“They’ve got a bluegrass band coming at four. Gotta have a place to set up, don’t they?”
“No, I mean why are you doing it? Surely the festival committee could have found someone else to take care of this today.”
Mr. Kirkland shook his head. “I said I’d do it, and I aim to. Set up for your sister’s wedding down at the church this morning, and now this. And later tonight I’m due over at the hotel to take down the chairs after the Miss Bar-B-Q Pageant.” His gaze became unfocused as it fixed on the rapidly moving river behind the stage. “I gotta do something to keep busy. I’ll go plumb crazy if I sit around.”
Sympathy wrenched Jazzy’s heart at the grief in the man’s tone, an echo of his cry in the church. She laid a hand on his arm. “How is your mother doing?”
His lips twisted, and for one horrified minute Jazzy thought she’d made him cry. She removed her hand while he gained control of himself. “She ain’t good. She’s got a weak heart anyway, and I’m afraid this might do her in.” He shoved his fists in the pockets of his overalls. “Josh was her youngest, and you know how a woman is about her baby. She was so proud of him she like to bust every time his name came up. Now he’s gone, I don’t know what she’ll do.”
“At least she still has you,” Jazzy said.
He heaved a sigh. “I guess I’ll be selling my trailer so’s I can move back home and take care of her. She’s got no business in that house up on top of that knob all by herself. She ain’t got no neighbors. Nothing around but acres and acres of woods. If something was to happen to her …” He swallowed hard, shaking his head.
“Well, if there’s anything I can do for her or for you,” Derrick said, “you be sure to let me know.”
“That’s mighty kind of you. Thank you.” Mr. Kirkland glanced into Jazzy’s eyes, then quickly away. “I’m awful sorry you had to see that, ma’am. Sheriff said it was real bad.”
After all he and his mother had been through, and the man was concerned for her. Jazzy swallowed back a lump that had gathered in her throat. “Please tell your mother I’ll be praying for her. And for you, too, Mr. Kirkland.”
FOURTEEN
The hotel parking lot was nearing capacity when they wove their way through the cars toward the entrance. Derrick tapped his thigh with a flat hand, the signal for Old Sue to heel. He was proud of the way she’d behaved herself in front of Jazzy today. And she seemed to have made an impression, too. He noticed Jazzy didn’t use another Wet-Nap after she rubbed the dog’s ears the last time.
“How many people come to this festival?” Jazzy asked.
“All told, about ten thousand.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. That’s probably more than the entire population of Waynesboro!”
He chuckled. “Not quite. Waynesboro has over twelve thousand residents, and about half again as many out in the county. But we do burst the seams during festival weekend, that’s for sure.”
They approached the automatic door and Derrick pointed to an out-of-the-way spot on the sidewalk. Old Sue trotted obediently to the place and sat. He looked her in the eye and commanded, “Stay.”
A smile hovered around Jazzy’s lips. “You’ve done an amazing job training her. Caitlin could use some pointers from you.”
“I can’t take much credit. She’s a smart dog.”
An air-conditioned breeze blew against them as they entered the hotel. A little chilly for Derrick’s taste. He placed a hand on Jazzy’s back and guided her toward the hallway where her suite was located. Jazzy pulled her key card out of her back pocket as they crossed the lobby.
“You know what I’ve been wondering?” she asked, her voice low.
“What’s that?
She stared thoughtfully at the card in her hand. “How did the killer get into that hotel room?”
Derrick had wondered the same thing. “He must have had a key, don’t you think? The room was on the fourth floor. Too high to go through the window.”
They turned down the hallway, and the noise from the lobby receded behind them. Near the stairwell at the other end, the deputy sat on a chair, speaking into a cell phone. He caught Derrick’s eye, nodded and turned slightly before he continued talking.
“So how did he get it?” Jazzy asked. “Was the killer a hotel employee?”
Derrick shook his head. “I’m sure Sheriff Maguire is working on digging out the answer to that. He’s probably questioning every employee who had access to a pass key.”
“A pass key,” Jazzy repeated as she stopped before the door to her suite. She held her card up and studied it through narrowed eyes. “Surely all the pass keys are secured somewhere. But how easy would it be to get a key to open that particular room? I mean, could someone just walk up and ask the front desk to give them one?”
Derrick saw where she was going. “I’m sure the sheriff is looking into that, too. It’s not our concern.”
She caught him in a gaze that sparked with emerald fire. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
He really wasn’t. Poking his nose into a murder investigation didn’t hold the slightest appeal to him. But he saw by the stubborn tilt to her chin that Jazzy was going to follow through with this idea. And if she did, she’d better have someone there to watch her back. Now that was a job he could get into.
“Want to find out?” he asked with a grin.
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and extracted a credit card. He held his hand out for Jazzy’s key, and when she gave it to him he pressed the two cards together. Counting off thirty seconds, he offered the key card back to her.
“Now you need a new key. Yours doesn’t work anymore.”
“Really?” She whirled around and slid the key through the lock on the door. A red light blinked.
Derrick grinned at her arched eyebrows. “A cell phone will do the same thing, but I left mine in my truck.”
“Well, let’s go see what we can find out.”
They returned to the lobby and approached the front desk. The two desk clerks on duty were busy checking people in, so she and Derrick had to stand in line.
When their turn came, Jazzy whispered, “That’s Emmy, the same girl who checked me in yesterday.”
They approached the desk, and the teenager behind it asked, without looking up from her computer, “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” Jazzy held the card toward her. “My key isn’t working. Can I get a new one?”
“Room number?”
Jazzy gave it, and the girl typed it into her computer. Her extra-long fingernails made a tap-tap-tapping sound as they struck. Derrick couldn’t imagine how she could type with those multicolored claws, but she seemed to manage.
She looked up at Jazzy. “Can I see an ID?”
“Oh.” Jazzy splayed her fingers and cast a chagrined look at Derrick. “My purse is in the room.”
Emmy softened. “It’s okay. I remember you, Miss Delaney. Mr. Goggins gave you and your friends keys to the owner’s suite, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
She took the card from Jazzy and stepped sideways to an encoder machine with a numeric keypad and a small display screen on the front. Jazzy lengthened her neck and peered over the counter. She caught Derrick’s gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly. Derrick looked where she indicated and saw an open box with what must be hundreds of key cards stacked neatly inside. The counter was low enough that he could easily have reached over and grabbed a handful. Could have reached the machine, too, if nobody was looking. He glanced upward at the camera suspended from the ceiling in the corner.
Emmy punched Jazzy’s room number into the machine and slid the card through the encoder slot, then handed it back to Jazzy with a smile. “There you go.”
As easy as that.
Jazzy started to turn away, but Derrick stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked Emmy.
Emmy nodded.
“When Miss Delaney checked in yesterday she was given another room.”
/>
“Four oh five seven,” Jazzy said.
Emmy shuddered. “I remember.”
Derrick figured none of the hotel employees would ever forget that number. “I was just wondering when the previous person checked out of that room.”
A knowing expression came over the girl’s features. “I wondered that myself, so I checked the computer to be sure.” She glanced sideways at the older woman working behind the other monitor and lowered her voice. “That room has been empty for months. In fact, that whole hallway stays empty unless we have something big going on like the festival or a conference or something. We keep the AC turned off up there to save money.”
Derrick nodded. Made sense. He doubted this place was ever filled to capacity except during the festival. He started to step away, but Jazzy tugged at his arm, her eyes fixed on Emmy.
“One more thing. When I checked in there was a woman complaining about the room she’d been assigned. You don’t by any chance remember which room she was assigned to, do you?”
Emmy bit down on her lip while she thought. “Yeah, I remember her. She got all hyper with Stan.” The girl’s eyes went round. “I think she was checked into 4057 first, right before you. I remember when I swiped your card, the machine said the room was already occupied, but the computer said it wasn’t.”
Derrick put an arm on the counter and leaned over to check out the card encoder. A single cord ran from the machine to a power outlet. “I don’t understand. You mean that machine isn’t connected to the computer? They operate independently?”
Emmy gave an eye-roll. “This equipment is so old. The newer computers have everything all together, but we have to use this junk because we can’t afford to upgrade.”
Jazzy exchanged a loaded glance with Derrick before turning back to the girl. “So how do you know if a card has been made for a room already?”
“When I enter a room number, the card machine’s display asks me how many days the guest will be staying. It keeps track of the number of days, so the card won’t work after that. If I enter a room number that has active cards, it tells me somebody’s already in there.”
Derrick’s pulse picked up the pace. “And when you swiped Miss Delaney’s card yesterday, the machine told you the other woman was already in the room.”
Emmy lifted a shoulder. “Not exactly. It told me there was already a card active for that room. It doesn’t keep track of names or anything. We have to look at the computer for that. But I figured it was the lady who was giving Stan such a hard time just then, because the computer said the room was free.”
Derrick could see Jazzy’s hands clenching and unclenching behind her back, but her voice betrayed none of the agitation she must be feeling. “Mr. Goggins told me this morning that there’s nobody in 4057 now. But you gave me three cards for that room yesterday, and we gave them to the police. If you enter that room number into the machine, what would it say?”
Understanding dawned on Emmy’s face. She rushed to the machine and punched in the room number. Her face was white with shock when she turned toward them after reading the display. “It says there are five keys active for that room. And two of them were made a week ago!”
FIFTEEN
Poor Emmy was staring at Jazzy like she was about to faint. “What should I do? Somebody needs to know about this.”
“Don’t worry,” Jazzy assured the girl. “I’m going to call Sheriff Maguire right now. He’ll probably want to talk to you.”
Jazzy grabbed Derrick’s arm and tugged him out of the way of the next person waiting in line.
“Let’s go talk to that deputy right now,” Derrick said.
They started across the lobby, but a familiar voice stopped them.
“Miss Delaney!”
She turned to see Bradley scooting across the lobby toward them, both hands extended. He grabbed Jazzy’s and squeezed.
“Hello, Bradley. I wondered if you all would be back from the VFW yet.”
Jazzy caught a small frown as it crossed Derrick’s face. He was staring at their clasped hands. She hid a smile. Was he the tiniest bit jealous?
“Your friends are back in the suite, safe and sound.” Bradley lifted his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling. “But the meeting was a fiasco.”
“Oh, no! What happened?” Jazzy asked.
Bradley’s glance darted around the lobby. The place wasn’t as crowded as this morning, but a good number of people loitered about.
“Come to my office.” He let go of one hand and tugged her forward by the other. “I’d rather not talk about it out here.”
Jazzy raised an eyebrow in Derrick’s direction. Should they let Bradley in on their discovery? Since he was the manager of this hotel, she thought he should know. Derrick apparently agreed.
He gave a slight nod. “And we have something important to tell you, too.”
Bradley’s forehead creased as he looked up at Derrick. “That doesn’t sound good. Come on in here.”
Jazzy extracted her hand, and Derrick seemed to relax. They followed the manager past the front desk to a door marked Employees Only. He pushed through, and Derrick lunged forward to hold the door open for Jazzy. They entered a long, hall-like storage area. Wheeled racks for folding chairs took up a good bit of the space. Most of them empty. The chairs were probably all in use for the festival pageants. Against the back wall stood dozens of round tables. Jazzy had sat at similar tables during lunch meetings in other hotels. Wide double doors in the opposite corner must open onto the hallway right across from the International Ballroom. An old-fashioned punch clock hung on the wall to their right, and a time-card rack had been mounted beside it.
Someone had hand-lettered “Manager’s Office” in white paint on a door beside the punch clock. The jingle of the keys Bradley extracted from his pocket echoed hollowly in the storage room as he unlocked the door and preceded them into the office.
He rounded a cluttered desk and collapsed dramatically into the chair on the other side. “Oh, you should have been there. It was terrible.”
One visitor’s chair was positioned across from Bradley, and Derrick nodded for Jazzy to take it. She sat, leaving Derrick to lean against a long credenza on the side wall.
“We pulled into the parking lot the same time as Mr. Thompson, one of the other festival judges. Of course, he wanted to know why we arrived in a police car.” Bradley tilted backward in the chair to stare imploringly at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t we have gotten there five minutes later?”
Derrick folded his arms across his chest. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course. That the sheriff had assigned a deputy to Miss Carmichael and Miss Saylor for their protection.” Bradley’s gaze bounced over to Jazzy. “Then Mr. Thompson ran inside and told the other judges about the attack on Miss Carmichael. All the judges of the barbecue competition wanted to know why they hadn’t been assigned a guard, and then the burgoo judges started demanding that they were entitled to the same protection as the barbecue judges.” He planted his arms on the desk and dropped his shaking head onto them. “They called Sheriff Maguire and insisted that he come immediately.”
“How many judges are there?” Jazzy asked.
“Twelve. Three for each of the four trophies we award.”
Four? Jazzy threw a silent question at Derrick, who ticked off a finger for each. “Mutton, pork, chicken and burgoo.”
Bradley raised his head. “It’s totally ridiculous the way they do this whole festival thing anyway, if you ask me. In my position on the festival committee I’ve tried to suggest a few ways to streamline.” He slapped his chest flat-handed. “I served on the board of directors for the San Diego Art Festival. I have experience these yokels can’t begin to match. But do they listen? Of course not.”
Jazzy prodded the distraught manager back onto the subject. “So what did Sheriff Maguire say when he arrived?”
“He told them they had no reason to worry, that he was reasonably certain neither th
e murder nor the attack were in any way related to the festival. When they kept insisting that he assign them each a guard, he told them he’d have to deputize more men and the festival budget would have to cover the cost.” Bradley’s shoulders heaved in a silent laugh. “That shut them up. But the rest of the meeting was difficult.” He raised a hand to his forehead. “It gave me a headache.”
“I hope you have some aspirin,” Jazzy said apologetically. “I’m afraid we’re about to make your headache worse.” She told him about their discovery of two extra key cards for room 4057. “So it looks like we found the reason for the missing security disks,” she concluded.
Derrick nodded. “That card encoder is ridiculously easy to use, and it’s within reach of anyone standing at the counter.”
Bradley shot him a hurt look. “It isn’t ridiculously easy to use. You didn’t know how to use it until Emmy demonstrated. The average guest wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to encode a key card.”
“Unless they had experience from another hotel,” Jazzy suggested.
“Or this one.” Derrick leveled a hard stare on Bradley. “How much do you trust your employees?”
“If you’re asking if I think any of them are capable of committing murder, the answer is no.” Bradley drew himself up. “I pride myself on my ability to identify honest and trustworthy employees.”
Derrick straightened and turned to face the credenza. From an open CD case on the edge he extracted a disk in a white paper sleeve and held it up. Jazzy caught a glimpse of dozens of identical CDs in the case. Yesterday’s date had been scrawled across the front of the disk in Derrick’s hand. “Then how do you explain the missing security disks? They’re locked right here in this office, aren’t they? Who has access other than your employees?”
Bradley sagged back in the chair. “I can’t explain it. The sheriff asked the same thing. The only key to this office besides the one on my personal key ring is in a drawer at the front desk. The drawer should be kept locked, but …” He shook his head. “Any employee who goes back behind the counter has access to it.”
Murder in D Minor Boxed Set Page 10