Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The limo screeches to a halt in front of the bakery, the sudden stop jolting me out of my panicked thoughts. I don’t wait for the driver to open the door, instead scrambling out of the car, my heart pounding, my phone clutched to my chest. The long satin folds of my dress catch in the doorway, but I manage to reach down and pull the long hem out, letting it fall on the dusty street beneath me.
The driver, dressed in a black suit, makes his way around the car toward me.
“Miss Montgomery?”
I part my lips to say something, but I can’t find the words. My eyes are locked on the shop. Something’s not right. There’s no smoke, no flames, no sirens wailing in the distance. Just an eerie, unsettling silence. I stand there on the sidewalk, my white dress billowing in the breeze. What’s going on? I wonder, my stomach twisting in knots. Where’s the fire?
I flip over my phone and call Bernie’s cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail.
I take a few steps in the direction of the front door. I need to make sure everything’s okay. Bernie wouldn’t have sent those messages unless there was something wrong. Maybe the smoke is coming from the back. If so, I’ll call the fire department myself.
“Miss Montgomery, would you like me to wait?” The driver is staring at me as I walk away from him, a curious expression on his face.
“No,” I say, finding my voice. “I just need some time to make sure everything is okay. I’ve got my phone and I will call you if I need anything.” I hold up my phone, proving my point. “Please go to Magnolia, find Tucker and tell him I’m here. Tell him there’s been an accident at the shop. Then come back for me. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He nods, turning his back to me as he strides back to the long black limousine. I take a step toward the shop, my white satin heels clicking on the pavement. I notice the door is slightly cracked open. Why would Bernie leave the door open? Maybe she was in a hurry when she left for the gala.
I step forward and gently push open the door, which still has plywood nailed on the front. I step inside, the skirt of my gown dragging across the floor, leaving a trail of delicate lace and satin in my wake.
The bakery is clean, the glass dome gleaming by the front register, just as I left it yesterday. I take a few steps inside, looking for any signs of smoke.
“Bernie? Are you there?”
I watch the dark hallway behind the counter, waiting for her to come bounding forward any minute. I’m only met with an eerie silence. “Bernie?”
I make my way around the counter, my dress dragging behind me as it snags on one of our bistro chairs. When I reach the hallway, I smell it. Gasoline. The acrid, pungent odor fills my nostrils, making my eyes water and my throat burn.
Oh god, I think, my heart hammering against my ribs. Why does my shop smell like gasoline? I should call the fire department. My thoughts turn again to Bernie. She said she would be here. What if something happened to her? I should check in the back first. I pick up my pace, pulling up the train of my dress in my free hand as I plunge forward.
“Bernie! Can you hear me?!”
Again, I’m met with silence. I walk around the kitchen, open the walk-in refrigerator, peek into the bathroom. But there is no one here, just me. I try Bernie’s cell phone one more time. It goes to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message.
And then—a rustling sound from the back of the shop, like someone moving around in the shadows. I take a step forward, then another, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Hello?”
Something feels wrong. But I can’t stop, can’t turn back now.
I wind my way to the back through the kitchen, my heart in my throat, my palms slick with sweat. That’s when I notice it. Sitting on the workstation is an envelope. A crisp, white rectangle, perched atop a gleaming silver pedestal. I take a few steps toward it, dropping the long train of my dress behind me. My name is scrawled across the front. I sit my phone down on the steel table, the clanking sound echoing through the silence.
With shaking hands, I pick up the envelope, my fingers fumbling with the flap. Inside, there’s a single sheet of paper, the words carefully written out in stark, black ink.
I told you, either call off the wedding or I will.
I stare at the message, my mind reeling. But before I can even begin to process the implications, I feel a sudden, sharp pain at the back of my head. A blinding, white-hot pain that sends me stumbling forward, face down on the table. My vision blurs at the edges, the kitchen I know so well suddenly turning upside down.
I try to scream, to cry out for help, but my voice won’t cooperate, my throat closing up tightly. I feel myself falling, my body crumpling to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone. A woman with cold blue eyes and pale blonde hair.
It couldn’t be…
And then, there’s nothing. Just the weight of my wedding dress and the cold, hard floor beneath my cheek.