Bradley paused and shook his head. “We left just after you two. Alex left as well, but he mentioned he needed to go back for some reason.”
“Did he say why?” I didn’t suspect Bradley, or at least I had no reason to, but something was off about him. “You know what the removed shoes and water make me think of? Maybe he was changing out of a pair of wet boots.”
“He probably was. But Alex was the last thing on my mind that night, so I didn’t question why he was going back. I had a date planned and wanted to get out of there,” Bradley replied as he read over the ingredients.
“Interesting. Too bad he didn’t say.” I set a copy of the recipes we’d need to follow on the counter in front of him.
“He didn’t tell me why either,” Harley said apologetically. She stared blankly at the ingredients and recipe on the worktable.
“How strange. Here, we can blend the butter and sugar together in the mixer. Make sure you wash your hands and put on a hairnet. They’re not the cutest, but it’s better than the alternative.” I showed them where everything was and opened a few packages of butter.
“Well, we’re all suspects,” Harley said quietly. She had put her hair up, washed her hands, and started on the rest of the butter packages.
Bradley turned his attention away from washing his hands and stared at her. “I’d be surprised if anyone in the band hurt Alex. The guy was a jerk, but no one wanted to kill him.”
Harley shuddered. “What if it was some deranged fan? How will we even know?”
“I don’t see why a deranged fan would go after the band manager.” Wickham wasn’t trying to make her feel stupid, but I could tell he thought it was a dumb hypothesis. “Most murders come down to a few things: money, jealously, power, covering something up, right? Even fear. He inherited much of his wealth. I keepwondering if the next person in line had a motive. We don’t know a thing about his family.”
“Or someone wanted his job,” Harley suggested. Her delicate voice made me wonder how on earth she’d found herself in a rock band. “Either way, we should all probably watch our backs.”
I dumped several scoops of sugar into the large mixer and showed Wickham how to operate the industrial-sized machine while I added more ingredients. “Were any of you very close to Alex? We’re hoping the open mic might draw some of the crazies out of the woodwork. We have almost nothing to go on yet,” I said.
“Alex had other business ventures aside from the Grey Doors. That’s another angle to consider,” Wickham noted. “None of us spent more time with him than we had to. But yeah—avoiding being alone is probably smart for now, in case someone is after the band members.”
The bell on the back door jingled as Mathis arrived. His amber aura glowed warm and steady like autumn sunlight. He was the tallest band member, and aside from Wickham, probably the one all the fangirls were in love with. Originally from Haiti, his French Creole accent rolled smoothly off his tongue as he greeted everyone. “What’s been happenin’?” he said, slapping Wickham’s hand warmly, then turning to me. His gaze held a kind of honest curiosity, as steady as his aura. “Ernesto said he won’t be able to come by until later. He’s helping his girlfriend with something. I haven’t heard from Tim though.”
“Tim’s not the most reliable,” Harley muttered so softly I barely made out the words she’d said.
“We’re speculating about Alex’s death,” I said simply. “No one seems to have known him very well.”
Mathis nodded, and took a seat on a barstool, still wearing his tight-fitting, brown-leather jacket and motorcycle gloves. “This is serious stuff.”
I studied everyone in the room. Tangled emotions swirled through their auras—fear, guilt, sorrow, and secrets that no one wanted to voice aloud.
“That’s what they say.” Wickham agreed, but there wasn’t much else to say. “We’re getting the food ready, but we’ll need someone to set up the sound system, some lights or something. We’ve done these before. You know the drill.”
After we finished doling out assignments, I figured it would take a few hours for people toshop, drive around town, and pick things up. “Since the bakery floor is open and we have guests coming in and out, we’ll need to make sure we only set up the corner for now. If everyone helps gather supplies, we can have everything prepared to finish setting up once we close.”
Bradley’s phone buzzed sharply again. He glanced at it with a flash of worry, but when Wickham asked if he was okay, he muttered, “Family stuff.”
“Well, I like to cook,” Mathis said, removing his motorcycle gloves and turning to Harley and Bradley. “So, I’ll stay here and help in the kitchen. Do you two want to get the electronics set up?”
Harley was all too pleased to leave the flour-covered kitchen and grabbed her jacket. “We can do that. Are you good to come with me to pick up all the equipment, Bradley? I agree that being alone isn’t the best idea at the moment.”
Bradley glanced up from his phone and nodded. “Yeah, either way. I do know how to bake, too, but we actually still have a bunch of stuff we can use in the van. We’ll need to switch out our cars and get it. Well, we might need to stop at the hardware store for a better extension cord.”
The pair were out the door before we discussed anything further.
Mathis got off his barstool to look at the ingredients I’d spread over the baking surface. “You have high-quality vanilla; that’s good. What’s the lavender for? I’ve never eaten that. Does it taste like lotion?”
I laughed. “No, this is culinary lavender from France. We just use a little.”
“Ah, I see. We’ll relax the killer into a confession.” Mathis grinned.
I saw why everyone liked him.
Mathis picked up the lemon extract to smell it. “Lemon’s always a delicious choice. I can mix up a nice buttercream if you two want to work on the dough.”
