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.” Kate stepped sideways, cutting Derrick out of their circle. “The pageant is at three. It’ll be over in plenty of time.”
Bradley drew close. “And the food judging takes place Saturday at noon. You’re staying two nights, aren’t you?”
Liz frowned. “We were planning to get an early start toward home Saturday morning.”
He dismissed that with a wave. “What’s a few hours in exchange for the opportunity to taste world-class barbecue and burgoo?”
“And you’d be doing us a huge favor,” Kate added.
Bradley clasped his hands beneath his chin. “Please?”
The edges of Jazzy’s resistance crumbled. What would it hurt to stay a few extra hours and help them out?
Derrick stepped around Kate, scowling. “The answer is no.”
Jazzy narrowed her lids at him. That was pretty presumptuous of him, making their decisions for them.
“Come on, Derrick.” Kate’s tone took on a pleading note. “It’s just a couple of hours. They’ll be done in plenty of time for the wedding.”
“And they’ll have fun,” Bradley added. He grinned at the three of them. “The Bar-B-Q Festival is the event of the year in Waynesboro. You’ll be famous.”
Why were they trying to convince Derrick, like he was their boss or something? Just because he hired them to play a wedding didn’t give him the right to monopolize their entire weekend.
Derrick folded his arms across his chest. “I said no. They’re not going to do it.”
Jazzy’s temper flared. Who does this country boy think he is, answering for me as if I’m not here? Her spine stiffened as she drew herself up to her full height. “I think it sounds like fun.”
Derrick’s wasn’t the only shocked expression that turned her way. Liz and Caitlin stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.
“Are you kidding?” Liz asked. “You would voluntarily eat road-kill stew?”
Actually, Jazzy preferred the barbecue contest. She’d tried burgoo once. That was enough.
Caitlin spoke up. “I like burgoo. My granny used to cook up a batch every year.”
Bradley beamed, but Derrick’s scowl deepened. He grabbed Jazzy’s arm and tried to guide her away from the circle. “This is not a good idea.”
Jazzy resisted his pull and stood her ground. She looked around him to catch Liz’s eye. “Have you ever judged a beauty pageant?”
“Forget it.” Liz’s chin rose stubbornly. “I can handle barbecue, but a stage full of kids prancing around in evening gowns? Not a chance.”
Discomfort fluttered in Jazzy’s stomach. She’d been solo on a stage a few times herself. The memory of those icy fingers of panic played at the edges of her mind. She gave herself a mental shake. It wouldn’t be her up there this time. She’d be a spectator, that’s all.
Derrick was shaking his head, his lips drawn into a disapproving line.
She raised her chin and spoke to Kate and Bradley. “We’ll do it.”
Kate clutched Jazzy’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Just come to the International Ballroom down that hall tomorrow about ten minutes till three. I’ll explain everything then. I’ve got to get back in there and leave instructions to make sure they set up the room right.” She gave a final squeeze, then practically danced toward the ballroom.
Bradley clapped his hands, eyeing Liz and Caitlin with un-disguised delight. “I’ll let the festival committee know.” He stepped forward and put an arm around each of them. “The judges are meeting tomorrow at noon, down the street at the VFW. Meet me here in the lobby and I’ll walk with you.” He launched into an explanation of the tasting procedures.
Derrick put a hand under Jazzy’s elbow and pulled her a few steps away, shaking his head. “This is a mistake.”
Jazzy ignored the warmth that spread through her arm at his touch. Instead she focused on retaining the irritation she’d felt a moment before. Hard to do with him looking down at her through those warm brown eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll be on time for the wedding.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “Have you considered what you’re doing?”
His breath felt warm on her cheek. Jazzy shook her head to clear the giddiness that tried to invade her brain. “What are you talking about?”
His worried glance rose from hers and circled the lobby. “By stepping in to judge those contests, you’ll be taking the place of a murder victim. What if…”
He didn’t finish the question. He didn’t have to. Jazzy’s mouth dried in an instant.
FIVE
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