hand left his chest to wave in the air. “Don’t give it another thought. I’ve already arranged for you to have a suite overlooking the river.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward, his gaze circling the lobby. “We’re booked to capacity, but we always keep that suite in reserve in case Mr. Harris comes to town. But he’s visiting his property in Chicago this weekend.”
Derrick, leaning against the counter, must have caught Jazzy’s blank look. “Harris owns this place.”
Bradley nodded, eyes wide. “He will be furious when he hears of this unfortunate, uh…” his fingers drew circles in the air as he searched for a word “…accident.”
The image of the body loomed in Jazzy’s mind. Accident? No way. She started to protest, but Derrick beat her to it. “I’d hardly call committing a grisly murder in a bathtub and covering the body with barbecue sauce an accident.”
Bradley winced. “Quite so. But it’s just so disturbing to think that someone was—” he gulped and lowered his voice “—murdered right here in my hotel.”
He wrung his hands together with such intensity that Jazzy wondered if he and the victim were acquainted. Then she realized they must have been. The radio station was right here in the lobby.
“When we checked in we noticed a radio station in the corner of the lobby.” She nodded toward the far corner. “Did the victim broadcast from here?”
“Oh, yes. The main station is a few miles out of town in a grimy little building.” Bradley shuddered. “Mr. Kirkland preferred being in the center of activity. He convinced Mr. Harris to let him set up a satellite broadcast booth here several years ago. Mr. Kirkland could be quite charming when he wanted to.”
Bradley’s lips snapped shut. He whirled toward the chest-high counter and shuffled an untidy pile of festival brochures into a neat stack.
So the hotel owner liked the victim, but Bradley apparently wasn’t crazy about him. Interesting. Jazzy exchanged a glance with Derrick, who shrugged an eyebrow. If Josh Kirkland worked here, that would explain why he was in the hotel. But what was he doing in one of the rooms on the fourth floor?
Before Jazzy could ask the question, Liz interrupted. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of standing around talking. Do you mind telling us where our room is?”
Caitlin nodded in agreement.
“Of course. Emmy.” Bradley snapped his fingers at the teenager behind the desk. “Where are those keys?”
Without looking up from her book, Emmy picked up a small envelope identical to the one she had given Jazzy earlier. She handed it over the counter to Bradley and turned a page.
Bradley’s eyelids closed, and his face tilted toward the ceiling as though in a silent prayer for patience. Then he smiled at Jazzy and handed her the envelope. “Order whatever you like from room service. It’s on the house. And I’ll have someone bring your bags up immediately.” He looked around the floor for their luggage.
Derrick straightened. “They’re in my pickup out front.” His gaze bounced from Liz to Caitlin, and came to rest on Jazzy. “But I was hoping—I mean, Chelsea was hoping you’d join us at the rehearsal dinner.”
Caitlin shook her head. “Not me, thanks. I’m going to have a shower, put my pj’s on and go to bed.” She smiled at Bradley. “Dinner on a tray sounds perfect.”
“Me, too,” Liz agreed.
A sudden wave of weariness made Jazzy waver on her feet. A glance at her watch told her it was only five-thirty, not even close to her bedtime. But this had been a stress-filled day, and she was tired. Dressing up for dinner, even with the promise of spending time with the handsome brother of the bride, sounded like too much effort. Aware of Derrick’s hopeful glance, she shook her head.
“Please tell your sister we appreciate the offer, but today has been rather eventful.” She gave a small smile at the understatement. “I think we’re all ready for it to end.”
“Derrick!” a female voice called from across the lobby. They all turned to see an overweight woman bearing down on them with surprising speed, anxious creases lining her broad forehead. Her vivid yellow T-shirt proclaimed in glittery red letters, Little Princess Pageant—Who Will Wear the Crown? She ran up to Derrick and threw her arms around him.
“Kate, what’s wrong?” Derrick patted her back with an awkward gesture, throwing Jazzy a helpless gaze over one round shoulder.
“Haven’t you heard?” Kate drew back to look at him through round eyes. “Josh Kirkland was murdered today, right here in this hotel.”
There’s that image again. Jazzy suppressed a shudder.
Bradley moaned. “Do you have to say that so loud?” He glanced around the lobby.
Derrick ignored him and squeezed Kate’s shoulder before releasing it. “I didn’t realize you and Kirkland were close.”
“Oh, we weren’t. We only knew each other through the pageant.” She included Jazzy, Caitlin and Liz in her glance as she spoke. “He’s been a volunteer for the past five years.” She cocked her head and gave them a questioning look. “I don’t think I’ve met your friends.”
“Sorry. This is Jasmine, Liz and Caitlin.” Derrick gestured toward each of them in turn. “They’re the ensemble Chelsea hired to play at her wedding tomorrow night. They drove down from Lexington this afternoon.”
At least Derrick didn’t mention Jazzy finding the body. The less she had to talk about that, the better.
The creases in Kate’s forehead cleared. “Musicians! Perfect! I don’t suppose any of you have pageant experience, do you?” Her eager gaze bounced from Jazzy to Liz to Caitlin. Jazzy shook her head, as did her friends. “No matter. You have performance experience, so you’ll be fine.”
“Fine for what?” Jazzy glanced at Derrick. What was the woman talking about?
Derrick shook his head. “I know where you’re going with this. It won’t work.”
Bradley clapped his hands together, eyes wide. “Of course! And there are three of them.”
“Exactly.” Kate looked at each of them eagerly. “Which of you wants to do the pageant?”
Jazzy and Caitlin exchanged confused glances. “Do what with the pageant?”
Derrick explained, “They want one of you to be a judge. Kate is the coordinator for the Little Princess Pageant, and Kirkland’s death has left her short one judge.”
“Three, actually.” Bradley’s expressive hands gestured wildly as he explained. “Mr. Kirkland was also going to judge the barbecue, burgoo and Miss Bar-B-Q competitions. We found a replacement for the adult pageant, but the guy won’t touch the others. I’m on the festival committee, and we’ve been scrambling for the past few hours to come up with three substitutes. What luck there are three of you, one for each contest!”
Jazzy was about to protest when Derrick beat her to it. “They have to be at the church for Chelsea’s wedding tomorrow at five-thirty.”
“Perfect.”
