“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