Part 3 (2/2)
”I could,” Kim agreed, and her face brightened.
”She can also paint the name, Creative Cupcakes, in big swirly letters across the back and sides with our phone number to advertise the shop,” Andi suggested.
”With a motto,” Rachel said, walking closer to the vehicle to look inside. ”Creative Cupcakes should have a motto.”
Kim laughed. ”'No time to bake? Call Creative Cupcakes!'”
”'Sweet cakes for every occasion'?” Andi asked.
”'One bite and you'll know it's right' or 'Tasty treats for toothless tattoo artists,'” Guy joked. ”Like me.”
Rachel gave him a friendly poke in the shoulder. ”'If you like to flirt, try our hip little dessert.'”
”Gaston Pierre Hollande would paint a picture of a sword like the one in the movie Highlander and use the main character's quote, 'There can be only one!'” Kim said with a grin.
”We have a sword,” Andi reminded them. ”Our golden cupcake cutter. Maybe we can stick it in a giant cupcake and put it on display like King Arthur's sword in the stone legend.”
”I have a better idea,” Rachel said and pointed to the side of the Cupcake Mobile as if she could already see the image. ”We can be like the three musketeers and borrow their motto: 'All for one, one for all.' And over that a logo, with three cupcake cutters like crossed swords sticking into a cupcake, dividing it three ways.”
”What about Jake?” Andi asked. ”He's part of Creative Cupcakes, too.”
Rachel nodded. ”He can be the fourth musketeer in Alexandre Dumas' story, who joined them later.”
”Just like our birthday tradition!” Andi exclaimed.
Kim nodded her approval, a big smile on her face. ”Just like us.”
ON FRIDAY, RACHEL and Andi loaded the Cupcake Mobile, left Kim in charge of the shop, and headed toward the Clatsop County Fairgrounds for the Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival. Andi drove the truck, and Rachel followed behind in her own car since they would be leaving at different times.
They'd borrowed some folding tables from Guy for their booth in the main food tent and brought hundreds of cupcakes packed in stackable plastic containers. Andi had also found pink tablecloths to match their pink bandanas and ap.r.o.ns.
Upon arrival they were given their ten-by-ten s.p.a.ce between a wine vendor and another food vendor selling crab and melted cheese on thick, crusty bread. The aroma made them salivate until Andi finally broke down and bought them each one.
”Now we're down $10, and we haven't sold a single cupcake yet,” Rachel complained.
She called out to the hundreds of people who packed the fairgrounds, and her face hurt from smiling, but despite her efforts, their booth was humiliatingly ignored.
”Maybe people don't think cupcakes go with crab or wine,” Andi suggested.
Rachel's gaze drifted over to Gaston's setup. His booth was located in the corner, diagonal to their left. He looked up, caught her watching him, and smirked. His booth had a line thirty people long. Some of them backed up to the end of their cupcake table, all because he was serving crab chowder in fresh-baked bread bowls.
”Got to hand it to him,” Rachel said, her spirits sinking. ”Gaston has a smart marketing plan.”
Andi nodded. ”His success is in the presentation.”
”He's slanted his product toward the venue, while we didn't.” Rachel chewed on her lower lip. ”Maybe we should have decorated the cupcakes to look like crabs.”
”Maybe it wasn't such a good idea for us to come,” Andi said and winced. ”How much did this booth cost us?”
Rachel didn't even want to think about it. Thinking about money made her think about her grandfather. ”We'll get some sales.”
But by six o'clock that evening they'd sold only a few dozen cupcakes, not enough to cover a third of the cost. Rachel wondered what would happen the other two days of the festival. Would it be worth coming back? Since they'd already paid, they had no choice.
Andi glanced at her watch. ”Time for me to pick up Mia from the babysitter's. Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?”
”Go ahead,” Rachel replied. ”We're dead here anyway. And someone has to stay in the booth till the end.”
Her feet were tired from standing all day. The chatter from the crowd droned in her ears, giving her a headache. By the time she could leave and walked out to the parking lot, she was emotionally weary as well. She couldn't wait to get home and . . . what was going on? Why was her car hooked up to the back of a tow truck? Her heart leaped into overdrive, and despite her aching feet, she ran toward it as fast as she could.
”Wait!” she shouted, waving her hands.
The tow truck driver gave her a quick glance and moved even quicker. Jumping into the cab, he started the engine.
”Where are you taking my car?”
”Ask the bank that gave you the car loan.” He pulled away before she could respond.
Her chest caved in, making it hard to breathe. She'd been two months' late on her car payment, but she didn't think she was in danger of having it repossessed. And how did they know she was at the festival? She scowled. Either someone had blabbed, or the tow truck driver just didn't have many places to look. One of the unfortunate ”benefits” of living in a small town.
She reflected back to the day she'd handed her car payment money to her mother to cover some of her grandfather's medical bills. She'd thought she could live without a car if she had to. Now she wasn't so sure.
”How am I going to get home?” she said out loud to no one in particular.
An elderly man wearing the yellow vest of a festival worker pointed to the dozens of school buses taking festivalgoers to various drop-offs around town.
Take a bus? She sighed. Better that than call Andi to come back out to get her. She was probably already putting Mia to bed, and there was no one else she could call. Her mother was never available. Kim had no car. Jake was away for the weekend. Guy didn't have his license due to a past DUI. And her cop friend, Ian Lockwell, was on duty.
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she headed toward a yellow school bus, climbed the steps, and found a seat in the crowded reaches of the back.
She loved her red Mustang. It was a cool car, even if it was dented and she couldn't afford a new one. Red was vibrant and an eye-catcher.
But the payments had been steep for her tight budget. The truth was, she was better off without the car. She'd felt guilty keeping it while her mother worked two jobs to cover her grandfather's medical bills. Now the matter was resolved for her.
She took her iPod from her purse, put on the connecting earbuds, and cranked up the volume to m.u.f.fle the loud, boastful chatter of the obnoxious fairgoers who had drunk one too many samples of wine. They were having their own party, giggling, laughing, shouting at the people walking down the sidewalk as the bus stopped to drop people off at various locations. She hoped the bus would circle back into the heart of downtown Astoria soon, but she knew she had to be patient. Each bus had an a.s.signed route. Rachel found it hard to keep her eyes open. She dozed off again and again only to wake with a start.
”This is our last stop,” the driver said over the intercom. ”Please make sure you don't leave any articles behind. Pick up any trash you might have and deposit it in the garbage bag next to the exit.”
The bus slowed to a halt and let off a hiss like a giant sigh of relief as twenty-five or more people stood up to get off, the noisy group that was having the party. Rachel was glad to see them go, but as they stepped off the bus, she realized she was the only one left. This couldn't be the last stop. The driver had to have misspoken.
She glanced out the darkened window and saw the headlights from the bus illuminate the sign for the remote Fort Stevens Campground out by the ocean. She couldn't get out here. Fort Stevens was in the middle of nowhere.
And she wasn't much of a camper.
Chapter Four.
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