Caitlin was right about the smell of barbeque sauce. It was even stronger in here. Odd.

The room was small, with a bathtub instead of a shower stall, and a thick white curtain pulled closed. She grasped the top of the shower curtain and jerked it open.

The persistent odor of barbeque sauce struck her again. Then her heart skidded to a stop. Blood drained from her face.

Now would be a good time to scream. One gathered in her diaphragm, but her throat seemed frozen. Instead of a scream, she barely managed to produce a whimper.

A man lay in the bathtub. Fully clothed. Mouth open. Eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Dead.

Her stomach lurched as she scanned the sticky red stuff covering his body. Not blood. Barbeque sauce. The man’s body was covered in barbeque sauce.

A lifelong lover of books, Virginia Smith has always enjoyed immersing herself in fiction. In her midtwenties she wrote her first story and discovered that writing well is harder than it looks; it took many years to produce a book worthy of publication. During the daylight hours she steadily climbed the corporate ladder and stole time late at night after the kids were in bed to write. With the publication of her first novel, she left her twenty-year corporate profession to devote her energy to her passion—writing stories that honor God and bring a smile to the faces of her readers. When she isn’t writing, Ginny and her husband, Ted, enjoy exploring the extremes of nature—snow skiing in the mountains of Utah, motorcycle riding on the curvy roads of central Kentucky, and scuba diving in the warm waters of the Caribbean. Visit www.VirginiaSmith.org.

It is good to praise the Lord and make music

to your name, O Most High.

—Psalms 92:1

In memory of Larry Kirk, and my dear friend Trudy Kirk.

You were both with me for my first Bar-B-Q Festival, so

every word of this book was written with you in mind.

Larry, I hope you and Jesus are enjoying the story in heaven.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

I’m so grateful to the people who helped me take this story from idea to finished product. Thanks to:

My incredible husband, Ted, for taking me to the Owensboro Bar-B-Q Festival, and for telling me about hunting dogs.

My father, Myron Patrick, for taking me hunting and fishing when I was a kid, and for Old Sue.

The faculty and students of Franklin County High School, for allowing me the honor of judging their Miss FCHS pageant, and for inviting me to speak to their English classes. (Go Flyers!)

Jill Elizabeth Nelson and Tracy Ruckman for expert critiques and advice that made this story better.

The CWFI Critique Group, for helping me work out the plot: Amy Barkman, Dr. Richard Leonard, Ann Knowles, Vicki Tiede, Sherry Kyle, Tracy Ruckman and Amy Smith. They’re talented writers themselves, and I’m privileged to know them.

My agent and friend, Wendy Lawton, for her unfailing support and encouragement.

All the folks at Steeple Hill, especially Krista Stroever and Louise Rozett, for being so good at what they do.

And finally, thanks to my Lord Jesus, for everything. Absolutely everything.

The fire door closed behind him with a thud. Silence pressed against Josh Kirkland’s eardrums in the hotel’s back stairwell, ringing inside his head after the hubbub of the lobby. He started to climb, the echo of his footsteps an oddly welcome disruption of the noiseless space that surrounded him.

At the landing on the third floor, he paused to catch his breath. His heart pounded against his ribs, a sure sign that he needed to spend more time on the treadmill at the gym. He was panting like an old dog in the summertime after just a couple flights of stairs.

A sound reverberated from above. The click of a door being quietly shut. Josh smiled. She was probably checking on him, making sure he was on his way. He fished the magnetic card out of his pocket, a yellow sticky note still clinging to the side of it.

Can we talk about your vote? Meet me in room 4057 during your lunch break. Come up the back stairs so nobody sees. I’ll make it worth your while.

No signature, but that didn’t much matter to him. He’d thought about it all morning, and finally decided that it must have been written by one of the pageant contestants. His pulse accelerated as he remembered a few of the beautiful young women last year parading past the judges’ table in their evening gowns.

Or maybe it was one of the mothers of the younger contestants. Some of those women were among the most overbearing human beings on the planet. After last year’s pageant he’d gotten some pretty nasty e-mails from mothers of girls who didn’t win. On the other hand, a few of those women would go to amazing lengths to ensure their daughters took home the title of Little Princess. Including emptying their checking accounts for a little “title insurance.”

He bounded up the stairs to the fourth floor. At the top he opened the fire door slowly and peeked through. The hallway was deserted. He slipped across the thick carpet to the room with the numbers 4057 on the door.

Inside, he leaned against the closed door and looked around. Doubt tickled at his mind. Something wasn’t right.

“Hello?”

No answer. He stepped forward, glancing into the dark bathroom as he passed. Empty.

The room looked as though it had just been cleaned. Beds made. Carpet swept. Fresh notepad and pen beside the phone on the desk.

Only one thing looked out of place. A white grocery sack on the dresser. He moved closer. It was full, like somebody had been shopping. He peered inside.

Uh-oh. Maybe he was wrong. There were at least half a dozen bottles of—

A movement in the mirror above the dresser caught his eye. Every muscle in his body tensed as the door to the adjoining room swung open.

Tension fled, replaced by irritation as he recognized the person who stepped into view.

“What’s going on here?” He gestured toward the bag. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

His gaze dropped to watch in the mirror as the gloved hands, holding a thick rope, rose. Uncomprehending, he locked gazes with the reflection.

The rope was around his neck before he could move.

“What in the world have you gotten us into, Jasmine Delaney?”

Jazzy bit back a groan as she stared into the wide-eyed face of her friend. Liz clutched her cello case to her chest. A girl around ten years old—one of the horde that filled the hotel lobby—brushed past her in hot pursuit of a giggling friend.

Shaking her head, Jazzy followed the girls’ progress as they threaded through the line of hotel guests waiting to check in. A room-service waiter with a tray of covered dishes balanced over his head barely avoided disaster when they dashed by him. They narrowly missed a repairman before disappearing behind the elevators.

With an apologetic grimace, Jazzy faced her friend. “When the bride gave me the reservation number she did mention that I was getting one of the few remaining rooms.” A shriek of high-pitched laughter from a group of girls seated on nearby sofas pierced the din. Jazzy winced. “I assumed the rooms were taken by people attending the Bar-B-Q Festival. I had no idea there would be so many children.”

“Smile!” The third member of their trio pointed a digital camera in their faces for the fifth time in as many minutes. A confirmed scrapbooker, Caitlin was forever snapping pictures of their part-time ensemble during rehearsals and performances. It drove Jazzy crazy.

Nevertheless, she put her head close to Liz’s and pasted on a cheesy grin. The urge to hold bunny fingers above her grouchy friend’s head was strong, but she resisted.

Caitlin lowered the camera, frowning. “Darn. I think the batteries just died.”

“Here, let me.” Jazzy whipped out her cell phone, pointed and caught a shot of Caitlin scowling at her camera.

Liz glared as another group of giggling girls brushed by them a little too close. “What’s with all these kids?”

The line moved forward. A tall woman pushed by Jazzy and marched to the front of the line. Jazzy exchanged a glance with Caitlin, who shrugged and bent to drag her gigantic duffel bag into place behind her.

Straightening, Caitlin gestured with her flute case to a point behind Jazzy’s head. “That’s why. Look what’s going on in this hotel tomorrow.”

Jazzy turned her head in the direction Caitlin indicated. A poster on a marquee near the edge of the reception desk detailed Waynesboro Barbecue Festival Events. She scanned the entries until she spotted the one to which Caitlin referred. A baby pageant would be held in the International Ballroom tomorrow morning, followed by the Toddler Pageant, the Youth Pageant, the Little Princess Pageant and the Miss Bar-B-Q Teen Pageant. The biggest event, the crowning of Miss Bar-B-Q Festival, would be held at eight-thirty tomorrow night.

Jazzy groaned out loud this time. They’d reserved a room smack-dab in the middle of beauty pageant central.

Liz clutched the cello case tighter. “Do you suppose we could find another hotel?” Strands of her dark hair took on a life of their own as she whipped her head to watch a harried mother herd a brood of towheaded children toward the lobby restaurant.

Jazzy wished they could. So far the Executive Inn wasn’t living up to its name. She’d expected something far newer, but judging by the worn carpet and slightly shabby state of the wingback chairs grouped to form conversation nooks throughout the lobby, this hotel had been around for a while. She examined the gleaming glass front doors with a critical eye. At least they looked clean.

“I doubt it. The bride made this reservation months ago. Waynesboro isn’t a very big town to begin with, and the festival seems to have commandeered every available room.” Jazzy looked at her watch. “Besides, we don’t have time. We’ve got to be at the church for the rehearsal in ninety minutes.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Caitlin punched Liz on the arm, grinning. “Don’t be a Scrooge. You like kids, don’t you?”

“Singly,” Liz replied instantly. “And preferably sleeping.”

As another loud burst of laughter rose from the girls on the sofa, Jazzy had to agree. Raised as an only child, she’d never been comfortable with large groups of kids. Except, of course, when she was playing in the school orchestra or the junior symphony. But then everybody was governed by the rules of the music—every note, every beat carefully orchestrated by the conductor.

“I told you on the phone we needed a room on the second floor in this wing.” The voice cut through the general din of the lobby. “I ain’t gonna have my daughter traipsing from the backside of the hotel in her fancy clothes tomorrow afternoon.”

The broad-shouldered woman who had barged past them stood before the high counter, her anger evident in her white-fingered grip on the straps of a blue canvas handbag. A girl around ten or eleven years old stood quietly beside her, head bowed. Jazzy caught a quick glimpse of a blush-stained cheek before the girl sidled away from the woman, stopping nearby but facing in the opposite direction as though trying to disassociate herself from the argument that was beginning to attract attention. Jazzy exchanged a glance with Liz, eyebrows arched.

The desk clerk, a young man with an imperturbable expression, issued a response in a low voice, which Jazzy couldn’t distinguish.

“I don’t care if you’re full. Move somebody. I made these reservations eight months ago, and I told you on the phone where I wanted our room.”

The young man mumbled something else without looking up as he tapped on a keyboard. Apparently his words served only to enrage the woman.

“I don’t know who I talked to, but that shouldn’t make no never-mind. Don’t you have a place in that computer to record customer requests?” She pounded a finger on the top of the monitor in front of the clerk.

Another guest walked away from the opposite end of the counter, and the teenage girl seated behind an identical monitor caught Jazzy’s eye. “I can help whoever’s next.”

Her rolling suitcase in one hand and her violin case in the other, Jazzy stepped up to the counter. Liz and Caitlin followed behind her.

“I have a reservation,” she said. “The name’s Jasmine Delaney.”

The girl’s fingers flew across the keyboard, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her. “For an economy double?”

“That’s right. But if you have a rollaway, there will be three of us in the room.”

The other desk clerk got out of his chair to swipe a key card through the encoder that rested on the counter between the two monitors. Jazzy saw him exchange a quick eye-roll with the girl checking her in.

The girl awarded him a sympathetic grimace before returning her attention to Jazzy. “Sorry, but they’re all gone. Will two double beds be okay?”

Jazzy glanced at her friends. She supposed she could double up with one of them. The three had played together for over a year, but this was their first overnight gig. It might be a test of their friendship.

“Sure, that’ll be fine.”

“Names of the other two guests?”

“Liz Carmichael and Caitlin Saylor.”

The girl’s nimble fingers recorded their names into the computer, then without looking up she said, “The room’s been paid for, but I need to see an ID.”

As Jazzy dug her wallet out of her purse, the angry guest at the other end of the counter walked past, her embarrassed daughter in tow. The girl shuffled behind with her head bowed, limp brown hair falling forward to hide her features. Judging from the satisfied expression on the woman’s broad face, she’d gotten her way with the room.

“Do you want three keys?”

Jazzy glanced at Liz.

“Definitely.”

The desk clerk rolled her chair sideways toward the key encoder. She punched some buttons, paused with a glance toward the young man, punched some more then swiped three cards.

Room keys in hand, Jazzy and her friends gathered their various bags and instrument cases and headed toward the elevator. On the fourth floor they followed the hallway around an open-air atrium. From there Jazzy could see the extent of the lobby. The place might be old, but the owners had done a good job with the decor. A trio of gigantic Florida palms towered from a huge planter in the center, standing guard over the entrance to the restaurant. In the other corner a neon sign announced the location of the Time Out Lounge, and in front of that a series of cubicles contained the hotel’s business center.

“Look at that.” Caitlin dipped her head toward one of the front cubicles. “There’s a radio station right here in the lobby.”

Jazzy read a sign above an empty desk loaded with all kinds of fancy equipment. “WKBR Country Radio.” Her lips twisted. “I’ll bet they never heard of Haydn.”

Liz laughed as they rounded a corner. “Don’t be such a music snob, Jazzy.”

They wound away from the atrium, turned at another corridor and walked down the long hallway. Theirs was the second room from the end. Jazzy dropped her suitcase as she pulled a key card out of its paper sleeve.

“I hope these walls are soundproof.” Liz leveled a glare at the closed door next to theirs. “With my luck we’ll have a ton of those pint-sized beauty pageant contestants right next door.

“It’ll be okay,” Caitlin said. “It’s only for a couple of nights.” She shifted her glance to Jazzy. “How did you find out about this wedding gig, anyway? And how come they had to bring us all the way from Lexington? Couldn’t they get a local ensemble to play?”

Jazzy shook her head as she swiped the card through the reader on the door. “I guess the Bar-B-Q Festival takes priority with the local groups. The bride’s brother read about our ensemble on my ShoutLife profile. He sent a note asking if we’d be willing to make the drive down to Waynesboro. I figured since they’re willing to pay us and cover our hotel bill, it would be worth the trip.”

The light on the door turned green, and Jazzy pushed down on the handle. She didn’t see any need to mention the fact that Derrick Rogers’s profile picture on the online community ShoutLife identified him as a drop-dead gorgeous guy just about her age. And proclaimed that he was a Christian. The combination had been too good to pass up.

“I can’t imagine why someone would plan a wedding on a weekend when their town is going to be overflowing with out-of-town barbecue lovers.” Liz’s lips pursed. “That’s poor planning, if you ask me.”

“Oh, come on, Liz.” Caitlin pushed past Jazzy into the room. “Quit acting like you’re going to a funeral. We’re gonna have fun. I searched the Internet on this festival thing and read up on it. It’s a big deal, with a bunch of different contests for barbecue and burgoo. All kinds of people come to it, and the barbecue teams cook for days in advance. Apparently the food is awesome.” She inhaled deeply. “Wow, I can already smell the barbecue sauce.”

Liz wrinkled her nose as she, too, pushed into the room. “What is burgoo?”

Jazzy grinned at her. “Your Oregon roots are showing. Every good Kentuckian knows what burgoo is.”

“It’s sort of a stew,” Caitlin explained. “It’s made with several different kinds of meat and vegetables and spices. People in Kentucky, especially in mountains and small towns like Waynesboro, are as proud of their secret burgoo recipes as Texans are of their chili recipes.”

“I like chili.” Liz tossed her suitcase on a bed. “What kind of meat’s in burgoo?”

Jazzy followed them inside, past the closed bathroom door. “Well, here’s what an old guy from eastern Kentucky told me when I asked that question.” She affected a hillbilly drawl. “Hit’s got whatever roadkill we pick up ’at day. Coon. Squirrel. Possum burgoo makes good eatin’, long as it ain’t bin layin’ there more’n a day or two.”

Liz’s mouth twisted. “That is disgusting.”

Jazzy laughed and bumped Liz with her violin case. “I’m kidding, girl. Don’t be so gullible. It’s made from lamb, chicken and pork.”

Liz could be a bit on the sour side, but she was an excellent cellist, and a good friend. Jazzy swiveled to survey the room. Decent-sized, with two double beds, an armoire with a television set and a writing desk near the window. She lifted the floral bedspread and inspected the sheets. They smelled a little stale, but looked clean.

Caitlin was watching with an amused expression. “Well, Miss Clean Freak?”

“Acceptable,” she said as she dropped her violin case onto the mattress. Liz had claimed the other bed, which was okay with her. She liked being nearest the bathroom.

“Not bad.” Liz opened a drawer in the nightstand and peered inside. “The Gideons have been here.”

Caitlin collapsed onto the bed. She looked up at Jazzy. “Are there enough towels? I wouldn’t mind grabbing a shower before the rehearsal.”

“I’ll check.”

Jazzy hefted her suitcase up on the mattress beside her violin and turned toward the bathroom.

“And see if there are three soaps,” Liz added. “No offense, girls, but I want my own.”

Jazzy opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Caitlin was right about the smell of barbecue sauce. It was even stronger in here. Odd. Maybe the bathroom was vented to draw air from outside, where the contestants would be cooking their festival entries.

The room was small, with a bathtub instead of a shower stall, and a thick white curtain pulled closed. The white fixtures sparkled, thank goodness. She counted four towels and four washcloths, but only one small cake of soap. There might be another in the bathtub soap dish, though.

She grasped the top of the shower curtain and jerked it open. Rings slid across the rod with a metallic scrape.

The strong odor of barbecue sauce slapped her in the face. At the same time, her heart skidded to a stop. Blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks clammy.

Now would be a good time to scream. One gathered in her diaphragm, but her throat seemed frozen. Instead of a scream, she barely managed to produce a whimper.

A man lay in the bathtub. Fully clothed. Mouth open. Eyes fixed on the ceiling. Tongue hanging grotesquely out.

Dead.

Her stomach lurched as she scanned the sticky red stuff covering his body. Blood?

She placed a hand over her mouth and swallowed back a sudden surge of acid.

Not blood. Barbecue sauce. The man’s body was covered in barbecue sauce.

Derrick pulled his pickup beneath the covered entryway to the Executive Inn. Though today was only Thursday, the parking lot was already full. If the ensemble ladies had been lucky enough to find a parking space in the hotel’s lot, they’d better ride to the church with him. That way they could leave their car parked until they were ready to go home. Since the Executive Inn marked the western end of the festival route, finding an empty parking space within miles of the place before Sunday afternoon would be nearly impossible.

Of course, they could have easily walked the three blocks to the church. But he figured they’d be lugging instrument cases and music stands and what-have-you. Plus, he wanted an opportunity to welcome them to town before they got swept into the wedding chaos.

He stopped the pickup and peered through the glass doors for three musicians who, hopefully, were watching for him. When nobody emerged, he pulled the pickup forward and over to the yellow-painted curb behind three deputy sheriff vehicles.

“Hey, you can’t park there.” The teenage parking attendant removed an earbud from his ear and punched a button on his iPod when Derrick got out and slammed the door. “That’s a tow zone.”

Derrick kept walking toward the door. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t call the tow truck if I was you. I’m here to pick up the musicians who’ll be playing at the sheriff’s son’s wedding tomorrow. We don’t want them to be late for the rehearsal, now, do we?” He winked at the kid to take the sting out of his words.

The guy blanched. “Uh, no, sir, we sure don’t.” Apparently he was familiar with Sheriff Maguire.

Derrick grinned. The sheriff was well known among the local teenagers. And they all sincerely hoped they were not well known to Sheriff Maguire.

“What’s with the cop cars?” He pointed toward the trio lined along the curb.

The kid shrugged and replaced the earbud.

Derrick glanced up the street, where a crew was hard at work setting up a bunch of carnival rides in the grassy lot in front of the American Legion building. Smoke from the nearest barbecue crew’s pit billowed toward them and filled the air with the smell of burning hickory. A merry-go-round and a small Ferris wheel were already in place, and the men were tightening bolts on the curved red seats of another ride. Derrick shook his head. Barbecue and a Tilt-A-Whirl. What a combination.

He stepped from the humid Kentucky spring heat through a cold blast of air-conditioned wind rushing from the hotel lobby. The place was packed, as he knew it would be. They were expecting more than ten thousand festival-goers this year, and every hotel in town had been sold out for months. Chelsea had been lucky to snag the last few rooms for the wedding guests and out-of-town relatives who hadn’t planned ahead. Of course, the fact that she was marrying the son of one of Waynesboro’s most prominent citizens might have helped a bit. The hotel management was eager to keep her happy.

Derrick stood in the lobby, looking around for three young women with musical instruments. Odd. He frowned down at his watch. Why weren’t they down here waiting for him? They were supposed to be at the church in fifteen minutes.

Ignoring the line of people waiting to check in, he approached the front desk when a guest walked away clutching a magnetic key card. The clerk looked up, an unspoken query on his face.

“Could you ring a guest’s room for me?” He leaned an arm on the high counter. “Miss Jasmine Delaney.”

The young man’s mouth gaped, and his gaze flickered toward the line of guests waiting to check in. “Uh, she’s not in her room.”

“She’s not?” Derrick cocked his head at the guy. “Hasn’t she checked in?”

He gave a quick nod. “Yes, sir, about an hour ago. But there were some, uh, some problems.” He lowered his voice and caught Derrick’s gaze. “She’s being questioned by the police right now.”

“The police?” Derrick couldn’t help it. Surprise made his voice carry through the lobby.

The kid’s eyes flicked sideways again. “Yes, sir. But we’re supposed to keep it quiet because of, you know.” He nodded toward the line of guests. “The boss doesn’t want anyone to panic.”

“But what has she done?” Derrick’s thoughts whirled as he tried to conjure a picture of the girl’s ShoutLife profile. She had looked safe enough. Her blog posts openly proclaimed her Christian beliefs and her passion for music. Of course, most of the people she listed as her favorites were complete unknowns to Derrick. He barely knew a flute from a tuba.

“I don’t know.” The clerk’s voice lowered even more. Derrick had to lean over the counter to catch his words. “But I heard somebody’s been murdered.”

Derrick reared back. Murdered? Oh, great. Terrific. His little sister was supposed to get married in less than twenty-four hours, and her musicians were being arrested for murder. And to make matters worse, he was the one who’d hired them.

Sheriff Maguire was going to throw a fit.

“Listen, I need to talk to the deputy in charge,” he said. “Miss Delaney’s ensemble is supposed to play at my sister’s wedding tomorrow. In fact, I’m supposed to have them at the rehearsal in—” he glanced at his watch “—ten minutes.”

The young man considered him for less than a second. “They’re in the Governor’s Room, just past the restrooms.”

Derrick strode through the lobby in the direction the young man indicated. He weaved around a cluster of people huddled before a festival event marquee and passed the ladies’ lounge. The hallway beyond contained several meeting rooms, the doors all closed. He found the one labeled Governor’s Room and entered without knocking.

The people inside sat in chairs around a conference table, two men in uniform and three women. Everyone’s attention seemed to be focused on the young woman at the end, the one he immediately recognized from the photos he’d studied online. Jasmine Delaney. He’d spent enough time examining images of her face, with its pixie chin and arresting green eyes, to pick her out in a crowd. She looked very different at the moment, though, with a red nose and eyes puffy from crying. A box of tissues sat on the table, and several crumpled-up white wads littered the surface before her.

She looked up at him when he came into the room, and their eyes met. Something surged between them, and the shock of it glued Derrick’s feet to the carpet. For a moment he couldn’t look anywhere but at her. In that instant he knew that this girl was not guilty of murder.

A wave of relief washed over him, mixed with something else. Compassion, maybe? The poor girl looked fragile, almost frail, and absolutely terrified.

One of the deputies rose and took a step toward him. “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in here.”

“Fine.” Derrick tore his gaze from the girl’s. He unclipped the cell phone from his belt and held it toward the man. “But could you do me a favor? Call Sheriff Maguire and explain why I’m not at his son’s wedding rehearsal with the musicians.”

The deputy stared at the phone, suddenly hesitant.

“’Lo, Derrick.” Matt Farmer, the deputy on the other side of the table, nodded. They’d known each other for years, had grown up in the same neighborhood. “We’re just about finished here. I don’t see any reason we can’t release these ladies and let them get on to the rehearsal. You got anything else, Frank?”

The other deputy directed his words toward Jasmine. “Yeah, I want to hear about that electrician one more time.”

Her lips tightened before she answered. Good. A show of spunk meant she wasn’t one of those women who collapsed into an emotional heap under stress.

She caught Frank in an unflinching stare. “I’ve told you at least a dozen times in the last hour and a half—I don’t know if he was an electrician, or a repairman, or what. He did have a long gray ponytail sticking out of the back of his cap, but other than that I barely noticed him. I was watching two little girls who almost ran right into a waiter with a full tray in his hands.”

“And the reason you first called him a repairman is…”

Jasmine blew an impatient breath. “Because he was wearing a gray shirt that might have been a uniform, and he was carrying a beat-up duffel bag that looked like it might have tools in it. But it was just an impression. I saw him from behind. For all I know he was a guest checking into the hotel and he has cheap luggage.”

“But he was heading toward the door. You’re sure of that?”

She slapped a hand down on the table. “No, I’m not! I think he was heading for the door, but he might just as easily have been going toward the elevator, or even toward the lounge. I didn’t see him go outside. I wasn’t watching him.”

Definitely not the collapsing kind. Instead, this girl looked like she had a temper packed with dynamite, and the deputy’s match was getting a little too close.

Derrick stepped forward. “We really need to get going. I’m sure if these ladies remember anything else, they’ll tell it to Sheriff Maguire. He’s at the rehearsal right now.”

Matt shook his head. “The Sheriff is out trying to find the victim’s next of kin at the moment.”

“Okay, then they’ll call you if they have anything else to say. And you know where to find them.”

Matt stared at him a moment before lifting a shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll have more questions later.”

The look of gratitude Jazzy shot Derrick made him stand a bit taller.

The young woman on Jasmine’s left rose from her seat, her near six-foot frame towering above Frank. She was broomstick-thin, a striking contrast to the heavy blonde across the table, who also stood.

“Come on, Jazzy.” The tall brunette shoved her chair under the table.

“You sure you’re up to it, honey?” The blonde hefted the strap of a purse onto her shoulder, eyeing Jasmine with concern etched in her brow. “You had quite a shock up there.”

Jazzy’s throat convulsed as her troubled gaze moved from the brunette to her other friend. Whatever shock she’d experienced was going to haunt her for a while. He itched to ask what had happened, but they were running so late. He’d give Matt a call later and pry the information out of him.

“’Course she’s up to it.” The other girl put an arm around Jasmine’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Jazzy’s a professional. We signed on for a job, and we’re going to do it. Right?”

Jasmine’s lips formed a trembling smile and she nodded. “Right.” She lifted her chin, and then turned toward him. “Derrick Rogers? I’m Jasmine Delaney.”

As if he didn’t know that. Her hand felt warm in his, and soft. “Nice to meet you, Miss Delaney.”

“Please call me Jasmine. Or Jazzy. And these are my friends, Liz and Caitlin.”

Jazzy. He’d noticed the nickname mentioned in a couple of the comments on her ShoutLife profile, and now that he’d seen her in person, he decided it suited her. This woman deserved a name with some spunk.

He shook each lady’s hand, then glanced at his watch. “We’re going to be late, but not too bad. I’ll call my sister while you grab your instruments and whatever else you need. I’m parked right out front.”

Jazzy had been stooping to pick up a handbag from the floor, and froze. Straightening, she looked at Matt. “Our instruments are upstairs, in with…” Her voice trembled.

“I’ll get them.” Frank stepped toward the door, then stopped and caught Jazzy in a stare. “On second thought, I’ll take you to the church myself. I want to hear you go over it one more time.”

He disappeared through the door as Jazzy sucked in an outraged breath. Derrick exchanged a glance with Matt, who shrugged. Apparently Matt wasn’t willing to cross his partner when it came to questioning witnesses.

Liz rushed across the room and stuck her head out the door. “I need my bag, too,” she called after the deputy. “It has my music portfolio in it.”

Jazzy turned to Matt. “What will happen to the rest of our stuff?”

“Yeah,” said Caitlin, “and where will we stay? We heard the hotel is full, and I am not going back into that room. I don’t care how much they scrub it.”

Derrick saw Jazzy give a delicate shudder. “Me, neither.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re going to have to seal off that room, and probably the ones around it, too. Maybe they’ll have some cancellations or something. I’ll talk to the manager.”

Derrick spoke up. “What happened, exactly?” He directed his question to Matt, but Liz answered.

“There was a dead body in our room when we checked in.” She crossed her arms, her mouth a hard line. “Jazzy found it.”

Ah. That had to be awful. No wonder she looked shaken up. “Any idea how the guy died? The desk clerk said something about a murder.”

Matt nodded. “No doubt about that. Looked to me like he was strangled. And you’ll never believe who it was, either.”

The muscles in Derrick’s stomach knotted. “Somebody I know?”

The deputy nodded. “Everybody knows him. It was Josh Kirkland.”

Derrick gave a low whistle. Kirkland was a DJ for the local country radio station, something of a celebrity in town, so of course he’d met the guy. But he didn’t know him well. Still…“Right before the festival. Man, that’s going to come as a shock to a lot of people.”

“You ain’t kidding.”

Derrick turned to the three musicians. “If the manager doesn’t have a place for you to stay, you’re welcome to my apartment. It’s not very big, and there’s only one bed, but it might be the best you can hope for this weekend. I can stay at my mom’s for the night.”

Jazzy looked up at him, a smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. “That’s a very nice offer. Thank you.”

He would give up a lot more than his apartment to see that smile break free. Looking down into her eyes, he cleared his throat. “No problem.”

Jazzy and her friends left the obstinate deputy outside the church in his cruiser and trooped inside single-file behind Derrick. The wedding coordinator stood at the front of the sanctuary going over the order of events for a group seated in the first few pews. Her voice echoed off the arched ceiling and the tall, thick-paned windows that lined both sides. How did the woman have the nerve to disturb the reverent stillness of the place? Jazzy found herself tiptoeing up the center aisle.

“Sorry we’re late.” Derrick directed his apology to the coordinator.

A young woman rose from the front row and approached him. She threw her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to do so. “Where have you been? You know I can’t do this without my big brother.”

The bride. Clear family resemblance. Same sandy blond hair, same oval face. The girl even smiled like her brother, wide and with lots of white teeth in evidence.

A young man, presumably the groom, got up and followed her into the aisle. “I wondered if you got caught up in the mess at the hotel. Dad got a call and ran out of here about twenty minutes ago, saying someone had been killed over there.”

“Yeah. In fact, your musicians found the body. That’s why we’re late.”

Gasps reverberated around the sanctuary, and a blush began to tingle in Jazzy’s cheeks. Was everyone staring at her?

The bride rushed forward to grab her free hand. “I’m Chelsea Rogers, and this is my fiancé, Quinn Maguire. I’m so sorry! How awful for you, and after you drove all this way to play at our wedding.”

Jazzy managed a smile and squeezed her hand before releasing it.

“Quinn’s father is the sheriff here,” Derrick explained, “so that’s why they called him. I’m sure you’ll be talking with Sheriff Maguire before this thing is over.”

“Terrific,” mumbled Liz. She stood behind Jazzy, both hands full with her cello case and a music bag. Liz’s expression had assumed its habitual sulk, but Jazzy detected strain in the muscles around her friend’s mouth.

She’s been affected by the ordeal more than she’s letting on.

And no wonder. Jazzy suppressed a shudder as an image of the dead man loomed in her mind. Would that sight ever cease to haunt her?

The wedding coordinator quick-stepped down the aisle. “I hate to seem callous, but we’re a little pressed for time. I’ve got to leave in forty-five minutes.”

Thankful to have something besides a corpse to focus on, Jazzy nodded. “Just show us where you want us, and we can be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh, good. Come right up here. I’m Emily, by the way.”

Jazzy followed her to a corner of the dais, Caitlin and Liz trailing behind. Three chairs had already been set in front of a grand piano which, judging by its off-centered location, had been pushed back to make room for them.

Emily outlined her instructions as they set down their instrument cases. “From here you should be able to see me in the narthex. I’ll signal for you to begin playing at five-thirty as the guests are being seated. Then, when we’re ready to begin the ceremony, I’ll give you a nod.” She peered at the three of them in turn. “You’ve played weddings before, I hope?”

Jazzy nodded. “Quite a few.”

Relief brought a smile to her face. “Oh, good. What piece did you and Chelsea settle on for the processional?”

“She told me to do whatever we wanted,” Jazzy replied. “We selected a Handel aria.”

Emily grinned. “That will be perfect. Why don’t you go ahead and get tuned or whatever you need to do, and we’ll be ready in a minute.”

She returned to the wedding party, and Caitlin arranged their chairs in the semicircle they preferred while Liz set her cello case on the floor and set up her music stand.

As Jazzy settled in her chair, the fine hair at the base of her skull prickled. Creepy. She almost felt like someone was watching her.

Don’t be silly. A dozen people might be watching. They’re all sitting in pews, staring this way.

She cast a quick backward glance, but saw nothing except the empty choir loft. Rubbing the tickle away, she let her gaze sweep the sanctuary. Every eye seemed fixed on Emily as the wedding party listened attentively to her instructions about the order of the bridesmaids. Nobody was watching Jazzy, certainly not with a sinister stare.

Sinister?

Where had that come from? Of course nobody was glaring at her with evil intent. Why would they? It was just the old demons raising their heads to torment her.

Still, her muscles remained rigid. As she opened her case and lifted her instrument from the velvet lining, she couldn’t help peering at the wedding party, trying to catch one of them glaring at her.

“Are you okay, Jazzy?”

She looked around to find Caitlin watching her closely as she fit the final section of her flute in place.

“I’m fine. Why?”

Caitlin shrugged. “You seem a little jumpy, that’s all.”

Liz spread her sheet music on the stand and snorted. “You think? I’d be a screaming lunatic if I’d found a dead body in a bathtub.” She shuddered. “I may never take a bath again.”

Jazzy closed the latches on her violin case quietly. “I am a little spooked,” she admitted. “I keep wanting to look over my shoulder, you know? Trying to catch somebody watching me.”

“Well…” Caitlin stepped around the center chair and seated herself, a worried expression on her normally cheery face. “There is a murderer running around town. I have to admit, I’m not feeling all that comfortable myself.”

“Oh, hogwash.” Liz positioned her cello between her knees. “You heard the cops. That guy was a local big shot. He probably got on some country boy’s bad side, and Bubba did him in. The killer is no threat to three out-of-town musicians. We’re perfectly safe.”

Jazzy wanted to accept Liz’s no-nonsense logic. But why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something was wrong, that somebody was watching?

Moving shadows at the side of the church drew her attention, and she gave a startled laugh. Her friends looked up.

“No wonder I feel like somebody’s watching me. Look at that.”

She nodded toward the thick panes of crystal-cut glass lining one long side of the sanctuary. No doubt on Sunday mornings the sunlight shining through those panes sent prisms of light dancing over the worshippers, but right now the windows were darkened with the silhouettes of passersby on the sidewalk—dozens of them. Several faces pressed close to the glass to see inside, most of them at child height. Jazzy caught a glimpse of several adults standing close enough to gawk at the activity inside the sanctuary, too.

Liz groaned. “More kids. Is the average age in this town like twelve or something?”

Caitlin laughed at her. “I’ll bet they’re some of the same kids we saw at the hotel. We’re only a few blocks away, and the street outside is part of the festival route. They’re probably out with their mothers getting the lay of the land.”

“Okay, let’s head out to the narthex.” Emily’s voice cut into their conversation. “We need to run through it from the top.”

Jazzy straightened in her chair. “Oops. We’d better get tuned.”

She positioned her violin and played an A. Having perfect pitch definitely helped in the tuning process, but at times the gift felt more like a curse. Especially when she attended her cousin’s middle-school band concerts. Caitlin and Liz tuned their instruments to match her tone. After a few minor adjustments, they were ready to begin.

Caitlin gave the count with a subtle nod. Jazzy’s and Liz’s feet caught the pace for their selected number, Handel’s famous “Air for Water Music.” They came in together with the ease of many hours of practice. This was one of Jazzy’s favorites, and she closed her eyes to let the music wash over her. Thoughts of bodies and murderers and possible sinister watchers faded as she gave herself over to the intricate harmonies of the piece.

The processional progressed until the bridal party was lined up at the front of the sanctuary. Then the doors at the back closed, and after an appropriately dramatic pause, Caitlin cued them to launch into the bridal march. This time Jazzy kept her eyes open. When the doors parted to reveal Chelsea standing there, arm-in-arm with Derrick, she felt a tickle at the back of her eyes.

She was such a sap. No matter how many times she played this, the music still made her cry.

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.

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.”

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