Struggling to swallow a ridiculous giggle, Jazzy didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded.
He opened the door for her to slide in. Matt fired up the engine as she snapped her seat belt in place, her eyes glued to the window. Derrick didn’t move, but stood watching as the cruiser pulled out of the church parking lot. Jazzy kept him in her sights until the car turned onto the street and he was lost to view.
She turned in her seat to speak to Liz and Caitlin, only to find them staring at her, knowing smirks plastered across their faces.
Liz shook her head. “Girl, you have got it bad.”
The nice thing about riding with a deputy was that they didn’t have to worry about finding a parking spot in the hotel’s overflowing lot. Matt parked the cruiser on the yellow line next to the front entrance. Jazzy got out and waited for him to pop the trunk. From somewhere in the distance, live bluegrass music drifted to her ears, carried on a warm breeze.
The car door slammed behind Caitlin. “Wow. Would you look at that crowd?”
Jazzy followed her gaze, eyes wide with amazement. The sheer number of people who packed the festival route was impressive, and a little intimidating. All traces of sunlight had now disappeared for the night, and a bright half-moon stood sentinel over the festivities. Floodlights positioned on both sides of the street warded off the darkness. A dozen columns of smoke rose toward the inky, purplish sky from barbecue pits that had burned for more than a day. The pungent odors of burning wood and roasting meat saturated the deep breath Jazzy drew into her lungs.
Liz closed her eyes, nose high in the air. “Mmmmm. The baked chicken at the wedding was good, but something over there is calling my name.”
Jazzy nudged her ribs with a laugh. “Tomorrow you’ll get to try every bit of barbecue the festival has to offer. We might even convince you to taste burgoo.”
A delicate shudder shook Liz’s frame. “Don’t hold your breath.”
They hefted their instrument cases out of the trunk and into the hotel. The bluegrass music ended abruptly when the doors closed behind them. Jazzy thought she wouldn’t mind checking out a few of the bands booked to play at the festival tomorrow. She had torn a concert schedule out of the paper she’d picked up yesterday and tucked it into the side pocket of her—
“Oh, rats!” She came to a halt. Matt, Caitlin and Liz turned questioning glances her way. “I left my planner in the judge’s room after the pageant. Hang on a second.”
She veered toward the front desk. Maybe Kate had dropped it off there for her to pick up. And besides, she wanted to ask if there was any word from Bradley.
Jazzy approached the matronly woman behind the desk. Emmy must have left for the day. “Did someone turn in a black leather planner? I left it in the ballroom after the Little Princess pageant.”
The woman opened a deep drawer and peered inside. “No, honey, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s still in there, though.”
“Okay, thanks. One more question. Has Mr. Goggins come back?”
Sudden worry deepened the creases in her pleasant face. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Goggins isn’t here.”
“Has he not been here all evening?”
Jazzy thought the woman was getting ready to say something, but she shook her head. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, that’s okay.”
She rejoined Matt and the girls, who stood waiting beside the threadbare sofa. “Bradley’s still missing in action.” She placed her violin on the cushion. “Listen, I’m going to run in there and grab my planner. Wait here for me, okay?”
The deputy shook his head. “No, ma’am. I have strict orders to escort you back to your room.”
“But it’s just inside the ballroom, right down that hallway.”
A stubborn set took hold of his jaw. “The sheriff told me to see you back to your room.”
Irritation surged through her. “Honestly, Matt. I’m going to run around that corner,” she said, pointing to the hallway just past the front desk, “slip into the ballroom and get my planner from behind that little curtained-off area. I won’t be in there ninety seconds.”
“Then we’ll go with you.”
Jazzy fought down the urge to stomp her foot. There were people scattered all over the lobby. Nothing could happen in such a public place. Police protection was one thing. Police overprotection bordered on the ridiculous. “Liz is carrying a cello, for crying out loud. Besides looking like a marching band, we’ll disrupt the Miss Bar-B-Q Pageant if we all tromp into the room. Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t give him a chance to argue further, but jogged away in the direction of the ballroom.
A few people loitered outside the door to the International Ballroom. At the far end of the hallway, big, metal double doors had been thrown open to the outside, and the smoky smell of the festival barbecue pits invaded the corridor. A small group huddled near the door leading into the ballroom, and one lady leaned sideways to press her ear to the crack. She straightened and turned to those gathered around her. “They’re taking a break so the judges can tally their scores and select the finalists.”
Good. Jazzy could slip inside during the break, grab her planner and get out without drawing attention to herself.
The door was thrown wide, and a large crowd of people filed through. Most headed outside through the far doors, though a few wandered in the direction of the lobby. Jazzy backed up against the wall and waited for the crowd to thin.
The top of an auburn head bobbing her way grabbed her attention. Someone was coming toward her, pushing upstream through the crowd in the opposite direction.
A break opened in the sea of bodies, and Jazzy looked directly into the face of the one person she’d hoped she would never lay eyes on again.
Irene Baldwin.
The menace in the woman’s glare sent fear streaking down Jazzy’s spine.
Instinct took over. She whirled and ran.
TWENTY-TWO
The song ended, and Derrick released his mother’s hand to applaud. She looked so nice in her mother-of-the-bride dress. The peachy flush that flirted with her cheeks erased the strain that had begun to hang heavily on her in recent weeks. He realized with a start that she was still a young woman, not yet fifty. A lot of years stretched before her, years that could be spent in the company of a second husband if she so desired.
He brushed that idea away. Weddings were dangerous. They wreaked havoc on a guy’s thoughts. Like earlier on the dance floor, when he’d held Jazzy in his arms.
Thoughts of Jazzy made him smile. She had really opened up today at the festival. No doubt Old Sue had made an impression on her. And this evening after the pageant, when she’d looked into his eyes … the same way Chelsea was looking at Quinn right now.
He gave himself a mental shake. Yep. Weddings were dangerous.
“Is it warm in here, or is it just me?” Mom fanned her face with a hand.
“It’s not you.” Derrick and the other guys in the penguin suits had lost their ties and jackets a while ago.
The next song started, this one a little too fast for Derrick’s comfort level. He was relieved when Mom said, “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
He guided her toward her seat. When they rounded the edge of the table, she stumbled when her foot scuffed over the thick black cable running from the DJ’s soundboard to a speaker in a corner. Derrick supported her with a firm grip on her arm.
“Oh, my!” Mom frowned at the cord. “Someone’s going to trip over that and hurt themselves.”
Derrick agreed. “The other one is out of the way, but he should have taped this one down. I think I’ll grab some masking tape.”
He saw her to her seat and then slipped out of the fellowship hall. The church’s storage area, where they kept extra chairs and tables as well as a variety of supplies, was down a short hallway. Derrick let himself into the room and flipped on the light.
Let’s see, where would they keep masking tape? He rummage
d through the junk piled on a set of deep metal shelves along one wall. A box of miscellaneous electrical equipment. A couple of old, banged-up collection plates. Several pairs of glittery angel wings from the annual Christmas pageant. But no masking tape. Maybe he’d find a roll in one of the kitchen drawers.
As he turned to leave, Derrick noticed a bundle in the far corner. It rested on the floor beneath a dozen or so shepherd crooks. An army-green duffel bag. Not unusual in itself, but what snagged his attention was something dangling down the side. It looked like hair.
Stooping on his haunches, Derrick grabbed a canvas handle and pulled the bag toward him. It was hair, a long ponytail of gray hair attached to the back of a baseball cap. Stupid-looking thing, obviously a gag of some sort. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like that. Now where had he heard something about a gray ponytail lately?
He pulled the cap out of the bag, and when he did a tri-fold brochure fluttered to the floor.
When he looked down at the paper, shock coursed through his body.
He was staring at Jazzy’s face.
TWENTY-THREE
Alarms rang in her head. Jazzy knew she should double back, head for the hotel lobby and the safety of Matt’s presence. But Irene was behind her. The back of her skull tingled with the certainty that those eyes were fixed on her. She couldn’t make herself turn around. Instead, she huddled in the center of the pageant crowd and allowed herself to be swept through the hotel’s exit and into the street.
A quick backward glance showed Irene’s advancing form, the top of her head floating eerily several inches above the others. Panic reached down Jazzy’s throat and clutched her lungs in a steely fist. What if Derrick and the sheriff were wrong? What if Irene was the killer after all? She’d admitted to being in the Executive Inn last Friday night. Her threat-laced voice as she insisted that her daughter deserved to win the pageant rang vividly in Jazzy’s ears. Had she tried to convince Josh Kirkland to vote for Heidi, and he’d refused? Did she want the Little Princess crown for her daughter badly enough to kill him? Maybe in hopes of better luck with his replacement?
The mass pressing around Jazzy was starting to thin out as people diverted to the tents and booths that lined the street. Fear whispered urgently in her ear. But she was safe in a crowd. Irene couldn’t hurt her in the middle of a mob of festival-goers like those just ahead of her. She pushed forward, elbowing her way into the relative protection of the multitude that sauntered down Main Street. A drop of sweat slid down the side of her face, and she brushed it away.
Derrick was wrong about Irene, she was sure of it. Which meant he was wrong about Bradley, too. A horrible thought occurred to her. What if Irene had done something to Bradley? She’d left the Little Princess Pageant for a while this afternoon. Surely that wasn’t normal. She’d want to see the other girls’ talents, check out Heidi’s competition. Had she slipped into his office, or maybe called him up to her room to answer a phony complaint?
Jazzy felt Irene’s presence like the cold edge of a knife pressing against the back of her damp neck. She turned her head and glanced behind her. Irene was gaining. Pulse pounding in her ears, Jazzy pushed through the mob, going as fast as she could in the press of people that bloated the festival route. The protection of the crowd became a suffocating crush, hindering her ability to escape the woman who was gaining on her with every step.
Should she get out of the crowd, maybe make a dash for the grassy strip that ran alongside the river? Irene was strong, her muscles toned from years of working on the farm. But Jazzy was small and light, and she could run like the wind if she had to.
Especially if she was running for her life.
The brick buildings that marked the end of Main Street loomed ahead of her. She was almost at the end of the route. The dark alley that ran between those buildings beckoned like a gaping black hole just behind the last of the three-sided festival tents. Maybe she could duck in there and hide. With a burst of energy, she pushed through the crowd, crouching low so Irene couldn’t see her, and dashed between two craft tents.
For a moment Jazzy thought she had succeeded. She hopped across the sidewalk and collapsed against the brick building to catch her breath.
When she looked up, her heart thudded to a stop.
Irene stepped between the tents, panting. The anger in her eyes slashed into Jazzy’s terrified gaze.
Derrick rushed into the fellowship hall, clutching Jazzy’s ensemble brochure in his hand. He forced himself to assume a calm appearance as he scanned the room for Sheriff Maguire. No sense making a scene at Chelsea’s wedding.
There. The sheriff stood in the opposite corner of the room, his back presented to the reception guests. A hand cupped one ear while a finger plugged the other one. Derrick glimpsed a cell phone in his hand when he ducked his head.
Derrick strode across the room, dodging knots of people standing on the edges watching a line of dancers in the center do the Macarena. He’d almost reached the sheriff when a determined figure stepped in his path.
“Derrick Stephen, you haven’t spoken to me all evening.” Aunt Myrtle raised a wrinkled face toward him. “I have to leave tomorrow, you know, and given my precarious health this may be the last time you see me. Now help me over to my seat and let’s have a nice, long chat about that violin player.”
Derrick managed to keep the frustration out of his voice as he sidestepped his great aunt. “I’m sorry, Aunt Myrtle. I don’t have time. I need to take care of something right now.”
“Always in an all-fired hurry,” he heard her mumble behind him.
He reached the sheriff as the man pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped the lid shut.
“Sheriff Maguire, we have to talk.” Derrick lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure he was not overheard. “I know who killed Josh Kirkland.”
“You’d better come with me, son.” The eyes Maguire turned his way held a note of urgency Derrick had never seen. “Your girlfriend has gone missing.”
“No use trying to run from me. I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” Irene advanced, each step like that of a stalking lion. “The least you can do is face me after what you done.”
The rough brick pricked the skin on Jazzy’s back through her silky blouse. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”
Irene slitted her eyes. “They got to you, didn’t they? Paid you off so’s you’d vote for that tap-dancing rich girl.”
Despite her fear, Jazzy’s spine stiffened at the insult. “My vote was not for sale. I awarded the points I felt were fairly earned.”
“Are you gonna stand right there and look me in the eye and tell me that girl’s dancing was better than my Heidi’s twirling?”
Jazzy gulped against a tight throat, but stood firm. “Yes, I am. Heidi’s twirling was good, no doubt about it. But it was no better than the talents of at least half those other girls. And I’m sorry, but her interview question didn’t even come close. She has no stage presence, and every other girl scored higher in poise and articulation.”
“Mama?”
Irene’s head whipped around as Jazzy’s gaze snapped onto the figure that stepped between the two tents. Heidi had changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and most of the curls had wilted out of her limp brown hair. She still wore thick stage makeup, which looked horribly wrong on the face of a twelve-year-old.
“Heidi girl, what are you doing here? I told you to stay put back at the hotel.”
The girl took another step toward them. “I’m sorry, Mama, but I thought you might be trying to talk to Miss Delaney, and I wanted to come, too.” Her gaze slid to Jazzy’s face for an instant before she ducked her head.
Jazzy felt terrible. Had the girl heard what she’d said about having no stage presence? Truthfulness was one thing, but injuring the tender feelings of a twelve-year-old was nothing short of cruel. “Heidi, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t know you were there or I would never have hurt your feelings.”
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br /> “It’s okay. Really. I know I didn’t answer the question well. I tried, but I just …” The pathetic half-curls waved in the air as she shook her head.
Jazzy knew what she was trying to say. With a quick glance at Irene’s face, she spoke to the girl. “You panicked when you got up there and saw all those people staring at you, didn’t you?”
Shoulders drooping, her gaze fixed on the ground, Heidi nodded.
“I know exactly how you felt.” Jazzy spoke gently, ignoring the mother and directing all her compassion toward the girl. “I have terrible stage fright, too. It’s better now that I’m older, but my legs used to shake so badly I could hardly stand up. Sometimes everything went black and I was afraid I’d pass out right there in front of everyone.”
Heidi looked up. “Yeah. That’s happened to me, too.”
“But you didn’t pass out.” Jazzy gave her an encouraging smile. “And when you started twirling your batons, you felt better, didn’t you? Just like I do when I play my violin.”
“Yeah, but—” Her mouth snapped shut as she cast a quick look at her mother. A struggle appeared on her face, and then she seemed to reach a decision. She straightened her shoulders and faced Irene. “But I don’t want to do it again. I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t want to be in any more pageants, and I don’t want to audition for that modeling agency.”
Irene’s tone held a note of beseeching. “But Heidi girl, you got to do something to get yourself a break. You ain’t gonna get stuck on no farm for the rest of your life, not whilst I got a breath left in my body.”
“But I like farms. I like the animals. One day I’m going to be a veterinarian like Dr. Evans. I’m going to travel around the whole county and take care of farm animals, like he takes care of ours.”
Irene shook her head. “But you gotta go to college for that. We don’t have no money for college.”
Jazzy took a step forward. “So maybe Heidi will get a scholarship. Or if not, there are grants and financial aid, even student loans. These days if someone wants a college education, there are all kinds of ways to get one.” She smiled at the girl. “I think she’ll make a great veterinarian. And she’ll be much happier than she would be modeling.”
Murder in D Minor Boxed Set Page 15
