sauntered off.
I turned my attention back to the gazebo. Kizzy had just begun her closing remarks, thanking everyone and reminding them of all the planned activities, when the tornado siren started blaring. Both she and the audience froze. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. There were no warm and cold or dry and moist air masses to collide. In fact, no sign of any kind of storm at all. Kizzy said something to Lee, who threw her hands in the air.
Even though there was no indication of a twister, I was a little surprised that no one ran for cover. Everyone just stood their ground, gazing upward and babbling to their neighbor. This went on for severalseconds, and I had just decided to try to herd as many people as I could persuade to come with me toward the city hall’s shelter, when the siren abruptly stopped.
A moment later, Mayor Geoffrey Eggers pushed his way to the front of the gazebo, waving his cell phone in the air like a victory baton. At well over six feet six and weighing in at a mere hundred and seventy pounds, Eggers resembled a stick figure drawn by a kindergartener. Albeit a stick figure with scraggly eyebrows and a beaklike nose, wearing a thousand-dollar designer suit.
His honor tended to get petulant if he felt he wasn’t being given his mayoral due, so Ronni had included him on the Cupcake Weekend committee. The best I could say about his contribution to the event was that he hadn’t gotten in our way, which considering his usual modus operandi was a small miracle in itself.
Eggers grabbed the mike, and said, “Sorry, folks. Everything is fine. Our siren seems to have malfunctioned. There is no tornado.”
Kizzy wrestled the microphone back from the mayor and announced, “The official luncheon, which is invitation only, will began in twenty minutes at the Ksiazak B and B. Afterward the contestants will be taken a tour of the kitchen facilities at the Todd Cooking School and be given time to make a practice batch of their entries. Tonight is the fashion show sponsored by Forever Used. Tickets for that event are for sale at the consignment shop and at Devereaux’s Dime Store.”
With that parting message, Kizzy and the rest of the group on the pavilion descended the steps and trooped toward a waiting minibus that would transport them to the various venues. I watched as they boarded the shuttle, noting that while Kizzy was the first one to embark, her partner, Lee, was the last. Was Leedeliberately keeping her distance from Kizzy or just in charge of rounding up the stragglers? Considering that Kizzy had painted Lee as the bad guy in her touching little speech about carrying on despite Fallon’s death, I suspected it was probably the former.
Once the bus pulled away, I hurried to the dime store to help my father and Hannah serve all the customers I hoped would migrate from the square into the store. After slipping around the back of the building, I entered the storage room, where I took a second to refasten my ponytail and put on some lip gloss before heading into the store.
Finished with my minimal primping, I walked onto the sales floor and grinned. I was thrilled to see that the place was packed, and my heart swelled with pride. Regardless of my mood, the minute I walked into my shop, its old-fashioned charm made me smile. This store held some of the best memories of my childhood. My mom buying me a chocolate ice-cream cone from the soda fountain. Dad taking me for penny candy after church on Sunday. And Gran giving me a bottle of her favorite perfume, Evening in Paris, when I turned twelve to welcome me into the female sisterhood.
Seeing the dime store in all its vintage glory, bustling with customers, I knew I had made the right decision in buying it. When the Thornbee sisters, age ninety-one, had put the five-and-dime on the market, I was commuting to Kansas City every day for my job as a financial consultant at Stramp Investments. Making a six-figure salary was nice, an hour
I turned my attention back to the gazebo. Kizzy had just begun her closing remarks, thanking everyone and reminding them of all the planned activities, when the tornado siren started blaring. Both she and the audience froze. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. There were no warm and cold or dry and moist air masses to collide. In fact, no sign of any kind of storm at all. Kizzy said something to Lee, who threw her hands in the air.
Even though there was no indication of a twister, I was a little surprised that no one ran for cover. Everyone just stood their ground, gazing upward and babbling to their neighbor. This went on for severalseconds, and I had just decided to try to herd as many people as I could persuade to come with me toward the city hall’s shelter, when the siren abruptly stopped.
A moment later, Mayor Geoffrey Eggers pushed his way to the front of the gazebo, waving his cell phone in the air like a victory baton. At well over six feet six and weighing in at a mere hundred and seventy pounds, Eggers resembled a stick figure drawn by a kindergartener. Albeit a stick figure with scraggly eyebrows and a beaklike nose, wearing a thousand-dollar designer suit.
His honor tended to get petulant if he felt he wasn’t being given his mayoral due, so Ronni had included him on the Cupcake Weekend committee. The best I could say about his contribution to the event was that he hadn’t gotten in our way, which considering his usual modus operandi was a small miracle in itself.
Eggers grabbed the mike, and said, “Sorry, folks. Everything is fine. Our siren seems to have malfunctioned. There is no tornado.”
Kizzy wrestled the microphone back from the mayor and announced, “The official luncheon, which is invitation only, will began in twenty minutes at the Ksiazak B and B. Afterward the contestants will be taken a tour of the kitchen facilities at the Todd Cooking School and be given time to make a practice batch of their entries. Tonight is the fashion show sponsored by Forever Used. Tickets for that event are for sale at the consignment shop and at Devereaux’s Dime Store.”
With that parting message, Kizzy and the rest of the group on the pavilion descended the steps and trooped toward a waiting minibus that would transport them to the various venues. I watched as they boarded the shuttle, noting that while Kizzy was the first one to embark, her partner, Lee, was the last. Was Leedeliberately keeping her distance from Kizzy or just in charge of rounding up the stragglers? Considering that Kizzy had painted Lee as the bad guy in her touching little speech about carrying on despite Fallon’s death, I suspected it was probably the former.
Once the bus pulled away, I hurried to the dime store to help my father and Hannah serve all the customers I hoped would migrate from the square into the store. After slipping around the back of the building, I entered the storage room, where I took a second to refasten my ponytail and put on some lip gloss before heading into the store.
Finished with my minimal primping, I walked onto the sales floor and grinned. I was thrilled to see that the place was packed, and my heart swelled with pride. Regardless of my mood, the minute I walked into my shop, its old-fashioned charm made me smile. This store held some of the best memories of my childhood. My mom buying me a chocolate ice-cream cone from the soda fountain. Dad taking me for penny candy after church on Sunday. And Gran giving me a bottle of her favorite perfume, Evening in Paris, when I turned twelve to welcome me into the female sisterhood.
Seeing the dime store in all its vintage glory, bustling with customers, I knew I had made the right decision in buying it. When the Thornbee sisters, age ninety-one, had put the five-and-dime on the market, I was commuting to Kansas City every day for my job as a financial consultant at Stramp Investments. Making a six-figure salary was nice, an hour
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