A Taste of Murder

He stepped from the humid Kentucky spring heat through a cold blast of air-conditioned wind rushing from the hotel lobby. The place was packed, as he knew it would be. They were expecting more than ten thousand festival-goers this year, and every hotel in town had been sold out for months. Chelsea had been lucky to snag the last few rooms for the wedding guests and out-of-town relatives who hadn’t planned ahead. Of course, the fact that she was marrying the son of one of Waynesboro’s most prominent citizens might have helped a bit. The hotel management was eager to keep her happy.

Derrick stood in the lobby, looking around for three young women with musical instruments. Odd. He frowned down at his watch. Why weren’t they down here waiting for him? They were supposed to be at the church in fifteen minutes.

Ignoring the line of people waiting to check in, he approached the front desk when a guest walked away clutching a magnetic key card. The clerk looked up, an unspoken query on his face.

“Could you ring a guest’s room for me?” He leaned an arm on the high counter. “Miss Jasmine Delaney.”

The young man’s mouth gaped, and his gaze flickered toward the line of guests waiting to check in. “Uh, she’s not in her room.”

“She’s not?” Derrick cocked his head at the guy. “Hasn’t she checked in?”

He gave a quick nod. “Yes, sir, about an hour ago. But there were some, uh, some problems.” He lowered his voice and caught Derrick’s gaze. “She’s being questioned by the police right now.”

“The police?” Derrick couldn’t help it. Surprise made his voice carry through the lobby.

The kid’s eyes flicked sideways again. “Yes, sir. But we’re supposed to keep it quiet because of, you know.” He nodded toward the line of guests. “The boss doesn’t want anyone to panic.”

“But what has she done?” Derrick’s thoughts whirled as he tried to conjure a picture of the girl’s ShoutLife profile. She had looked safe enough. Her blog posts openly proclaimed her Christian beliefs and her passion for music. Of course, most of the people she listed as her favorites were complete unknowns to Derrick. He barely knew a flute from a tuba.

“I don’t know.” The clerk’s voice lowered even more. Derrick had to lean over the counter to catch his words. “But I heard somebody’s been murdered.”

Derrick reared back. Murdered? Oh, great. Terrific. His little sister was supposed to get married in less than twenty-four hours, and her musicians were being arrested for murder. And to make matters worse, he was the one who’d hired them.

Sheriff Maguire was going to throw a fit.

“Listen, I need to talk to the deputy in charge,” he said. “Miss Delaney’s ensemble is supposed to play at my sister’s wedding tomorrow. In fact, I’m supposed to have them at the rehearsal in—” he glanced at his watch “—ten minutes.”

The young man considered him for less than a second. “They’re in the Governor’s Room, just past the restrooms.”

Derrick strode through the lobby in the direction the young man indicated. He weaved around a cluster of people huddled before a festival event marquee and passed the ladies’ lounge. The hallway beyond contained several meeting rooms, the doors all closed. He found the one labeled Governor’s Room and entered without knocking.

The people inside sat in chairs around a conference table, two men in uniform and three women. Everyone’s attention seemed to be focused on the young woman at the end, the one he immediately recognized from the photos he’d studied online. Jasmine Delaney. He’d spent enough time examining images of her face, with its pixie chin and arresting green eyes, to pick her out in a crowd. She looked very different at the moment, though, with a red nose and eyes puffy from crying. A box of tissues sat on the table, and several crumpled-up white wads littered the surface before her.

She looked up at him when he came into the room, and their eyes met. Something surged between them, and the shock of it glued Derrick’s feet to the carpet. For a moment he couldn’t look anywhere but at her. In that instant he knew that this girl was not guilty of murder.

A wave of relief washed over him, mixed with something else. Compassion, maybe? The poor girl looked fragile, almost frail, and absolutely terrified.

One of the deputies rose and took a step toward him. “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in here.”

“Fine.” Derrick tore his gaze from the girl’s. He unclipped the cell phone from his belt and held it toward the man. “But could you do me a favor? Call Sheriff Maguire and explain why I’m not at his son’s wedding rehearsal with the musicians.”

The deputy stared at the phone, suddenly hesitant.

“’Lo, Derrick.” Matt Farmer, the deputy on the other side of the table, nodded. They’d known each other for years, had grown up in the same neighborhood. “We’re just about finished here. I don’t see any reason we can’t release these ladies and let them get on to the rehearsal. You got anything else, Frank?”

The other deputy directed his words toward Jasmine. “Yeah, I want to hear about that electrician one more time.”

Her lips tightened before she answered. Good. A show of spunk meant she wasn’t one of those women who collapsed into an emotional heap under stress.

She caught Frank in an unflinching stare. “I’ve told you at least a dozen times in the last hour and a half—I don’t know if he was an electrician, or a repairman, or what. He did have a long gray ponytail sticking out of the back of his cap, but other than that I barely noticed him. I was watching two little girls who almost ran right into a waiter with a full tray in his hands.”

“And the reason you first called him a repairman is…”

Jasmine blew an impatient breath. “Because he was wearing a gray shirt that might have been a uniform, and he was carrying a beat-up duffel bag that looked like it might have tools in it. But it was just an impression. I saw him from behind. For all I know he was a guest checking into the hotel and he has cheap luggage.”

“But he was heading toward the door. You’re sure of that?”

She slapped a hand down on the table. “No, I’m not! I think he was heading for the door, but he might just as easily have been going toward the elevator, or even toward the lounge. I didn’t see him go outside. I wasn’t watching him.”

Definitely not the collapsing kind. Instead, this girl looked like she had a temper packed with dynamite, and the deputy’s match was getting a little too close.

Derrick stepped forward. “We really need to get going. I’m sure if these ladies remember anything else, they’ll tell it to Sheriff Maguire. He’s at the rehearsal right now.”

Matt shook his head. “The Sheriff is out trying to find the victim’s next of kin at the moment.”

“Okay, then they’ll call you if they have anything else to say. And you know where to find them.”

Matt stared at him a moment before lifting a shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll have more questions later.”

The look of gratitude Jazzy shot Derrick made him stand a bit taller.

The young woman on Jasmine’s left rose from her seat, her near six-foot frame towering above Frank. She was broomstick-thin, a striking contrast to the heavy blonde across the table, who also stood.

“Come on, Jazzy.” The tall brunette shoved her chair under the table.

“You sure you’re up to it, honey?” The blonde hefted the strap of a purse onto her shoulder, eyeing Jasmine with concern etched in her brow. “You had quite a shock up there.”

Jazzy’s throat convulsed as her troubled gaze moved from the brunette to her other friend. Whatever shock she’d experienced was going to haunt her for a while. He itched to ask what had happened, but they were running so late. He’d give Matt a call later and pry the information out of him.

“’Course she’s up to it.” The other girl put an arm around Jasmine’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Jazzy’s a professional. We signed on for a job, and we’re going to do it. Right?”

Jasmine’s lips formed a trembling smile and she nodded. “Right.” She lifted her chin, and then turned toward him. “Derrick Rogers? I’m Jasmine Delaney.”

As if he didn’t know that. Her hand felt warm in his, and soft. “Nice to meet you, Miss Delaney.”

“Please call me Jasmine. Or Jazzy. And these are my friends, Liz and Caitlin.”

Jazzy. He’d noticed the nickname mentioned in a couple of the comments on her ShoutLife profile, and now that he’d seen her in person, he decided it suited her. This woman deserved a name with some spunk.

He shook each lady’s hand, then glanced at his watch. “We’re going to be late, but not too bad. I’ll call my sister while you grab your instruments and whatever else you need. I’m parked right out front.”

Jazzy had been stooping to pick up a handbag from the floor, and froze. Straightening, she looked at Matt. “Our instruments are upstairs, in with…” Her voice trembled.

“I’ll get them.” Frank stepped toward the door, then stopped and caught Jazzy in a stare. “On second thought, I’ll take you to the church myself. I want to hear you go over it one more time.”

He disappeared through the door as Jazzy sucked in an outraged breath. Derrick exchanged a glance with Matt, who shrugged. Apparently Matt wasn’t willing to cross his partner when it came to questioning witnesses.

Liz rushed across the room and stuck her head out the door. “I need my bag, too,” she called after the deputy. “It has my music portfolio in it.”

Jazzy turned to Matt. “What will happen to the rest of our stuff?”

“Yeah,” said Caitlin, “and where will we stay? We heard the hotel is full, and I am not going back into that room. I don’t care how much they scrub it.”

Derrick saw Jazzy give a delicate shudder. “Me, neither.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re going to have to seal off that room, and probably the ones around it, too. Maybe they’ll have some cancellations or something. I’ll talk to the manager.”

Derrick spoke up. “What happened, exactly?” He directed his question to Matt, but Liz answered.

“There was a dead body in our room when we checked in.” She crossed her arms, her mouth a hard line. “Jazzy found it.”

Ah. That had to be awful. No wonder she looked shaken up. “Any idea how the guy died? The desk clerk said something about a murder.”

Matt nodded. “No doubt about that. Looked to me like he was strangled. And you’ll never believe who it was, either.”

The muscles in Derrick’s stomach knotted. “Somebody I know?”

The deputy nodded. “Everybody knows him. It was Josh Kirkland.”

Derrick gave a low whistle. Kirkland was a DJ for the local country radio station, something of a celebrity in town, so of course he’d met the guy. But he didn’t know him well. Still…“Right before the festival. Man, that’s going to come as a shock to a lot of people.”

“You ain’t kidding.”

Derrick turned to the three musicians. “If the manager doesn’t have a place for you to stay, you’re welcome to my apartment. It’s not very big, and there’s only one bed, but it might be the best you can hope for this weekend. I can stay at my mom’s for the night.”

Jazzy looked up at him, a smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. “That’s a very nice offer. Thank you.”

He would give up a lot more than his apartment to see that smile break free. Looking down into her eyes, he cleared his throat. “No problem.”

THREE

Jazzy and her friends left the obstinate deputy outside the church in his cruiser and trooped inside single-file behind Derrick. The wedding coordinator stood at the front of the sanctuary going over the order of events for a group seated in the first few pews. Her voice echoed off the arched ceiling and the tall, thick-paned windows that lined both sides. How did the woman have the nerve to disturb the reverent stillness of the place? Jazzy found herself tiptoeing up the center aisle.

“Sorry we’re late.” Derrick directed his apology to the coordinator.

A young woman rose from the front row and approached him. She threw her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to do so. “Where have you been? You know I can’t do this without my big brother.”

The bride. Clear family resemblance. Same sandy blond hair, same oval face. The girl even smiled like her brother, wide and with lots of white teeth in evidence.

A young man, presumably the groom, got up and followed her into the aisle. “I wondered if you got caught up in the mess at the hotel. Dad got a call and ran out of here about twenty minutes ago, saying someone had been killed over there.”

“Yeah. In fact, your musicians found the body. That’s why we’re late.”

Gasps reverberated around the sanctuary, and a blush began to tingle in Jazzy’s cheeks. Was everyone staring at her?

The bride rushed forward to grab her free hand. “I’m Chelsea Rogers, and this is my fiancé, Quinn Maguire. I’m so sorry! How awful for you, and after you drove all this way to play at our wedding.”

Jazzy managed a smile and squeezed her hand before releasing it.

“Quinn’s father is the sheriff here,” Derrick explained, “so that’s why they called him. I’m sure you’ll be talking with Sheriff Maguire before this thing is over.”

“Terrific,” mumbled Liz. She stood behind Jazzy, both hands full with her cello case and a music bag. Liz’s expression had assumed its habitual sulk, but Jazzy detected strain in the muscles around her friend’s mouth.

She’s been affected by the ordeal more than she’s letting on.

And no wonder. Jazzy suppressed a shudder as an image of the dead man loomed in her mind. Would that sight ever cease to haunt her?

The wedding coordinator quick-stepped down the aisle. “I hate to seem callous, but we’re a little pressed for time. I’ve got to leave in forty-five minutes.”

Thankful to have something besides a corpse to focus on, Jazzy nodded. “Just show us where you want us, and we can be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh, good. Come right up here. I’m Emily, by the way.”

Jazzy followed her to a corner of the dais, Caitlin and Liz trailing behind. Three chairs had already been set in front of a grand piano which, judging by its off-centered location, had been pushed back to make room for them.

Emily outlined her instructions as they set down their instrument cases. “From here you should be able to see me in the narthex. I’ll signal for you to begin playing at five-thirty as the guests are being seated. Then, when we’re ready to begin the ceremony, I’ll give you a nod.” She peered at the three of them in turn. “You’ve played weddings before, I hope?”

Jazzy nodded. “Quite a few.”

Relief brought a smile to her face. “Oh, good. What piece did you and Chelsea settle on for the processional?”

“She told me to do whatever we wanted,” Jazzy replied. “We selected a Handel aria.”

Emily grinned. “That will be perfect. Why don’t you go ahead and get tuned or whatever you need to do, and we’ll be ready in a minute.”

She returned to the wedding party, and Caitlin arranged their chairs in the semicircle they preferred while Liz set her cello case on the floor and set up her music stand.

As Jazzy settled in her chair, the fine hair at the base of her skull prickled. Creepy. She almost felt like someone was watching her.

Don’t be silly. A dozen people might be watching. They’re all sitting in pews, staring this way.

She cast a quick backward glance, but saw nothing except the empty choir loft. Rubbing the tickle away, she let her gaze sweep the sanctuary. Every eye seemed fixed on Emily as the wedding party listened attentively to her instructions about the order of the bridesmaids. Nobody was watching Jazzy, certainly not with a sinister stare.

Sinister?

Where had that come from? Of course nobody was glaring at her with evil intent. Why would they? It was just the old demons raising their heads to torment her.

Still, her muscles remained rigid. As she opened her case and lifted her instrument from the velvet lining, she couldn’t help peering at the wedding party, trying to catch one of them glaring at her.

“Are you okay, Jazzy?”

She looked around to find Caitlin watching her closely as she fit the final section of her flute in place.

“I’m fine. Why?”

Caitlin shrugged. “You seem a little jumpy, that’s all.”

Liz spread her sheet music on the stand and snorted. “You think? I’d be a screaming lunatic if I’d found a dead body in a bathtub.” She shuddered. “I may never take a bath again.”

Jazzy closed the latches on her violin case quietly. “I am a little spooked,” she admitted. “I keep wanting to look over my shoulder, you know? Trying to catch somebody watching me.”

“Well…” Caitlin stepped around the center chair and seated herself, a worried expression on her normally cheery face. “There is a murderer running around town. I have to admit, I’m not feeling all that comfortable myself.”

“Oh, hogwash.” Liz positioned her cello between her knees. “You heard the cops. That guy was a local big shot. He probably got on some country boy’s bad side, and Bubba did him in. The killer is no threat to three out-of-town musicians. We’re perfectly safe.”

Jazzy wanted to accept Liz’s no-nonsense logic. But why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something was wrong, that somebody was watching?

Moving shadows at the side of the church drew her attention, and she gave a startled laugh. Her friends looked up.

“No wonder I feel like somebody’s watching me. Look at that.”

She nodded toward the thick panes of crystal-cut glass lining one long side of the sanctuary. No doubt on Sunday mornings the sunlight shining through those panes sent prisms of light dancing over the worshippers, but right now the windows were darkened with the silhouettes of passersby on the sidewalk—dozens of them. Several faces pressed close to the glass to see inside, most of them at child height. Jazzy caught a glimpse of several adults standing close enough to gawk at the activity inside the sanctuary, too.

Liz groaned. “More kids. Is the average age in this town like twelve or something?”

Caitlin laughed at her. “I’ll bet they’re some of the same kids we saw at the hotel. We’re only a few blocks away, and the street outside is part of the festival route. They’re probably out with their mothers getting the lay of the land.”

“Okay, let’s head out to the narthex.” Emily’s voice cut into their conversation. “We need to run through it from the top.”

Jazzy straightened in her chair. “Oops. We’d better get tuned.”

She positioned her violin and played an A. Having perfect pitch definitely helped in the tuning process, but at times the gift felt more like a curse. Especially when she attended her cousin’s middle-school band concerts. Caitlin and Liz tuned their instruments to match her tone. After a few minor adjustments, they were ready to begin.

Caitlin gave the count with a subtle nod. Jazzy’s and Liz’s feet caught the pace for their selected number, Handel’s famous “Air for Water Music.” They came in together with the ease of many hours of practice. This was one of Jazzy’s favorites, and she closed her eyes to let the music wash over her. Thoughts of bodies and murderers and possible sinister watchers faded as she gave herself over to the intricate harmonies of the piece.

The processional progressed until the bridal party was lined up at the front of the sanctuary. Then the doors at the back closed, and after an appropriately dramatic pause, Caitlin cued them to launch into the bridal march. This time Jazzy kept her eyes open. When the doors parted to reveal Chelsea standing there, arm-in-arm with Derrick, she felt a tickle at the back of her eyes.

She was such a sap. No matter how many times she played this, the music still made her cry.

Standing at the entrance to the sanctuary, Derrick placed his left hand over Chelsea’s on his arm, and squeezed. The grin she directed up at him melted his heart. This whole wedding thing had seemed so unreal until now. Lots of talk and plans and Mom’s house stuffed full of doodads made out of pink satin and white lace. But that music had a way of jerking a guy into reality. This was really happening. His kid sister was about to marry the love of her life.

“Okay,” Emily said. “Walk real slow. Step, pause, step, pause.”

They started down the aisle, and Derrick noticed that Mom, standing in her place in the front pew, was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She’d be all alone when Chelsea moved out. He’d have to make sure to stop by the house more often to keep her company. Let her feed him home-cooked meals. Encourage her to get out more, too.

“They’re really good, aren’t they?” Chelsea whispered. “I’m glad you found them.”

She was staring ahead. Derrick looked that way and caught sight of Jazzy. No longer puffy with tears, her eyes seemed dreamy now, and her smile tender. Her body swayed with the music, her arm moving smoothly as she drew her bow across the strings of her fiddle. She handled the thing like it was an extension of herself.

She wasn’t married, or at least her online profile stated that she was single. Was she seeing anybody? He’d looked through-her blog posts and hadn’t seen any mention of a boyfriend. A bunch of guys on her friends list, but what pretty girl with gorgeous green eyes wouldn’t have a ton of guys sending her Friend invites?

“Yes,” he managed. “They are good.”

Step, pause. Step, pause.

“Oh, good. Mr. Kirkland just got here.” Chelsea nodded toward a pew in the front. “He’s here to find out how we want the chairs and stuff set up for the reception. I wonder if Mom saw him.”

“Kirkland?” Startled, Derrick looked where Chelsea indicated. A fiftyish guy with short, silver-streaked dark hair had just entered and chosen a seat on the far side of a pew in the center of the sanctuary, watching the musicians. Josh Kirkland’s brother. Obviously he had not yet been informed of his brother’s fate. “What’s he doing here?”

Chelsea shrugged. “The regular groundskeeper is on vacation. Reverend Evans heard that Mr. Kirkland does this sort of work for the hotel all the time, so he hired him to fill in.”

Derrick hesitated. The guy needed to be told about his brother, but Derrick didn’t think such terrible news should come from him. They were nearing the front of the sanctuary, where Quinn and Reverend Evans stood waiting, when they heard a commotion behind them. Loud static from a two-way radio cut through the music, and Derrick turned to see Sheriff Maguire stride through the doorway, the various tools of his trade jingling on his police belt. His head swiveled as he looked around the sanctuary, and then his gaze settled on Les Kirkland.

“Thank goodness.” Derrick was off the hook. The sheriff was far more qualified to deliver the news.

“What’s going on, Derrick?” Chelsea asked.

He squeezed her hand hard against the bad news he was about to deliver. “That guy who was killed over at the Executive Inn? It was Josh Kirkland.”

“Oh, no!”

Chelsea released his arm to cover her mouth with her hand at the same moment Sheriff Maguire reached Mr. Kirkland.

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you, Les.”

Derrick heard those words clearly, then the sheriff leaned over and whispered for a few seconds. The other man, eyes fixed on the sheriff’s face, jerked backward in the pew.

“No. No, I don’t believe it.” His shout filled the sanctuary. The music stopped as the startled musicians jerked to a halt.

Sheriff Maguire nodded. “I’m sorry, Les. I’ve seen him. It’s Josh, all right.”

Mr. Kirkland stared at the sheriff, disbelief etched on his face. Then he leaped to his feet. “Momma! I’ve got to get to my mother. He’s…” A sob choked off his voice, and he grasped the back of the pew in front of him. “He was her youngest. This is gonna kill her.”

A helpless compassion seized Derrick as he watched the grief-stricken man stumble to the rear of the sanctuary. Sheriff Maguire followed. Derrick looked toward the front, at Jazzy. The pity etched on her face as she stared after the two made his throat tight.