the subject of a prank.  Someone bought up 250,000
entries, but the payment information comes from a enterprise holding
company, and the name offered is clearly fake.  I’m not sure that the
intentions of this fan are what we want to promote, despite the generous
donation.  It could be some sort of stalker.”