Read Paige Shelton's blogs and other content on the Penguin Community. Becca Robbins sells her farm-made jams and preserves at the local farmers' market to make a living. But when a local lovely decides to tie the knot at the same market, someone else decides to make a killing-and only Becca has the down-home know-how to shut the lid on a canny killer. Paige Shelton spent lots of years in advertising but now writes novels full time. She lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with her husband and son. When she’s up early enough, one of her favorite things is to watch the sun rise over the Wasatch Mountains. One Visions of strung-together cherry tomatoes danced in my head; corn kernels tossed in celebration and then strewn across a dirt floor. Then, a gigantic pumpkin carved into the shape of Cinderella’s carriage, but with seeds mistakenly left inside. And finally, I’m in my favorite overalls that have been mysteriously Bedazzled. It was a waking nightmare. But that was just a state of horror taking over. I couldn’t believe what I had agreed to do. A wedding? What was I thinking? Why had I said yes so quickly? I’d had plenty of practice, of course. Twice in front of the justice of the peace made me an old pro at commitments of the heart, temporary though they might have been. But this time it was going to be with a pastor and a walk down an aisle; something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, something different—for me at least, and something that was going to require a farmers’ market theme. The only good news: it wasn’t my wedding. Phew! Instead, I’d agreed to be my good friend, Linda McMahon’s, twice-divorced maid/matron of honor (we’d simplified the title and decided to call me her “Number One”) when she married Superman look-alike Drew Forsyth. In five short days. The nuptials were on the fast track because of a surprise, but not the old-fashioned kind. Though I’d only recently learned exactly what Drew’s job was, I’d always guessed it was something mysterious and important. When I’d first met him, he and Linda never quite answered the question “What does Drew do for a living?” But as time went on and we became closer, and Drew seemed to be a more permanent part of Linda’s life, I learned that Super Drew was in the military (said in hushed tones). For a while, that was all I knew, but about a month ago I’d learned that he was part of a “military special operations” group. I still didn’t have the specifics, but I was terribly impressed. It was only within the last twenty-four hours that Linda had confided in me that Drew was a Navy SEAL. My level of impressed shot even higher. It wasn’t so much that Drew’s job was a secret; it was that what he did when he was performing his job was usually a top top top secret. People who did those sorts of things just didn’t go about sharing the details of their duties, so it was easier to keep everything about it close to the flak jacket, so to speak. Drew had been called to duty, which for the rest of us meant Drew would be leaving for some time to go places we couldn’t know about, to do things we couldn’t know about. He’d been preparing Linda for his certain departure, but it still was a surprise when the call came. And when it did, it solidified for Drew that he didn’t want to leave without first making Linda his wife. She agreed. Yes, it was very romantic and the stuff of movies with heart-wrenching symphony music, but five days wasn’t a lot of time to pull off a wedding. Their “I do’s” could have been handled easily with a quick trip to the justice of the peace—I knew the address by heart—but Linda wanted a real wedding, with guests and all the trimmings. Considering the short amount of time available to plan and prepare, the ceremony wasn’t expected to be lavish by any means. But as her Number One, I was responsible for helping make her dream day . . . well, dreamy. Of course, the ceremony would take place at Bailey’s, the farmers’ market where we both worked. And the other vendors would help, so it might not be too terrible. But still, being in charge of someone else’s “happiest day of her life” is a big job; one I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to handle successfully. I hadn’t even been in my fraternal twin sister’s wedding. Allison and her husband, Tom Reynolds, had, in deference to our hippie parents, gotten married on a South Carolina beach as the sun rose over the ocean horizon. We’d gathered together, but no one had to do anything beforehand—like plan things, decorate, or help pick out dresses and the like. I was ill-equipped for such duty. When Linda told me she wanted all food, flowers, and other decorations for the wedding to come from Bailey’s, my first thought was Shoot, I don’t even know what she means by “other decorations.” It had been only one day since I told Linda I’d be honored to stand up with her, and it hadn’t been a lie—I was honored. But when I really thought about what the job entailed, I realized I was in over my head. Cowardl