A Taste of Murder

FOUR

Jazzy stood in the parking lot beside Liz and Caitlin, watching Derrick unlock his truck. She tried not to turn up her nose at the crusty dirt that lined the rear wheel well and splattered the back fender. This was a small, country town surrounded by farmland, after all. Maybe he’d gotten stuck in the mud and hadn’t had time to get to a carwash yet.

“There you go.” He threw the passenger door open and held a hand out to assist Caitlin in climbing into the backseat.

Jazzy gave Liz a narrow-lidded glance and tipped her head toward the front seat while Derrick wasn’t looking. Hopefully Liz understood she was calling shotgun. One side of Liz’s mouth twitched upward at the wordless message, but at least she climbed without argument into the backseat beside Caitlin.

Jazzy preferred cars, but at least Derrick’s truck seemed to have plenty of room. A glance inside showed her the backseat was almost as big as her Buick’s. Derrick held a hand toward her to help her step up.

A warm tingling engulfed her fingers as she grasped his hand. A glance into his face showed her he felt the delicious contact, too. The intensity in his eyes deepened. Her gaze fell away and a thrill buzzed through her head and warmed her cheeks. She placed a foot on the running board——and stopped. A white paper bag and two crumpled napkins littered the seat she was about to climb into.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Derrick reached past her and swept his free hand across the seat, knocking the trash to the floor and then sliding it under the seat. “Sorry.”

Jazzy stared with distaste at the floorboard. “But…”

“It’s just an empty bag and a couple of napkins. I went to the drive-through on the way to work this morning and forgot to take my trash inside.”

Forgot to take his trash…Jazzy suppressed a shudder. How people could leave litter lying around was beyond her understanding. It was such a simple matter to pick it up and put it in a proper trash receptacle. She started to volunteer to take Derrick’s trash back into the church, but a glance into the backseat at her friends’ faces made her stop. They were both trying to smother grins.

Setting her teeth together, Jazzy climbed into the truck. His hand lingered on hers as she settled herself in, then he shut the door. While he rounded the front of the pickup she reached beneath the seat. Before he got to the driver’s side she stuffed the napkins into the bag and plucked the empty foam coffee cup out of the console cup holder, shoving that in, too.

Derrick opened the door and caught her as she slid open the ashtray and scooped out an assortment of paper, gum wrappers and bottle caps. One blond eyebrow rose in a silent question.

“I’ll take it into the hotel and throw it away for you,” she volunteered.

Derrick hefted himself up and slid behind the wheel. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes, she does.” Laughter infused Liz’s tone. “Jazzy is the ultimate neatnick.”

“Yeah, you know Monica on Friends?” Jazzy glared toward the backseat, but that didn’t shut Caitlin up. “Jazzy’s apartment makes hers look like the inside of a Dumpster.”

“Really?” A grin hovered around Derrick’s mouth. “Then we’d better pray the hotel has found you all a room. Monica here would probably have a fit over the dishes stacked in my sink.”

“Dirty dishes?” Jazzy couldn’t help it. Her nose wrinkled. “You mean you just put them in there and left them?”

Derrick shifted the truck into Reverse. He placed an arm across the back of her seat and turned to look out the rear window as he backed up. “Yeah, but they’re not really dirty. I let the dog lick them clean first.”

He let…Jazzy’s throat convulsed while Liz’s and Caitlin’s laughter filled the truck cab.

Derrick glanced at her as he shifted into First, laughter in his eyes. Jazzy relaxed. He was just teasing her.

“You’re not a dog fan?” he asked.

Jazzy hesitated. She didn’t really have anything against dogs, as long as they were kept clean. But some people who owned dogs treated them like children. Was he one of those? “I’ve never had a dog,” she said carefully.

“Oh, you’d love Old Sue.” Derrick’s enthusiasm told Jazzy he was probably one of those. “She’s the best bird dog in three counties. I got her when she was just a pup—bought her off a guy up near Cincinnati. She goes everywhere with me.”

If his dog went everywhere with him, that meant she probably rode in this truck. If so, where did she sit? Jazzy tried not to be obvious as she examined the seat around her legs, looking for dog hair.

“So do you hunt, Derrick?” Caitlin asked.

Hunt? Jazzy threw a startled glance at Derrick as he nodded.

“Sure do. Been hunting since I was a boy. Whenever I’m not fishing, that is. Old Sue goes with me on the boat, too.”

Dismayed, Jazzy fixed her stare through the windshield. Derrick Rogers was probably the most handsome guy she’d ever met, and judging from the way his touch lingered on her hand when he helped her into the truck, there was no doubt the attraction was mutual. But he hunted, fished, didn’t wash the dirt off his truck and didn’t throw his trash away. And since he lived out here in the middle of nowhere, he probably didn’t frequent the symphony, either.

Let’s see. A gorgeous Christian guy with whom she had nothing in common, and a dead body in her bathtub. This trip had turned into a total disaster on every front.

“My dear ladies, please accept my sincere apologies! I am horrified—no! I’m beyond horrified that guests of mine have been inconvenienced in such an appalling manner.”

Inconvenienced was an odd way to describe being displaced from their hotel room by a host of police officers and a murder victim. But if Jazzy had felt the slightest temptation to complain, the manager’s obvious eagerness to appease her and her friends stopped the words before they could form. The teenage clerk, the same one who’d checked them in this afternoon, sat with her nose in a paperback as the man came around the desk, wringing his hands. He wore a look of such sincere regret Jazzy found herself wanting to reassure him.

Apparently Caitlin felt the same. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr….”

The man stopped short and put a hand to his chest. “Forgive my manners. Bradley Goggins. I’m the manager, and on behalf of the Executive Inn I want to extend my sincere apologies.” He bent slightly at the waist. Odd to find such old-world manners in the middle of a country town like Waynesboro.

“That’s fine.” Liz’s eyelids slitted. “As long as you have another room for us, Mr. Goggins.”

His hand left his chest to wave in the air. “Don’t give it another thought. I’ve already arranged for you to have a suite overlooking the river.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward, his gaze circling the lobby. “We’re booked to capacity, but we always keep that suite in reserve in case Mr. Harris comes to town. But he’s visiting his property in Chicago this weekend.”

Derrick, leaning against the counter, must have caught Jazzy’s blank look. “Harris owns this place.”

Bradley nodded, eyes wide. “He will be furious when he hears of this unfortunate, uh…” his fingers drew circles in the air as he searched for a word “…accident.”

The image of the body loomed in Jazzy’s mind. Accident? No way. She started to protest, but Derrick beat her to it. “I’d hardly call committing a grisly murder in a bathtub and covering the body with barbecue sauce an accident.”

Bradley winced. “Quite so. But it’s just so disturbing to think that someone was—” he gulped and lowered his voice “—murdered right here in my hotel.”

He wrung his hands together with such intensity that Jazzy wondered if he and the victim were acquainted. Then she realized they must have been. The radio station was right here in the lobby.

“When we checked in we noticed a radio station in the corner of the lobby.” She nodded toward the far corner. “Did the victim broadcast from here?”

“Oh, yes. The main station is a few miles out of town in a grimy little building.” Bradley shuddered. “Mr. Kirkland preferred being in the center of activity. He convinced Mr. Harris to let him set up a satellite broadcast booth here several years ago. Mr. Kirkland could be quite charming when he wanted to.”

Bradley’s lips snapped shut. He whirled toward the chest-high counter and shuffled an untidy pile of festival brochures into a neat stack.

So the hotel owner liked the victim, but Bradley apparently wasn’t crazy about him. Interesting. Jazzy exchanged a glance with Derrick, who shrugged an eyebrow. If Josh Kirkland worked here, that would explain why he was in the hotel. But what was he doing in one of the rooms on the fourth floor?

Before Jazzy could ask the question, Liz interrupted. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of standing around talking. Do you mind telling us where our room is?”

Caitlin nodded in agreement.

“Of course. Emmy.” Bradley snapped his fingers at the teenager behind the desk. “Where are those keys?”

Without looking up from her book, Emmy picked up a small envelope identical to the one she had given Jazzy earlier. She handed it over the counter to Bradley and turned a page.

Bradley’s eyelids closed, and his face tilted toward the ceiling as though in a silent prayer for patience. Then he smiled at Jazzy and handed her the envelope. “Order whatever you like from room service. It’s on the house. And I’ll have someone bring your bags up immediately.” He looked around the floor for their luggage.

Derrick straightened. “They’re in my pickup out front.” His gaze bounced from Liz to Caitlin, and came to rest on Jazzy. “But I was hoping—I mean, Chelsea was hoping you’d join us at the rehearsal dinner.”

Caitlin shook her head. “Not me, thanks. I’m going to have a shower, put my pj’s on and go to bed.” She smiled at Bradley. “Dinner on a tray sounds perfect.”

“Me, too,” Liz agreed.

A sudden wave of weariness made Jazzy waver on her feet. A glance at her watch told her it was only five-thirty, not even close to her bedtime. But this had been a stress-filled day, and she was tired. Dressing up for dinner, even with the promise of spending time with the handsome brother of the bride, sounded like too much effort. Aware of Derrick’s hopeful glance, she shook her head.

“Please tell your sister we appreciate the offer, but today has been rather eventful.” She gave a small smile at the understatement. “I think we’re all ready for it to end.”

“Derrick!” a female voice called from across the lobby. They all turned to see an overweight woman bearing down on them with surprising speed, anxious creases lining her broad forehead. Her vivid yellow T-shirt proclaimed in glittery red letters, Little Princess Pageant—Who Will Wear the Crown? She ran up to Derrick and threw her arms around him.

“Kate, what’s wrong?” Derrick patted her back with an awkward gesture, throwing Jazzy a helpless gaze over one round shoulder.

“Haven’t you heard?” Kate drew back to look at him through round eyes. “Josh Kirkland was murdered today, right here in this hotel.”

There’s that image again. Jazzy suppressed a shudder.

Bradley moaned. “Do you have to say that so loud?” He glanced around the lobby.

Derrick ignored him and squeezed Kate’s shoulder before releasing it. “I didn’t realize you and Kirkland were close.”

“Oh, we weren’t. We only knew each other through the pageant.” She included Jazzy, Caitlin and Liz in her glance as she spoke. “He’s been a volunteer for the past five years.” She cocked her head and gave them a questioning look. “I don’t think I’ve met your friends.”

“Sorry. This is Jasmine, Liz and Caitlin.” Derrick gestured toward each of them in turn. “They’re the ensemble Chelsea hired to play at her wedding tomorrow night. They drove down from Lexington this afternoon.”

At least Derrick didn’t mention Jazzy finding the body. The less she had to talk about that, the better.

The creases in Kate’s forehead cleared. “Musicians! Perfect! I don’t suppose any of you have pageant experience, do you?” Her eager gaze bounced from Jazzy to Liz to Caitlin. Jazzy shook her head, as did her friends. “No matter. You have performance experience, so you’ll be fine.”

“Fine for what?” Jazzy glanced at Derrick. What was the woman talking about?

Derrick shook his head. “I know where you’re going with this. It won’t work.”

Bradley clapped his hands together, eyes wide. “Of course! And there are three of them.”

“Exactly.” Kate looked at each of them eagerly. “Which of you wants to do the pageant?”

Jazzy and Caitlin exchanged confused glances. “Do what with the pageant?”

Derrick explained, “They want one of you to be a judge. Kate is the coordinator for the Little Princess Pageant, and Kirkland’s death has left her short one judge.”

“Three, actually.” Bradley’s expressive hands gestured wildly as he explained. “Mr. Kirkland was also going to judge the barbecue, burgoo and Miss Bar-B-Q competitions. We found a replacement for the adult pageant, but the guy won’t touch the others. I’m on the festival committee, and we’ve been scrambling for the past few hours to come up with three substitutes. What luck there are three of you, one for each contest!”

Jazzy was about to protest when Derrick beat her to it. “They have to be at the church for Chelsea’s wedding tomorrow at five-thirty.”

“Perfect.” Kate stepped sideways, cutting Derrick out of their circle. “The pageant is at three. It’ll be over in plenty of time.”

Bradley drew close. “And the food judging takes place Saturday at noon. You’re staying two nights, aren’t you?”

Liz frowned. “We were planning to get an early start toward home Saturday morning.”

He dismissed that with a wave. “What’s a few hours in exchange for the opportunity to taste world-class barbecue and burgoo?”

“And you’d be doing us a huge favor,” Kate added.

Bradley clasped his hands beneath his chin. “Please?”

The edges of Jazzy’s resistance crumbled. What would it hurt to stay a few extra hours and help them out?

Derrick stepped around Kate, scowling. “The answer is no.”

Jazzy narrowed her lids at him. That was pretty presumptuous of him, making their decisions for them.

“Come on, Derrick.” Kate’s tone took on a pleading note. “It’s just a couple of hours. They’ll be done in plenty of time for the wedding.”

“And they’ll have fun,” Bradley added. He grinned at the three of them. “The Bar-B-Q Festival is the event of the year in Waynesboro. You’ll be famous.”

Why were they trying to convince Derrick, like he was their boss or something? Just because he hired them to play a wedding didn’t give him the right to monopolize their entire weekend.

Derrick folded his arms across his chest. “I said no. They’re not going to do it.”

Jazzy’s temper flared. Who does this country boy think he is, answering for me as if I’m not here? Her spine stiffened as she drew herself up to her full height. “I think it sounds like fun.”

Derrick’s wasn’t the only shocked expression that turned her way. Liz and Caitlin stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.

“Are you kidding?” Liz asked. “You would voluntarily eat road-kill stew?”

Actually, Jazzy preferred the barbecue contest. She’d tried burgoo once. That was enough.

Caitlin spoke up. “I like burgoo. My granny used to cook up a batch every year.”

Bradley beamed, but Derrick’s scowl deepened. He grabbed Jazzy’s arm and tried to guide her away from the circle. “This is not a good idea.”

Jazzy resisted his pull and stood her ground. She looked around him to catch Liz’s eye. “Have you ever judged a beauty pageant?”

“Forget it.” Liz’s chin rose stubbornly. “I can handle barbecue, but a stage full of kids prancing around in evening gowns? Not a chance.”

Discomfort fluttered in Jazzy’s stomach. She’d been solo on a stage a few times herself. The memory of those icy fingers of panic played at the edges of her mind. She gave herself a mental shake. It wouldn’t be her up there this time. She’d be a spectator, that’s all.

Derrick was shaking his head, his lips drawn into a disapproving line.

She raised her chin and spoke to Kate and Bradley. “We’ll do it.”

Kate clutched Jazzy’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Just come to the International Ballroom down that hall tomorrow about ten minutes till three. I’ll explain everything then. I’ve got to get back in there and leave instructions to make sure they set up the room right.” She gave a final squeeze, then practically danced toward the ballroom.

Bradley clapped his hands, eyeing Liz and Caitlin with un-disguised delight. “I’ll let the festival committee know.” He stepped forward and put an arm around each of them. “The judges are meeting tomorrow at noon, down the street at the VFW. Meet me here in the lobby and I’ll walk with you.” He launched into an explanation of the tasting procedures.

Derrick put a hand under Jazzy’s elbow and pulled her a few steps away, shaking his head. “This is a mistake.”

Jazzy ignored the warmth that spread through her arm at his touch. Instead she focused on retaining the irritation she’d felt a moment before. Hard to do with him looking down at her through those warm brown eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll be on time for the wedding.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “Have you considered what you’re doing?”

His breath felt warm on her cheek. Jazzy shook her head to clear the giddiness that tried to invade her brain. “What are you talking about?”

His worried glance rose from hers and circled the lobby. “By stepping in to judge those contests, you’ll be taking the place of a murder victim. What if…”

He didn’t finish the question. He didn’t have to. Jazzy’s mouth dried in an instant.

FIVE

Derrick helped Bradley unload the girls’ bags from the back of his pickup. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” He hefted a soft-sided blue suitcase onto the luggage cart.

“Done what?” Bradley said as he dragged a duffel bag to the edge of the truck bed and muttered an “humph” as he lifted it by the handle. “They’ll have fun. It’ll give them a good impression of Waynesboro.” He dropped it onto the cart and looked down the street toward the festival route, a sour expression on his face. “As good an impression as is possible of this one-horse town, anyway.”

Derrick bit back a sharp retort. He didn’t know Bradley Goggins well, but the guy had obviously been miserable here since Harris had brought him down from Chicago two years ago to manage the Executive Inn. He sure hadn’t made many friends with his arrogant, big-city attitude.

“Why don’t you judge the burgoo and barbecue contests?”

The man slapped a hand to his chest and thrust his nose upward. “I am a vegetarian.”

“Well, you could have found somebody else, then.”

The automatic doors swooshed open, and Kate came through, speaking loudly into her cell phone. She ignored them as she walked by, intent on telling whoever was on the other end that she’d found a replacement judge for tomorrow’s pageant. Derrick shook his head. The entire town would know before bedtime.

Bradley set the cello case on the cart and straightened. “Who would I find to judge? Nobody wants to get involved. No matter who wins, three-fourths of the town won’t speak to the judges for months because their favorite cooking team lost.”

Derrick tucked Jazzy’s fiddle case securely beside the duffel bag. Unfortunately, Bradley had a point. The people in this town took the festival contests seriously. No cash prizes were awarded, but a lot of prestige went along with the right to display the winner’s trophy, or wear the pageant crowns.

A police cruiser pulled beneath the covered entryway as Derrick slammed the tailgate closed. It stopped with a squeak of old brakes behind two other cruisers still parked there. When the door opened, the static of a two-way radio carried to Derrick’s ears, followed by a female dispatcher’s voice. Sheriff Maguire slammed the door and came toward them, his swagger evident even in the three short steps it took to cross the driveway.

He nodded at Derrick. “Everything go all right at the rehearsal?”

“Sure did.” Derrick jingled his key ring. “I’m heading home to get cleaned up. You going to make it out to dinner?”

“You bet I am. I’m paying for the thing, ain’t I? I’ll be along right after I talk to those musicians.” He pushed the brim of his hat up with a pointer finger as his gaze slid to Bradley. “I’ll want to talk to you, too, Goggins. How late you figure on hanging around?”

Bradley heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve already told your deputies everything I know.”

The sheriff tucked a thumb in the top of his loaded utility belt. His eyes hardened. “Yeah, and you’re gonna say it again to me. Maybe even twice.”

Bradley stood up under Sheriff Maguire’s stare for about three seconds before his shoulders drooped. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. I’ll be in my office when you’re ready to talk to me.”

Derrick turned his head to hide a grin. Waynesboro might be a small town, but its sheriff could hold his own with any big-city cop.

“I’ll see you at the restaurant, then,” Derrick said, then headed around the side of his pickup toward the cab as Bradley pushed the luggage cart toward the hotel entrance. Derrick opened the truck door and hesitated, Jazzy’s exhausted face fresh in his mind. “Hey, Sheriff?” Maguire turned to look at him as the automatic doors swooshed open. “Go easy on them, okay? They’ve had a rough day.”

The sheriff straightened his shoulders, a stubborn set coming over his jaw. “There’s a killer loose in our town, Rogers. I ain’t planning to go easy on anybody till we catch him.” One eyebrow rose. “Or her.”

Nerves tingling, Jazzy led her friends down the hallway toward their new room. Derrick was right. She should never have volunteered them to judge these contests.

Lord, what was I thinking?

She tapped the electronic key card envelope against the palm of her other hand as she walked. Thinking was exactly what she had not done. Reacting was a better description. But Derrick’s attitude had been so infuriating, as though he were her father or something. She’d been determined to show him she wasn’t about to be told what she could and couldn’t do. Especially by some country boy who took his dog out to shoot Donald Duck on the weekends.

Except she should have at least listened to him before she jumped into the shoes of a murdered man. And dragged her friends with her.

She stopped in front of the door to room 197 and cast an anxious look at Liz. “Are you worried?”

“That there’s another body on the other side of that door?”

“No, I mean about judging the barbecue contest.” Jazzy lowered her voice. “The victim’s body was covered in barbecue sauce, after all.”

Caitlin’s eyes went round. “I didn’t think of that. What if his death was related to the competition?”

Liz dismissed that idea with a blast of air expelled through pursed lips. “No way. The killer was probably some local yokel who used barbecue sauce to throw the cops off the trail.”

Jazzy shook her head. “I don’t know, Liz. The timing, the evidence—”

Liz snatched the envelope out of Jazzy’s hand. “You don’t know about any evidence outside of what you saw. For all you know the victim was a drug-dealing, two-timing cheat, and his sins finally caught up with him.”

The sound of high-pitched giggles echoed down the hallway, warning them of the approach of a trio of little girls. Wet hair plastered their skulls, and their swimsuit-clad bodies were wrapped in thin white towels with the Executive Inn monogram stamped on one edge. One of the girls whispered into the ear of another as they passed, and the two burst into peals of laughter.

Liz scowled after them. “If you ask me, I’d say there’s a bigger chance the murder has something to do with that stupid beauty pageant than the barbecue contest. Kids can be vicious, you know.” She extracted one of the cards and slid it through the slot on the door.