Murder in D Minor Boxed Set

by Virginia Smith

  Irene’s expression held a lot of doubt, but the fierce anger had evaporated. As she watched the struggle in the tall woman’s face, Jazzy’s fear melted away.

  Irene heaved a sigh. “Maybe we’d best be checking into them scholarships and things, then.” Irene held out her arms, and Heidi stepped into them.

  Forgotten, Jazzy watched as mother and daughter turned away and headed in the direction of the hotel. Turns out Derrick was right about one thing, anyway. This woman wasn’t a killer. Hopefully he was still wrong about Bradley, though. But where was Bradley, anyway?

  Lord, please keep him safe, and don’t let him turn out to be the murderer.

  She started to follow Irene and Heidi back to the hotel. But before she had taken two steps toward the opening between the tents, someone grabbed her from behind. A rough hand covered her mouth and muffled her scream as she was pulled into the dark alley.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  In the passenger seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, Derrick clutched the brochure and tried not to stare at Jazzy’s picture. Nausea threatened to choke him. The knowledge gnawed at his mind: Jazzy was missing. And he knew the identity of the killer.

  “You saw the crowbar in that bag. I’ll bet your lab will prove that’s the one used to break into the hotel.” He glanced sideways, where Sheriff Maguire’s profile glowed an eerie green in the lights from the dashboard. “I’m telling you, the killer is Lester Kirkland.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” The sheriff’s stubborn stare didn’t edge Derrick’s way.

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  The sheriff shook his head once. His lips twisted as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Both hands gripped the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I will. My boys found a rope and half a dozen bottles of barbecue sauce in Goggins’s office over at the Executive Inn. Same brand we found in the girls’ hotel room. Same brand as on Kirkland’s body. The rope had sauce smears on it, and it’s the same diameter as the one the killer used to strangle Kirkland. That’s what they came to the church to tell me.”

  “So you think Bradley’s the killer?”

  “The evidence seems to point that way, doesn’t it?”

  Derrick stared through the windshield. His rigid backbone felt like it would shatter if they hit a bump in the road. Blue-and-red lights from the top of the cruiser illuminated the darkness in a staccato pattern. Their strobelike flashes reflected off the clapboard sides of the houses they passed. Sheriff Maguire was trying to miss the rerouted downtown streets by navigating through the surrounding neighborhoods.

  “Les could have planted it there to throw suspicion on Bradley.” Derrick’s stomach churned. Jazzy was right about Bradley all along. And the guy had been missing for several hours. They’d find his body somewhere. The sickness in his gut said so. Maybe they’d have to drag the river, but Les had killed Bradley, just like he’d killed his brother.

  And Jazzy was missing.

  He twisted in his seat to face the sheriff. “Listen, Les had access to the church storage room this morning. He told me himself he was in there early, setting up the tables and chairs for the wedding reception. He obviously had that bag with him when he broke into the girls’ hotel room last night. That’s when he picked up the brochure.”

  The sheriff continued to look unconvinced, but at least he didn’t argue. Derrick went on. “And here’s another thing that fits. You’ll have to check it out, but I’ll bet Les was the one who set up the meeting room last Friday night for the fishing tournament. You know yourself he picks up odd jobs like that all over town. Which would put him in the hotel Friday night, and again Saturday to set everything back the way it was.”

  Derrick sucked in a breath as another puzzle piece snapped into place. “I’ll bet you anything Bradley hires Les to do the setup for a lot of the meetings that take place at the hotel. It would be cheaper than keeping somebody on staff full-time. And running in and out of the hotel on an official job would give Les access to the card encoder and the office key at the front desk.”

  Sheriff Maguire’s expression softened a fraction. “That does make sense.” His glance met Derrick’s. “If that’s the way it went down, you think Goggins figured it out?”

  “He must have. He told Jazzy and me that he was positive the killer couldn’t be one of his employees. But Les isn’t really considered an employee. He’s temporary help.” Their conversation with Bradley replayed itself in his mind. “Bradley must have put it all together, and decided to confront Les.”

  The sheriff’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “If that’s the case, then we’re going to have another body on our hands soon.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Derrick straightened in his seat and stared through the window. “The only thing I can’t figure out is why Les would be after the girls. Why break into their hotel room and strangle Liz?”

  “I think I can explain that. It had to do with that picture on your girlfriend’s cell phone.”

  Derrick looked at him. “The one of the pageant mother?”

  Sheriff Maguire nodded. “She wasn’t the only person in that picture. There was somebody else in the background, somebody wearing a baseball cap. Hard to see on that little screen. The image was fuzzy, and partially obstructed, but I have a feeling when the lab gets that picture analyzed we’re going to see the face of the killer.” He executed a turn, and finally Derrick glimpsed the hotel looming in front of him as the sheriff continued. “So Miss Delaney might have been right. The intruder wasn’t after her friend. He was after the dark-haired girl who snapped that picture.”

  Tendrils of horror seeped into Derrick’s mind. “Jazzy was right. He was after her. And now she’s missing.”

  Jazzy huddled against the passenger door in the front seat of Les Kirkland’s pickup. The night air blowing through a crack in the rear window held no trace of the festival fire pits. Instead, Jazzy whiffed the pungent odor of skunk as the truck veered around the curvy country roads. That, and the faint hint of French fries coming from one of the bags that had been wadded up and tossed onto the pile of garbage at her feet. She couldn’t help but compare this truck with Derrick’s. To think she’d turned her nose up at one lousy bag. Never again would she accuse someone of being dirty unless the trash was piled six inches deep, as it was here. And she was wearing open-toed shoes. Shudder.

  The seat cushion on which Jazzy sat was ripped and filthy. She tried to compress her body into as small a space as possible, folding her shoulders forward so her bare arms wouldn’t touch the dirty seat back. The duct tape with which her wrists had been bound in front of her was so tight it was cutting off the circulation in her hands. Her fingers were icy.

  She risked a sideways glance. Les drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the gearshift knob. He absently tapped his fingers in time with the country-and-western song playing on the radio.

  “Where are you taking me?” Fear made her voice brittle.

  “Out in the country a piece.”

  “And then—Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What are you going to do with me?”

  He didn’t answer, just turned to look at her. The pity she saw in his face turned the last shred of hope she held to despair. He was going to kill her, just like he’d killed his brother. Just like he’d probably killed Bradley. She shrank as far away from him as she could.

  Lord, I don’t want to die.

  She was too young to die; her life had barely begun. There were so many things left undone. She’d never been to Europe. Never played Carnegie Hall. Never had children. Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them away. She, who had played the wedding march for so many others, would never hear it played at her own wedding.

  Was there any chance she would be rescued? Surely her friends were looking for her. No doubt Matt had called the sheriff. Maybe he had put out an APB, closed the roads. And Derrick was with the sheriff at the wedding. Derrick would try to find her,
wouldn’t he?

  Long white beams from the headlights cut through the darkness in front of the truck. The last house they’d passed had been several miles back. Trees lined the road on both sides. They were really out in the country, miles and miles from Waynesboro. Despondent, Jazzy realized if the sheriff and Derrick were looking for her, they would be searching in town. Probably in the hotel. He would question Irene for sure, and she would tell him about their conversation. At least she would pinpoint Jazzy’s last known location for the searchers.

  She swallowed, her throat swollen with tension. They would focus their search on the festival route. They wouldn’t have any reason to look for her way out here in the country. If only she could send them a message, let them know where she was.

  Her leg pressed against the passenger door, a lump from her pocket gouging into her thigh. Derrick’s cell phone.

  A light of hope flared as an idea flickered in her mind. If she could get that phone out of her pocket, she could call someone. Let them know where she was. Or at least who she was with.

  Her hands had been bound in front of her, crossed at the wrists. If she could manage to work the phone out of her pocket with her left hand, she might be able to keep it hidden.

  Jazzy edged her hands across her lap. Slowly, slowly. No quick movements or Les might notice. She kept glancing his way, praying as hard as she knew how that he wouldn’t look at her.

  He didn’t. Her nerves jangled in rhythm with her pounding heart as she cupped the phone inside her pocket. These slacks were loose, the fabric slick and silky. A slight shift of her weight and the phone slid easily to the opening.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw Les take his eyes off the road to glance at her. Hope grasped tightly in her left hand, Jazzy forced herself to be still and endure the weight of his stare.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you, you know. That wasn’t part of my plan.”

  “You don’t have to hurt me now. You could let me go.”

  The light inside the truck cab was dim. Jazzy hadn’t taken the time to look at Derrick’s phone. It felt the same size as hers. If it was a similar model, the screen would light up when she lifted it up. She edged her bound arms as far to the side away from Les as she dared. Maybe she could block most of the light with her body.

  “I wish I could. I really do.” He looked over at her. Jazzy froze and forced herself to return his gaze. “But I can’t take the chance. You know what I done.”

  “I won’t tell anybody. Honest. I’ll carry your secret to my grave.” Lord, forgive me. I just lied with what will probably be one of my last breaths.

  His shoulders heaved in a silent laugh. “You’re gonna do that anyway, ain’t you?”

  Ice invaded her veins at his callous tone. He was going to kill her way out here in the middle of nowhere. Would he cover her in barbecue sauce as he had done his brother? She touched the button on the side of the cell phone and pressed it immediately into her hip to douse the light. The brief flash shone like a beacon in her eyes, but Les didn’t look her way. He must not have noticed.

  One step closer to rescue.

  Though she knew the odds against her were phenomenal, Jazzy couldn’t help warming herself in the hopeful blaze that flared within her. With chilly fingers, she investigated the screen. It was the same shape as hers. Encouraged, she slid her fingers across the surface, acting from memory to activate the emergency call number. She held her breath and sent a mental request heavenward. Then she tapped on the place that, she hoped, would connect the call.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The flashing lights on the sheriff’s car attracted stares from the horde of people walking through the parking lot toward the festival route. Derrick glanced at his watch. The Miss Bar-B-Q Pageant must have just ended. His nerves were strung tight as a bear trap, and these people sauntering across the pavement in their way were about to spring the hair trigger.

  The sheriff’s patience had apparently reached its limit as well. He reached for a dial on the dashboard. The car’s siren let out a piercing whoop-whoop. People scattered, and he stomped on the gas pedal. The cruiser zoomed to the hotel’s covered entry way.

  The minute they skidded to a stop, Derrick jerked open the door and made a dash for the entrance. He was dimly aware that the sheriff followed him through the automatic doors at a more sedate pace, but Derrick wasn’t about to stop and wait for him. He ignored the startled glances he drew as he dashed through the lobby toward Jazzy’s suite.

  As Derrick pounded on the door, the sheriff rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. The door opened, and Derrick looked into the miserable face of Matt Farmer.

  “Derrick, I don’t know what to say. I let her get away from me. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Derrick grabbed the deputy’s upper arms in a firm grip. He glared into Matt’s face and gave him a shake. “Where? Tell me where she went.”

  Sheriff Maguire came up behind him and placed a restraining hand on Derrick’s shoulder. “That’s not going to help, son.” He spoke in a low, even tone. “We’re not going to find her by panicking. We need to keep level heads.”

  Derrick closed his eyes. The sheriff was right. He had to stay calm. Lord, I need an extra dose of peace right now.

  He relaxed his grip on Matt’s arms and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” Caitlin stood behind him, her arms hugging her body. She looked at Derrick through haunted eyes. “He really did try to stop her. But you know Jazzy.”

  Yes, Derrick was beginning to know her. A more headstrong, stubborn woman had never existed. But that stubbornness was merely a symptom of an iron will that ran deep, into her very soul. That core of iron was what made Jazzy so strong, so independent. So appealing.

  And maybe that unbendable determination would serve her well now. Hang on, Jazzy. We’ll figure out a way to find you, but you’ve got to hang on.

  “9-1-1 dispatch, what—”

  Jazzy let out a hacking cough, hopefully loud enough to drown out the woman’s voice on the phone. When Les looked sharply her way, she pressed the phone more firmly into her thigh and doubled over, coughing as though she was choking on a fish bone.

  “What’s wrong with you?” His eyelids narrowed suspiciously as he stared at her.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Jazzy shouted. Hopefully her volume would serve the dual purpose of drowning out the dispatcher’s voice, and also would alert the woman of her situation. “I’ve been kidnapped and I’m going to be murdered by the barbecue killer, that’s what’s wrong with me.”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t choking you. What are you coughing like that for?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared, and my throat is all tight because I’ve been kidnapped and I’m going to die.”

  “Quit your yelling or I’ll kill you right now!” Les matched her volume.

  Jazzy snapped her mouth shut. She stared at him through wide eyes from which she didn’t bother to hide her terror.

  A hint of something flickered across his face. Nothing as strong as remorse, but a flash of compassion, maybe? The pickup lurched sideways on the road as he leaned forward to rummage in the litter on the floor by her feet. When he straightened, he tossed something onto the seat beside her leg. “There. That’ll help your cough. I have to kill you, but you don’t have to die with a dry throat.”

  Jazzy stared at a half-full bottle of spring water. Her stomach quivered. He had just pulled it from a pile of trash, and he had obviously drunk from it sometime in the past. No telling how long the germs from his saliva had been growing in the liquid that remained. If she were dying of dehydration in the middle of a desert, she couldn’t force herself to drink that water.

  “No, thank you. I’ll pass.”

  “Okay, from the top.” Sheriff Maguire sat in a chair, his elbows resting on the round table, fingers steepled. He peered at Matt, who sat across from him. “How did you lose her?”

  Derrick stood watch
ing from the kitchen, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the counter. Liz and Caitlin huddled close together on the couch, fear for their friend plain on their faces. Another deputy, a guy named Kenneth with whom Derrick shared a nodding acquaintance, hovered near the barred patio doors.

  Matt’s throat moved as he gulped. “She ran off. Said she’d left her planner in the room where the pageant was. I tried to stop her, but she got her dander up and took off before I could do anything. And I couldn’t chase her down because I had to watch those two.” He nodded toward Caitlin and Liz.

  In the rational part of his mind, Derrick could sympathize with Matt’s dilemma. Given the decision to chase down an uncooperative woman who was obviously unwilling to let him do his job, or stand guard over two compliant ones, he probably would have chosen the same. If the uncooperative woman had been anyone but Jazzy, that is.

  The sheriff’s fingers tapped against each other. “When you questioned Mrs. Baldwin, did she say why Miss Delaney ran outside?”

  “She said it was obvious Miss Delaney was running from her. She thought it was because she was afraid of being accused of dishonesty in the Little Princess Pageant. But I figure Miss Delaney was scared, because she thought Mrs. Baldwin was the killer we’ve been looking for.”

  Sheriff Maguire nodded. “And Mrs. Baldwin says she left Miss Delaney in front of the First National Bank building at the other end of Main Street.”

  “That’s right.”

  Kenneth spoke up from across the room. “We’ve got two men searching that area right now.”

  Frustration filled Derrick’s gut like a gasoline-soaked rag just waiting to explode. Kenneth’s comment came close to providing the spark. “Just two?” he snapped.

  “That’s everybody on duty.”