Читать книгу A Taste of Murder - Virginia Smith - Страница 14

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.

Liz scowled after them. “If you ask me, I’d say there’s a bigger chance the murder has something to do with that stupid beauty pageant than the barbecue contest. Kids can be vicious, you know.” She extracted one of the cards and slid it through the slot on the door.

Caitlin followed, giving Jazzy a worried look. Jazzy stared after the kids. They looked to be around twelve. Probably three of the contestants she’d judge tomorrow. A new shudder rippled through her. She hated beauty pageants.

Liz’s voice continued from inside the room. “And even if his death is related to the barbecue contest, I’m from out of town. Nobody has any reason to kill me. Wow. Would you look at this place?”

Jazzy brushed away the lingering uneasiness and followed her friends. She came to a stop inside the door. “‘Wow’ is right.”

The room was twice the size of their previous one, and it wasn’t even the bedroom. When Bradley said they would have a suite, Jazzy assumed that meant they’d get a room with a kitchenette. But this was a true suite. The great room in which she stood boasted a full kitchen to her right, a glass dining table with four chairs and a comfortable living room area. The sofa and love seat were angled to face a large-screen plasma television set. The curtains had been pulled back from a sliding glass door, and through the glass Jazzy glimpsed sunlight glittering on the rippled surface of the Kentucky River.

Caitlin peeked through an open doorway on the other side of a full-size refrigerator. “There’s another TV in here. Still only two beds, though.”

Liz dropped onto the sofa. “That’s okay. I think this thing folds out. I don’t mind sleeping here. Besides, I didn’t tell you something.” She gave them each a sheepish grin. “I snore. You two might want to close the door.”

That settled, they began investigating their suite. Jazzy was bent over, checking out the lower kitchen cabinets, which were spotless, when a loud knock sounded on the door. She jumped upright.

Caitlin laughed. “Relax. It’s probably our luggage.”

Better safe than sorry with a killer on the loose, Jazzy thought as she tiptoed to the door and peeked through the peephole. Relief softened her tense muscles at the telescopic image of Bradley. She unlocked the dead bolt and swung the door open.

A uniformed police officer stood beside the hotel manager. Correction. Not a police officer. A silver pin over his left pocket proclaimed him to be Sheriff Sam Maguire.

“Miss Delaney,” Bradley began, but the sheriff cut him off.

“You’re the one who found the murder victim.” His brusque statement was not a question, but Jazzy nodded anyway. “I want to talk to you.”

He elbowed his way around Bradley and brushed past Jazzy into the room without being asked. Bradley caught her with a glance and lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. Then he gestured toward a cart piled with their luggage.

“May I come in?” he asked deliberately.

“Of course.” Jazzy backed up and held the door open as he wheeled the cart past her. He ignored the sheriff and headed for the bedroom.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” he called over his shoulder.

Jazzy followed him as Caitlin and Liz introduced themselves to the sheriff. “This is a terrific suite. Thank you so much for letting us use it.”

Bradley hefted Caitlin’s duffel bag off the cart and tossed it onto the first bed. Hiding a wince, Jazzy hurried to grab her violin case before he could treat it with similar disregard.

“I finally got in touch with Mr. Harris an hour ago. He was horrified, of course, and told me to do whatever I can to make you comfortable for your entire stay. Whatever you want is on the house.” Liz’s suitcase landed beside Caitlin’s bag with a bounce, then Bradley extracted a small card from his breast pocket. “Just show this and you’ll be taken care of anywhere in the hotel. The restaurant. The business center. There’s a nice lounge in the west corner of the lobby if you’d care for a cocktail before dinner.”

Jazzy took the card, but shook her head with a smile. “Thanks, but we don’t drink.”

“Oh.” He seemed momentarily nonplussed. Then his face cleared. “They make a mean Shirley Temple down there.”

She laughed. “Please tell Mr. Harris we appreciate everything.”

He hefted the last suitcase onto the bed. “Call me if you need anything.” His glance slid to the door. “And don’t let Buford Pusser in there rattle you.”

Working hard to hide her smile, Jazzy joined the others as Bradley let himself out. A glance at Sheriff Maguire’s stern face chased away all remnants of the smile.

“Shall we sit down?” The sheriff pulled a padded swivel chair out from the table.

Jazzy slid into the one across from him, Liz and Caitlin taking the other two. Sheriff Maguire leaned against the seat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Tell me what happened. All of it. From the beginning.”

Irritation twitched Jazzy’s frazzled nerves. She’d told this story four times to the deputies, and then had written out a statement and signed it. Did they think she was lying? Maybe they were trying to trip her up.

Any protest she might have made faded before the piercing gaze leveled across the table at her. She rubbed sweaty palms on her jeans, then stopped when the sheriff’s eyes lowered to watch her hands through the glass tabletop.

For the fifth time that day, Jazzy recounted how Derrick had sent an e-mail three months ago saying he’d seen in her online profile that she played violin in a classical ensemble. She described their brief e-mail discussion establishing the terms of the job for his sister’s wedding. As she did, she realized that Sheriff Maguire probably knew all about that part, since his son was the groom. Then she outlined every detail she could remember from the time they pulled up to the front doors of the Executive Inn until she opened the shower curtain.

At least Sheriff Maguire listened without interrupting. Those two deputies hadn’t let her get a sentence out without a question or two. When she finished, he sat watching her in silence, tapping his pursed lips with an index finger. Jazzy shifted her position on the cushioned seat. The man’s stare put her in mind of spotlights and rubber hoses.

Caitlin cleared her throat, drawing his attention away from Jazzy. “Do you have any idea why someone might have killed that poor man?”

Liz interrupted before he could answer. “What she really wants to know is if you think we’re in any danger since we’re taking his place as judges in this festival thing.”