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.
TWO
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
