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“We’ve got them,” Santos said. “We have a florist who does our parties, and Maggie’s already talked to them.”
“Some couples are freeze-drying the bridal bouquet,” Linda remarked. “Can you do that here?”
“I don’t want a fancy bouquet,” Maggie insisted. “I’ll have a corsage for you, and boutonnieres for the men. Libby, Patricia and I will carry roses tied with a satin bow.”
Linda laid her fork on her plate. “I suppose there’s a lot to be said for economizing on wedding expenses when it’ll all be gone in a single day.”
“Rafael didn’t give you a ring?” Peter asked.
“No, I want only a wedding band. It’s the marriage that’s important, not the ring.”
Linda sighed. “You have always been such a practical girl, but I wish we could do more with your wedding.”
Libby focused on her lunch and didn’t contribute much to the conversation. She knew more than she dared share, and it was difficult to keep the Aragons’ dark secrets hidden. Eager to escape the house, she offered a suggestion. “This might be a good afternoon to visit Gaudí’s Sagrada Familia cathedral. It’s too spectacular to miss.” She turned to Santos, and he responded with a mere quirk of a smile. “Will you come with us?” she asked, but he didn’t appear eager to go.
“I doubt we’d all fit in the Hispano-Suiza.”
“Yes, we will,” Patricia argued. “If you ride in front with Manuel, we’ll all squeeze into the backseat.”
Santos hesitated a long moment. “I suppose we could give it a try.”
Libby left her chair before he could think otherwise. “Manuel drove Maggie and me by the cathedral, but I want to stop and see as much as we can. It looks like a gigantic drip castle made by the sea.”
As Maggie left the table, she bent down to whisper in Santos’s ear, “Did you tell Libby about your mother?”
“I did, but the rest of your family doesn’t need to know.”
She kissed his cheek. “We’re going to have to give everyone coming to the wedding a program with what they can and can’t say.”
“We’ll tell the musicians to play louder if there’s a problem.”
“Think of a signal. I’m afraid we’ll need it.”
They did all fit in the luxury sedan, but they hadn’t driven more than a couple of miles up the coast when Santos spotted a black SUV trailing them. Manuel also saw the car in the rearview mirror and sent Santos a questioning glance. He raised a fingertip to his lips and said in Spanish, “Try another route.”
Libby rode behind Santos, where she could also see the side mirror, and caught sight of the suspect SUV changing lanes behind them. She didn’t want to witness another attempt on his life with her whole family in the car. He may not have wanted to frighten them, and neither did she. “It looks as though one of Santos’s fans is trailing us. I hope their enthusiasm doesn’t cause an accident.”
“Pull over,” Santos ordered, and Manuel steered the big car into the first open space at the curb. The black SUV shot by them and turned right at the next corner. Libby rummaged for a slip of paper in her purse and wrote down the license plate number.
“Does this happen often?” Peter asked.
“I’m embarrassed to say it does,” Santos replied. “I should have had Manuel drive the Mercedes sedan.”
“How many cars do you own?” Patricia asked.
Santos glanced over his shoulder. “There’s this car, the Mercedes my aunt and grandmother sometimes use, and my SUV. I should have known I’d be recognized and not brought us out in this moving parade float. Take us back home, Manuel, and we’ll switch cars.”
Manuel swung into a parking lot to turn the car around and headed back down the coast. “There’s plenty of time,” Santos turned to assure the Gundersons.
The Mercedes sedan was nearly as roomy as the Hispano-Suiza, and they were soon on their way. Libby kept a close watch on Santos’s side mirror, but there was no sign of the black SUV. Her heart still remained in her throat, however. Javier Cazares hadn’t identified who had held the mirror, which meant Santos, and all of them with him, were still in danger. She wished she’d thought of that earlier. When they reached the magnificent Sagrada Familia, Santos offered his knee as an excuse to wait in the car with Manuel. Maggie had her tour book in hand, ready to be an enthusiastic guide, but as the rest of them left the car, Libby hung back to speak with Santos.
“Are you sure you’re safe sitting here?” she asked.
“This is sacred soil, so I doubt I’ll be bothered.”
The enormous cathedral attracted tourists by the thousands, which would make it ideal for someone to move close to attack Santos and hurry away unnoticed. She handed him the wrinkled paper with the license plate number. “Call Javier and have him find out who owns the car.”
“I memorized the plate, but thank you. I’ll call him now. Go on with your family, and stop worrying about me.”
