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“What do you mean?”
I gestured at the wall-hangings. “Instead of noon at the top, the clock’s tilted, so 11:55 is at the top—and the photo’s crooked, too.”
“That’s odd.” Straightening both, he shrugged. “Maybe a slamming door jolted them.”
“Maybe…”
“Coffee?”
“Definitely, and in copious amounts.”
He crossed to the kitchen, poured me a cup, then set a spoon and sugar bowl on the bar. “Another rough night?”
“The only good thing about nightmares is waking up from them.” Chuckling as I reached for the sugar, I yelped.
Though the lid was still on the bowl, sugar had spilled across the bar and onto the floor.
I caught Luke’s gaze. “Valentina?”
****
The next night, when I dreamt the minister said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Cody jumped up from the back row.
“Don’t go through with this wedding, Maeve. I’ve never stopped loving you. Come with me to Las—”
Two groomsmen caught him under the arms and escorted him from the vineyard.
With his shouts still ringing through the air, Bea strode toward me in a white bridal gown. “Luke can’t marry you.” Carrying an enormous bouquet, she stared me down. “He’s marrying me!”
Two guests tried to usher her from the ceremony.
But Bea broke free from their grasp. “If I can’t have Luke, no one will.” She pulled a handgun from her bouquet, aimed at Luke, and squeezed the trigger.
“No!” I woke on our wedding day in tears. What’s Bea planning?
****
The morning flew by in a flurry of last-minute instructions and preparations.
The baker delivered the wedding cake, but instead of frothy white buttercream, the frosting was inky black and festooned with sugar skulls. In place of the traditional bride and groom figurines, two Calavera-Catrina skeletons topped the multilayered cake, and a banner across it read, ’Til Death Do Us Part.
“A Day of the Dead cake?” I gasped. “Is this cake someone’s idea of a joke?”
The delivery man pulled out the receipt. “Your name’s Maeve Jackson, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but this isn’t the Mexican embroidery cake I ordered.” Ready to burst into tears, I scrolled through my phone’s photos. “How could you mistake that floral motif on white frosting for skeletons on black?”
He reread the receipt. “You cancelled that cake Monday and placed this order instead.”
Luke turned toward me. “More of Valentina’s handiwork?”
Recalling Bea’s behavior in the bakery, I shook my head. “My money’s on her great-great-granddaughter.”
“Wait a minute…” Luke moved in for a closer look. “We can fix this.”
“How?” Groaning, I slumped into a chair. “This cake’s for All Souls’ Day—not a wedding.”
He turned to the delivery man. “Can the bakery add a Y at the end?”
