A Taste of Murder

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.

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.”