The weather was foul. My windscreen wipers were going top speed and they still couldn’t keep up with the deluge turning the world outside into a blur. In the seat beside me, the engagement party cake I’d spent all morning decorating wobbled as I took a corner too fast.

“Don’t you dare,” I muttered, reaching out a hand and snagging the box. 

I was late, which I hated, but the actual party didn’t start until 7.30 p.m. and according to the satnav I’d be there at 6.43 p.m.—scrap that, 6.42 p.m. —so I should be in and out before any guests turned up. 

There wasn’t much traffic on the freeway and I lucked out with traffic lights, so it was only 6.36 p.m. when I steered my battered Ford Focus into the car park of the upmarket hotel my clients had chosen to celebrate their forthcoming union. Parking in the Pickup zone and ignoring the sign that warned caterers and tradespeople against doing exactly what I was about to do, I tugged on my slicker and pulled the hood up to cover my hair. When I killed the engine and yanked out the key, the sound of the rain was loud on the roof, drowning out the radio, which had a fault and wouldn’t switch off unless I manually hit the power button. 

Sliding out, I was soaked before I’d even rounded the car and carefully picked up my precious cargo. Thankfully, there were only a few short steps up to the main entrance and then I was inside, the brightly lit foyer pumping out elevator music and seeming like an oasis of calm compared to the storm outside.

“Hi,” I said, smiling as I approached the immaculately presented receptionist, who looked at me like I was the drowned cat I was sure I resembled. “I’ve got a cake for the Findlay-Robinson engagement party. Which function room are they in?”

The receptionist frowned and looked at the computer screen in front of her.

“We don’t have any engagement parties today. Just a fiftieth birthday party and a bar mitzvah.”

“I think you do,” I replied, a little more shortly than the situation probably warranted. “Findlay-Robinson, April 17th, 7.30 p.m. start.”

The woman, whose name tag identified her as Janice, looked back to her screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. 

“’Fraid not,” she said. “Have you got the date wrong?”

“Definitely not, the bride-to-be sent me a message just this morning.”

A message in which she’d asked to change the color of the fondant and the wording of the iced message, which was why I was late.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. Perhaps she gave you the wrong hotel? Could you call her and check?”

Giving an annoyed huff, I left the cake balanced precariously on the reception counter and stepped a few feet away to call. The phone rang for long enough that I thought no one was going to answer, but finally Angelica Findlay picked up.

“Hello?” she trilled. 

“Angelica? Hi, it’s Lana Murray. I’m at the hotel with your cake, but the receptionist here says there’s no party under your name?”

There was a long pause and then Angelica gasped. “Oh my God! Are you at the Reynolds?”

“Well...yeah.” My hand tightened on the handset as my annoyance at the receptionist transferred rapidly to my client.

“I can’t believe we forgot to tell you! We cancelled that! They wanted a ridiculous amount of money just for the function suite and it really wasn’t worth it. We’ve moved the party to my mother-in-law’s. It’s over in Park Green.”

“Park Green?” That was on the other side of town entirely. 

“Yes.” Another pause. “You will be able to make it on time, won’t you? It’s just, well, if you’re late I really don’t think we’ll be able to pay you your full fee. We want the cake out on display as the guests come in, so they can see it. We’d never have spent so much on it otherwise.”

Hauling in a deep breath through my nose, I checked my watch. 6.41 p.m.

“I’ll try,” I ground out. 

“Excellent. I’ll message you the address.” A moment later I was listening to the dial tone. She’d hung up on me.

“If you’re looking for someone to make your wedding cake, you can find some other mug,” I hissed, stuffing the phone back into my jeans pocket. 

“Did you get it all sorted?” the receptionist asked brightly when I returned to pick up my cake. The box was damp and slightly battered looking. Well, it was going to look a lot worse by the time it got to the party.

“Yes. Sorry.” I aimed for a cheerful smile and failed miserably. “She changed the location and forgot to tell me.”

“Oh dear.” The look the receptionist gave me was sympathetic. “Work would be easy if only we didn’t have to deal with the people, right?”

“Right.” I managed a genuine smile this time before picking up the box and heading back out into the rain. It hadn’t lessened any and now thunder was booming overhead. 

The Ford Focus thought briefly about refusing to move, but I managed to coax it into starting and then took off double time, dashing out into traffic in front of a semi. My attention only half-focused on the thankfully quiet road, I pulled up the new address from Angelica’s message and started to type it into the satnav. 

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, watching it load. Route detected, time of arrival 7.27 p.m. “Yes!” 

Accelerating, I zoomed through a green light—right into the path of a truck, running the red. 

I saw it out of the corner of my eye and had a second to turn, stare into huge headlights barreling right for me. There wasn’t time for fear before it hit me, slamming into the side of the car and wrenching me sideways.