Chapter 4
My future husband—though he didn’t know it yet—showed up the next afternoon around three, and of course, Mom answered the door.
“Oh! Wickham! How fun to have a celebrity visiting us!" Her aura glowed frantically orange and yellow as she ushered him in, toward the bottom of the stairs, anticipating his full attention. So I rushed down to greet him before she hijacked our afternoon.
“We’ve got a lot to do to set up for the open mic tonight, Mom,” I said. “We’ll have a more social visit later.”
Wickham nodded to my mother as I dragged him away.
“Sorry,” I said, “if we get started with her, it might be hours before we get anything done. Have you had the chance to invite anyone for tonight?”
“Yes, I told the band and asked them to share it on their socials. Most of them should be here any minute.”
“Perfect. We’re done cooking for the bakery today, so we can use the professional kitchen to prepare,” I said, pulling Wickham away from the picture-window storefront, wrought iron French café tables, and displays and into the back kitchen.
We had two kitchens at Cupid’s Confection.
One was the professional kitchen in the bakery.
The other was the cozy place where we cooked, ate, and gathered in our living quarters.
Someone had left an enchanted empty bowl stirring itself with a wooden spoon, so I snatched the spoon and put it away.
"Fancy." Wickham stood next to me, surveying the scene.
“I’ll just unlock the side gate so the band can come in through this back entrance—no need to subject the entire group to my mother.”
“I mentioned they should enter through the alley, like you said.” Wickham followed me out the side door as I unlocked the fence and swung open the gate. "I tried this entrance, but it was still locked."
“Sorry, I should've opened it sooner. If they get stuck at the front counter in a conversation with her, we’ll never be ready.”
Back in the industrial kitchen, coffee, cinnamon, and donuts scented the air, while sugar and flour dusted the black-and-white checkerboard floor.
I grabbed two brooms and handed one to Wickham. “We’ll need to finish tidying up from this morning first. Mom won’t want anything out on the café floor until after hours tonight, so we'll want to get organized for a quick setup at eight.”
“Got it. I’m not sure everyone in the band knows how to bake, by the way.” Wickham moved aside some stools to sweep underneath them, obviously familiar with chores.
I grabbed a dustpan. “Anyone who wants to help is welcome, but no one is required to stay and bake. If we can all just meet up and have a plan for tonight, we should be all right. We just need to cover all the details.
“Easy. It’s like setting up for a gig but with pastries. We’ve done this a million times.” He swept a pile of flour into the dustpan and tossed it in the trash.
The reason for our gathering overshadowed my thoughts. “Have you had any ideas about who might have killed Alex?”
Wickham’s eyes flickered, and his deep sapphire-and-green aura rippled with storm-gray flecks. I didn’t know his exact emotions, but I could guess. He was holding so much beneath that calm surface, and I knew he was more scared than he admitted. He had to be.
Considering my question, Wickham leaned against the counter and rubbed his temples. “No solid ideas yet. I know the band members are suspects, but I don't love it.”
“Well, we have to consider the possibility of someone in the band being the killer, even if you’re sure they’re innocent.
Considering everyone as suspects will do two things: help us learn more about what happened that night and give us a chance to rule out the innocent.
We probably shouldn’t let on that we’re investigating though.
” I couldn’t imagine anyone in the band or any fans wanting to show up at the event if they felt they were under surveillance.
“Good thing you’re level-headed about this situation.
” Wickham leaned his broom against the wall, then he spun me around and lifted me onto the counter, which put us at eye level.
“I have a confession. Your determination is making me feel like things are going to be okay. I need to be careful not to get reckless.”
“That’s because everything will be fine,” I flirted back as I smiled and slipped both of my hands into his. “I usually find a way to get what I want without ruffling too many feathers.”
His reaction wasn’t as playful as I’d expected. An undercurrent of sorrow washed through his expression.
“That’s where we’re different, Lydia. I’m not used to things working out for me unless I put in ten times the amount of work than most people.
My life has been one problem after another.
” Wickham’s gaze grew distant. He was a ridiculously attractive rock star with loads of fans, but everyone had some hidden pain, I supposed.
I didn’t want to pry further, but I also wanted him to understand I’d do my best to be supportive.
"Well, maybe you should have someone to face your problems with you." Determined to reclaim his flirtatious attention, I countered, “We’re going to change your misfortunes, and we can begin by mixing the base for whatever it was Kitty suggested last night . . . lavender scones and crème br?lée cupcakes. Of course, I’ll make a gluten-free batch. We’ll sprinkle just a pinch of sincerity dust into the desserts.
It’s nearly as strong as a truth potion, and it’s hardly ever noticed. ”
“Interesting.” Wickham rubbed his chin, the sparkle returning to his eyes. “Will it make any difference?”
Even a sincerity potion was pushing our luck.
“Some, maybe. It may stop people from saying things they don’t mean.
I don’t dare use anything stronger, though, not with an entire crowd of people.
Can you imagine the mayhem that could break out in a crowd full of complete, unabashed honesty?
As entertaining as that might be, it could also lead to more than a murder confession. ”
Wickham cringed. “The last thing we need is a group of people at each other’s throats and angry at us for dosing them with something.”
“Exactly, there’s been enough violence already. Did your mother teach you how to bake, Mr. Wickham?” I tipped my head and pecked his cheek.
He glanced around the professional bakery as if he worried someone might’ve seen me kiss him. “Not as a kid, but over the past few years, I’ve polished my skills rather nicely.”
“Didn’t you make chocolate chip cookies or cupcakes with your mom?” I gaped at him a little more dramatically than necessary.
He gave me a pretend pout, like he’d been a neglected child. “Not often. My parents worked for Darcy’s family, and making cookies after a long day of domestic service was never on the list of priorities.”
“That’s gloomy. Well, now’s your chance to show me your skills.” While I never loved working in the family bakery—or working in general—today the sense of normalcy was a comfort. I hopped down from the counter and pulled out a large mixing bowl with several ingredients.
The glint of his necklace peeking from beneath his T-shirt caught my eye. “Before we start, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your ring . . . or, well, I guess it’s a necklace. It’s fancy.”
Wickham’s face colored a pinch, something I didn’t know was even possible for a vampire. “I didn’t realize it was so noticeable. Maybe I should have said something to the police about it. I found it in Alex’s hand, and my instincts said to take it because it might help us.”
I stepped closer and lifted the ring hanging from a leather cord against his chest. It was gold and simple, just a band.
But a lovely rope-like engraving adorned the sides.
“It’s beautiful . . . reminds me of the Celtic patterns you see in classic artwork.
There are a few symbols that might mean something. ”
He nodded. “I should have given it to the police, but I’ve learned to trust my intuition, so I’m going to hold on to it for now.”
“Trust your gut.” I didn’t admit that was how I made most of my life decisions. But doing so hadn’t steered me into too many catastrophes yet, and it was more fun than overthinking things.
The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the kitchen.
A cool draft whispered past me. I shuddered and turned to notice Bradley and Harley coming down the side alley, preparing to knock on the glass door that led to the kitchen.
This door, on the side of the building, allowed us to come and go from the bakery without bothering with the front entrance.
I let them inside, confused. There was nothing suspicious about either of them, so the creepy premonition made little sense.
“I’m glad you two made it. We’re just getting started.” I showed them where to hang their coats.
Bradley peeled off his jacket and carefully hung it up.
He wasn’t as attractive as Wickham, because nobody was as attractive as Wickham, but he was close, in great shape, and had perfectly sleek Asian hair.
He had enough rock star vibe to be hot, but with a professional edge that made people take him seriously.
His aura blazed with restless viridian and amber energy, which I suspected reflected an internal battle.
His phone buzzed, and when he glanced at it, a sharp burst of tension tightened his aura—something hidden beneath his polite smile.
Harley’s long hair was the shade of lilacs, and her violet aura shimmered with ribbons of icy silver.
She was the band member that, while I’m sure unintentional, always left me uneasy.
She was far too pretty and talented to be as modest and bashful as she was.
I sometimes suspected it was all an act, but she never broke character, so maybe it was who she really was.