Read The Devil's in the Details for Free Online Page A

handbags.
    Threats? Not her style. Especially when it came to her favorite niece.
    Aunt Bella was a totally different story. Her claim to fame was physical anguish. Think the Spanish Inquisition. The Salem witch trials. The Saw flicks.
    Even more, she hated all her nieces. Yours truly especially, since I’d given her a bouquet of flowers for her birthday last year instead of the expected body part. She’d been waiting for an excuse to come after me with her arsenal of toys, i.e., knives, whips, chain saws, the Jackass movies on DVD.
    I knew then that it wasn’t a coincidence that Portia had called earlier tonight. She’d probably been spying for her mother to find out the truth. And now Aunt Bella wanted to throw a wrench into my ma’s plans by taking me out.
    AB negative
was
her favorite blood type.
    Ba-bom. Ba-bom. Ba-bom.
    My heart beat a frantic rhythm as I turned, my gaze riveted on the closed shower curtain. I inched backward one awkward step at a time.
    One. Two. Easy—yikes!
    I banged into the doorframe and whirled. Panic bolted through me and I raced down the hallway and into the kitchen. Rummaging in the drawers, I searched for the biggest knife I could find. Not that I intended to use it. The sight of blood and guts made me queasy, and I was already batting one for two at the moment.
    My hands trembled. Talk about a wimp—but my auntie didn’t know that.
    If it
was
Aunt Bella.
    My mother wasn’t my only bride, after all. For a split second, I considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the threat stemmed from one of my other clients. I was sure there were a few jilted exes out there who might want to stop a wedding.
    But enough to break in and write a bloody death threat?
    Doubtful.
    Either way, I desperately needed a weapon.
    A few frantic seconds later, I realized that the one detriment to having my own business was that I had little time to cook, which meant that my arsenal of weapons consisted of three plastic sporks left over from yesterday’s Italian takeout, a pair of chopsticks, and a monogrammed cake server from three weeks ago. The bride—Margaret—had ditched the groom—Jim—during their Jamaican honeymoon when she’d caught him cheating with a cabana girl. Needless to say, she hadn’t wanted a souvenir from the wedding.
    I grabbed the cake server and tried to calm my pounding heart. When that didn’t work, I reached for the cookie jar and the mountain of Oreos stuffed inside. I shoved two Oreos into my mouth. Did I mention that demons have a superfast metabolism?Which meant the three slices of cake and their soothing powers were long gone.
    I chewed the mouthful and by the time I swallowed, I felt loads better.
    Okay, so
loads
was stretching it a bit. But I felt calm enough to face my no-win situation—me and my cake server vs. crazy, bloodthirsty Aunt Bella should I go through with the wedding from Hell. Or me and my cake server vs. crazy, bloodthirsty Mother should I back out. While Aunt Bella was a card-carrying sadist for sure, my own mother had founded the club and written the handbook. Aunt Bella could hurt me, but my own mother could
hurt
me. As in calling me back to Hell and keeping me there for all eternity.
    On the other hand, if I went through with it and pulled off a successful wedding, I would bank enough money to move my business into an actual storefront. Even more, my mother would be so busy controlling everything and everyone Down Under that she would have zero time left over to keep tabs on me.
    And if she did, by some crazy twist, eventually discover that I’d gone legit, she would still be so grateful that I’d pulled off such a fabulous event that she would show a teeny tiny ounce of mercy and leave me alone.
    What can I say? Sugar not only boosts my mood, it also makes me slightly delusional.
    I held tight to the crumb of hope, stuffed another Oreo into my mouth for an added rush, and marched back into the bathroom. After ripping aside the curtain and