The lights went off, and the camera shut down. The assistants moved the table, umbrella, and chairs away.
Sarah and Daryl stared at each other as though they weren’t sure about their plan anymore. Daryl grabbed Sarah’s hand and squeezed it.
“That’s what they need to get on camera,” I whispered to Uncle Saul. “That’s the kind of thing that keeps us all going.”
He grinned and hugged me. “Like this?”
“Just like this.”
He agreed. “We better get inside and fry up more of those upside-down biscuit bowls. That chicken salad is to die for. It was solid enough to hold on to the top of the biscuit. The strawberries are a little too juicy.”
“Whatever.” I laughed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you making the chicken salad and me making the strawberries, would it?”
At that moment, there was a loud roll of thunder. As the rain came pouring down, all the electricity in the Biscuit Bowl went out.
“That’s just great,” I muttered.
NINETEEN
We scrambled trying to get the generator up and running again. It seemed as though it had been affected by the storm, but Uncle Saul said it was just a power surge in the generator.
The thunderstorm raged around us, soaking us as we messed with the generator trying to get it started. When we finally had power again, Ollie and Delia came back, drenched, no sales, and all the biscuit bowls soggy with water.
“What now?” Ollie took off his T-shirt and wrung the water out of it.
“Wow.” Delia admired Ollie’s muscular physique when he’d taken off his shirt. “You work out?”
“Two hours most days.” He preened a bit for her to admire his arms and back.
“You’re in great shape.” She touched his chest.
“Thanks.” He examined her carefully from her feet to her hair. “You, too!”
“Thanks. I don’t work out but I’m careful what I eat.”
As she said that, I saw two members of the Chooey’s Sooey food truck team passing by with umbrellas. Apparently they didn’t believe the race organizers were going to shut down for the rain, either.
“I wish we had umbrellas.” I shook my head for not thinking ahead that the weather could go bad.
“I could take Miguel’s car and go get some,” Delia volunteered.
“That’s true. We could use GPS to find a store close by. It’s too early for much to be open downtown.”
“What about a drugstore?” Uncle Saul asked. “There’s always one of those open twenty-four hours, and they probably have umbrellas.”
“Good idea.” I gave Delia my credit card. “Hurry! We don’t have much time.”
She took the keys to the Mercedes and my credit card and left.
“She’s never gonna get back in time.” Ollie looked out the customer window.
I kept making strawberry filling. “What else can we do?”
Uncle Saul retained his equanimity. “They’re gonna have to give everyone an extra hour or something. You’ll see. No need to fret over it in any case. You can only do what you can do.”
Chef Art’s assistant popped in from the back of the food truck. “He sent me with these umbrellas.” She began speaking before she could catch her breath. In her hands were two large red and white umbrellas with Chef Art’s face and logo on them. “He says to tell you the challenge isn’t changing for the storm.”
“Thanks, Lacie.” I took off my apron. “We’re going out, Uncle Saul. You’ve got the kitchen. I’ll take Ollie and the change with me. Call Delia and have her come back. Good luck.”
He laughed. “Good luck to you, too!”
The umbrellas were the huge beach-type ones. They weighed a ton but covered a large area. I couldn’t balance one of them with the tray of biscuit bowls. It was a good thing Ollie was so much taller than me. He held the umbrella over both of us while I walked close to him.
“I was afraid of this.” Ollie inclined his head toward the nearly empty, rain-soaked city street. “No one wants to hang around and buy food during a thunderstorm.”
I knew he was right, especially when a lightning strike close by made me afraid we might become kebabs holding onto the metal umbrella.
As I was agreeing with him, I saw Patrick running up the sidewalk. His assistant was trying to hold an umbrella over his head. Lights came on, and the cameraman began taping another personal segment for the race.
“Zoe Chase, owner of the Biscuit Bowl from Mobile, Alabama, what is your next move during the thunderstorm? You only have”—he glanced at his watch—“ten minutes to meet the challenge of selling a hundred dollars in upside-down biscuit bowls for change.”
“Actually, we assumed the challenge would be postponed until the storm was over,” I said. “It makes more sense than all of us standing out here while the people we’re trying to sell to are running into buildings to get away.”
He laughed. “Then why are you out here?”
“Because I realized making sense wasn’t what the race is about. I don’t know if any of us are going to make the challenge, but we’re out here, Patrick. I guess we’ll see where it goes from there.”
The camera followed my gesture toward the street where a few people were hurrying to get out of the storm.
“Thanks, Zoe.” He put down the microphone and shivered as the lights and camera went off. “Let’s get in the RV,” he said to his cameraman. “It’s nasty out here.”
Patrick gave us a salute and ran off again.
“We might as well take off, too,” Ollie said.
A city bus pulled up to the curb. It was packed with commuters.
I saw Sarah and Daryl run up to the door where people were making their way off. They immediately started selling their cupcakes for twenty-five cents each. A few hands reached out to exchange their quarters for cupcakes.
Brilliant!
“Let’s do it,” I said to Ollie.
“We can’t sell enough biscuit bowls here to make the hundred-dollar challenge,” he remarked.
“We can’t, but we can stay good in the standings for trying. We’ll take the back door.”
I knew Ollie was right. I also knew we could sell more if the weather cleared, but why waste this opportunity in case it didn’t?
A few of the disembarking passengers were grumpy at being detained while Ollie made change for the biscuit bowls so they could pay with quarters, dimes, and nickels. A few pushed around our customers who wanted what we were selling. I was surprised when the bus was empty to find that we had sold all but one biscuit bowl.
“What are we doing about getting more?” Ollie asked. “I can go back and get them, but if I leave the umbrella with you, they’ll get soaked on the way. If I don’t, you’ll get soaked.”
“There’s no time left anyway.” Sarah and Daryl ran by us on their way back to their food truck. “Let’s go back together.”
I saw other teams heading in with umbrellas. We’d made about twenty dollars. I knew Sarah and Daryl had probably done about the same. There might not be a winner for that one.
“We have to focus on getting the second challenge,” I told my team when we reached the Biscuit Bowl. Delia was back, and in an apron, wearing Chef Art’s hat. She was helping Uncle Saul make chicken salad.
“I’ve got another tray ready to go and biscuits in the oven,” he said. “Are you going back out?”
“We have to try and find someone for the taste test if we want to go on.” I shook the water out of my shoes. “I don’t want to go home from here.”
Uncle Saul handed me the next tray of biscuit bowls, half of them chicken and half of them strawberry. “We’ll get the next tray ready. You all be careful out there. You’re walking around in a thunderstorm holding a lightning rod.”
“Better than a trayful of soggy biscuit bowls,” I told him with a smile.