Murder in D Minor Boxed Set Read online

  “I can’t imagine why someone would plan a wedding on a weekend when their town is going to be overflowing with out-of-town barbecue lovers.” Liz’s lips pursed. “That’s poor planning, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, come on, Liz.” Caitlin pushed past Jazzy into the room. “Quit acting like you’re going to a funeral. We’re gonna have fun. I searched the internet on this festival thing and read up on it. It’s a big deal, with a bunch of different contests for barbecue and burgoo. All kinds of people come to it, and the barbecue teams cook for days in advance. Apparently the food is awesome.” She inhaled deeply. “Wow, I can already smell the barbecue sauce.”

  Liz wrinkled her nose as she, too, pushed into the room. “What is burgoo?”

  Jazzy grinned at her. “Your Oregon roots are showing. Every good Kentuckian knows what burgoo is.”

  “It’s sort of a stew,” Caitlin explained. “It’s made with several different kinds of meat and vegetables and spices. People in Kentucky, especially in mountains and small towns like Waynesboro, are as proud of their secret burgoo recipes as Texans are of their chili recipes.”

  “I like chili.” Liz tossed her suitcase on a bed. “What kind of meat’s in burgoo?”

  Jazzy followed them inside, past the closed bathroom door. “Well, here’s what an old guy from eastern Kentucky told me when I asked that question.” She affected a hillbilly drawl. “Hit’s got whatever roadkill we pick up ’at day. Coon. Squirrel. Possum burgoo makes good eatin’, long as it ain’t bin layin’ there more’n a day or two.”

  Liz’s mouth twisted. “That is disgusting.”

  Jazzy laughed and bumped Liz with her violin case. “I’m kidding, girl. Don’t be so gullible. It’s made from lamb, chicken and pork.”

  Liz could be a bit on the sour side, but she was an excellent cellist, and a good friend. Jazzy swiveled to survey the room. Decent-sized, with two double beds, an armoire with a television set and a writing desk near the window. She lifted the floral bedspread and inspected the sheets. They smelled a little stale, but looked clean.

  Caitlin was watching with an amused expression. “Well, Miss Clean Freak?”

  “Acceptable,” she said as she dropped her violin case onto the mattress. Liz had claimed the other bed, which was okay with her. She liked being nearest the bathroom.

  “Not bad.” Liz opened a drawer in the night-stand and peered inside. “The Gideons have been here.”

  Caitlin collapsed onto the bed. She looked up at Jazzy. “Are there enough towels? I wouldn’t mind grabbing a shower before the rehearsal.”

  “I’ll check.”

  Jazzy hefted her suitcase up on the mattress beside her violin and turned toward the bathroom.

  “And see if there are three soaps,” Liz added. “No offense, girls, but I want my own.”

  Jazzy opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Caitlin was right about the smell of barbecue sauce. It was even stronger in here. Odd. Maybe the bathroom was vented to draw air from outside, where the contestants would be cooking their festival entries.

  The room was small, with a bathtub instead of a shower stall, and a thick white curtain pulled closed. The white fixtures sparkled, thank goodness. She counted four towels and four washcloths, but only one small cake of soap. There might be another in the bathtub soap dish, though.

  She grasped the top of the shower curtain and jerked it open. Rings slid across the rod with a metallic scrape.

  The strong odor of barbecue sauce slapped her in the face. At the same time, her heart skidded to a stop. Blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks clammy.

  Now would be a good time to scream. One gathered in her diaphragm, but her throat seemed frozen. Instead of a scream, she barely managed to produce a whimper.

  A man lay in the bathtub. Fully clothed. Mouth open. Eyes fixed on the ceiling. Tongue hanging grotesquely out.

  Dead.

  Her stomach lurched as she scanned the sticky red stuff covering his body. Blood?

  She placed a hand over her mouth and swallowed back a sudden surge of acid.

  Not blood. Barbecue sauce. The man’s body was covered in barbecue sauce.

  TWO

  Derrick pulled his pickup beneath the covered entryway to the Executive Inn. Though today was only Thursday, the parking lot was already full. If the ensemble ladies had been lucky enough to find a parking space in the hotel’s lot, they’d better ride to the church with him. That way they could leave their car parked until they were ready to go home. Since the Executive Inn marked the western end of the festival route, finding an empty parking space within miles of the place before Sunday afternoon would be nearly impossible.

  Of course, they could have easily walked the three blocks to the church. But he figured they’d be lugging instrument cases and music stands and what-have-you. Plus, he wanted an opportunity to welcome them to town before they got swept into the wedding chaos.

  He stopped the pickup and peered through the glass doors for three musicians who, hopefully, were watching for him. When nobody emerged, he pulled the pick up forward and over to the yellow-painted curb behind three deputy sheriff vehicles.

  “Hey, you can’t park there.” The teenage parking attendant removed an earbud from his ear and punched a button on his iPod when Derrick got out and slammed the door. “That’s a tow zone.”

  Derrick kept walking toward the door. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t call the tow truck if I was you. I’m here to pick up the musicians who’ll be playing at the sheriff’s son’s wedding tomorrow. We don’t want them to be late for the rehearsal, now, do we?” He winked at the kid to take the sting out of his words.

  The guy blanched. “Uh, no, sir, we sure don’t.” Apparently he was familiar with Sheriff Maguire.

  Derrick grinned. The sheriff was well known among the local teenagers. And they all sincerely hoped they were not well known to Sheriff Maguire.

  “What’s with the cop cars?” He pointed toward the trio lined along the curb.

  The kid shrugged and replaced the earbud.

  Derrick glanced up the street, where a crew was hard at work setting up a bunch of carnival rides in the grassy lot in front of the American Legion building. Smoke from the nearest barbecue crew’s pit billowed toward them and filled the air with the smell of burning hickory. A merry-go-round and a small Ferris wheel were already in place, and the men were tightening bolts on the curved red seats of another ride. Derrick shook his head. Barbecue and a Tilt-A-Whirl. What a combination.

  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.”
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br />   “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. “W
hat 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.