A Taste of Murder

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.