Mom shook her head. “We’ve got everything under control. Aunt Myrtle even finished all the birdseed favors.” Her face assumed a fake guileless expression. “Maybe the musicians need some help getting their instruments over to the church.”
Aunt Myrtle has a big mouth.
Derrick let out a groan, and Mom laughed. She set the pretzel bowl on the table and folded her arms. “So tell me about this violin player. She seemed like a nice girl, from what I saw at the rehearsal last night.”
Derrick leaned an elbow on the counter. “She’s independent, that’s for sure. An only child. Smart. Classy. A city girl, not crazy about sports. And she loves music. Playing it, I mean.”
“For someone you just met yesterday, you seem to know a lot about her.”
Derrick lifted a shoulder. “Well, I read her profile page on ShoutLife before she got here.” He glanced away. “And, uh, I did show her around the festival a little this afternoon. We talked.”
Interest brightened Mom’s eyes. “Really?”
From the other room, Chelsea’s voice called, “Mom, where are you? I want you to look at this shade of blush.”
Mom glanced toward the door. “Coming, honey,” she called, then lowered her voice to speak to Derrick. “I want to hear more about this girl later.” She picked up the pretzels. “Oh, and Derrick, you don’t have to hang around here.”
Derrick glanced toward the door. “But what if Chelsea needs me?”
Mom smiled. “She won’t even notice you’re gone.” The smile faded into a stern look. “Just don’t be late for the wedding.”
She left the room. Feeling as though he’d been let out of prison, Derrick fished his keys out of his pocket. If he hurried, he could get to the hotel in time to see Jazzy judge at least part of the pageant.
The talent competition was worse, if possible, than the poise-and-stage-presence portion of the pageant. At least on the judges.
Jazzy sat rigidly upright in her chair, her face aching from holding a painted-on smile since the beginning of this torturous ordeal. Seemed every kid in Waynesboro cherished aspirations of singing in a country-and-western band. Didn’t anybody want to play an instrument anymore?
What time was it, anyway? She hated to glance at her watch again. Everyone in the audience would know how impatient she was for this stupid pageant to end. Besides, she was acutely aware that her every move was being noted and commented upon in hushed whispers throughout the room.
The current contestant—Jazzy couldn’t remember her name, but her number was fourteen—finished a rendition of “Paper Roses” that would have made Marie Osmond run screaming from the room. Jazzy clamped her jaws against a powerful yawn and recorded her score on the sheet in front of her.
“And next, we have contestant number fifteen, Miss Heidi Baldwin,” announced Kate. “Heidi will entertain us with her baton-twirling skills. Heidi, whenever you’re ready.”
Jazzy clasped her hands together in her lap. Poor Heidi stepped to the center of the stage holding a baton at each side. Her hands trembled so violently that the metallic pom-poms on the ends of her batons shimmered in the harsh spotlight. Was it Jazzy’s imagination, or had the air suddenly become heavy with tension? Nearly palpable waves of nervous sympathy wafted from the audience toward the obviously miserable girl.
Speakers mounted on poles at each corner of the stage crackled to life, pouring forth the strains of “Stars and Stripes Forever.” For one queasy moment Jazzy thought Heidi wasn’t going to snap out of her panic-induced coma, but then her hours of rehearsal kicked in. The girl’s face cleared and she launched into action. With a relieved sigh, Jazzy leaned back in her chair and watched Heidi march around the stage, twirling her batons in mesmerizing patterns. They glittered as they spun and twisted with intricate precision, and only once did one fall to the stage. But that was after a high launch in the air, and moments later Heidi repeated the move and caught it flawlessly. She ended with a complicated flourish and a triumphant drop to one knee.
Jazzy joined in the applause as the girl marched off the stage with a relieved smile. But when she tallied the score, Jazzy’s heart grew heavy in her chest. Heidi’s total fell far short of most of the other girls’. There was no possible way she could walk away with the Little Princess crown today.
As she shuffled her score sheets into a neat stack, a movement in the audience snagged Jazzy’s attention. A cautious glance showed her that Irene had left her chair and was heading toward the rear of the ballroom. Her towering figure disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond the reach of the bright stage lights. Apparently the woman didn’t want to wait around to see the rest of the competitors. But at least that meant Jazzy would no longer be subjected to the weight of her menacing stare.
Feeling lighter than she had all afternoon, Jazzy turned her attention to contestant number sixteen.
Jazzy paced the confines of the curtained-off area that had been set aside for the judges in the corner of the International Ballroom. Noise from the restless crowd beyond the fabric barrier rose in volume with each passing minute as the families of the competitors waited for the crowning of this year’s Little Princess. Tan Woman sat at a card table doing the final tabulation of their combined scores with the calculator from Jazzy’s planner, while Kate and her sister sat watching.
Jazzy glanced at her watch for the fifth time. “I have got to get out of here. You don’t keep a bride waiting on her wedding day.”
Kate looked calmly at the watch on her own pudgy wrist. “It will take you ten minutes to get to the church. It’s only five after right now. Didn’t you say you’re supposed to start playing at five-thirty?”
Jazzy spoke through clenched teeth. “We have to load our instruments into the car, and when we get there it’ll take some time to set up and tune.”
“Done!” Tan Woman raised a triumphant grin. “You want to check it over?”
She held the page toward Jazzy. Though her brain kept urging Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!, Jazzy forced herself to take the sheet and glance over the numbers. A couple of quick mental calculations matched Tan Woman’s totals exactly. No surprises in the results, either. The winner enjoyed a twelve-point lead over the first runner-up. Jazzy noted Heidi Baldwin’s total fell solidly in the middle of the group. Better than she’d expected, actually.
“Looks good to me.” She thrust the paper toward Kate. “Can I go now?”
Kate heaved herself out of the chair. “I want to thank you again for helping us out,” she said as she pumped Jazzy’s hand. “I really appreciate it.”
Jazzy started to say, “Glad to do it,” but that would be a total lie. Instead she flashed a smile at all three women as she snatched up her sweater and hurried through the curtain.
When she stepped into view on the other side, a hush fell over the audience. A hundred expectant faces turned toward her. For one moment, Jazzy’s head swam as panic dimmed the edges of her vision.
They were all staring at her.
Someone took her arm, and a comforting voice spoke close enough that soft breath tickled her ear. “Are you ready to blow this place?”
Slow warmth crept over her as she looked up into Derrick’s face. Her heart sprang with a giddy leap into her throat. Why had she not noticed that his eyes were exactly the same shade as the hot cocoa her grandma used to fix for her on snowy winter nights? A girl could get lost in dreamy eyes like those.
Her face hot, she recovered herself as he guided her toward the exit with a gentle pressure on her arm. “What are you doing here? Where are Liz and Caitlin?” she asked.
“Waiting out front in my truck. They left with Matt about ten minutes ago to load up your instruments and Old Sue so we could skedaddle as soon as you were finished.”
“Okay, so why are you here instead of at the church with your sister?”
“I figured I’d stop by and get my dog.” A smile played around the corners of his mouth. “And offer you a ride to the church.”
Pulse flutteri
ng, Jazzy glanced at his clothing. “Surely you’re not planning to walk your sister down the aisle in jeans?”
“My tux is waiting for me in the groom’s room.” A crooked grin replaced the half smile. “It doesn’t take a guy hours to get dressed, you know. Unlike some women I could name.”
As they neared the exit, Jazzy risked a last glance toward the watching crowd. Like a magnet to metal, her gaze was drawn to the one she would have given anything to avoid. Irene’s daggerlike stare sliced across the fifty feet that separated them. What would Irene do when she found out Heidi didn’t win, didn’t even place as a runner-up? Jazzy steeled her nerves and her expression. A second later she was through the door and, thankfully, out of sight.
NINETEEN
As Derrick led Jazzy past the front desk, Emmy leaned over the counter to flag them down.
“Oh, Miss Delaney, there you are.” Emmy’s face was drawn with worry as she hurried through the half door to intercept them.
With a quick glance toward the front doors, Derrick’s jaw tightened as he stopped. He checked his watch. They had fifteen minutes to get to the church, and the girls still had to get their instruments out and set up and do whatever else musicians did before they started playing.
“We’re in kind of a hurry,” he told Emmy. “Did you need something?”
Her hands clasped and unclasped in front of her waist, those ridiculous fingernails flashing with every move. “I tried to call Miss Delaney’s room about half an hour ago, but I couldn’t get an answer.” She clamped down on her lower lip nervously. “I wanted to talk to one of those sheriff deputies who’ve been hanging around back there all day.”
Derrick frowned. “Why do you need a deputy? Is something wrong?”
“I think so. It’s Mr. Goggins. We can’t find him anywhere. Nobody’s seen him for hours. I’m afraid something might have happened to him.”
Jazzy laid a comforting hand on the girl’s arm. “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably had an errand to run, something to do with the festival.”
Emmy shook her head. “That’s just it. This is one of the hotel’s busiest days of the whole year. Mr. Goggins wouldn’t disappear on festival weekend. He should be right here, helping out and making sure everything goes smoothly.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Jazzy’s tone was unrushed, but she telegraphed her urgency in the tense muscles of the arm Derrick still held. He was starting to share her anxiety about getting to the church on time.
“A little after two. A customer demanded to see him, complaining about the lighting in her bathroom. He took care of that, and he went back into his office. Said something about checking up on somebody. That was the last time we saw him.”
Derrick exchanged a glance with Jazzy. That was shortly after they’d left Bradley’s office three hours ago.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Derrick told the obviously distraught girl. “But I’m going to see the sheriff in about ten minutes. I’ll mention your concerns. If he thinks there’s anything wrong, I’m sure he’ll send someone over to talk to you. Okay?”
Emmy did not look convinced, but she nodded and let them go.
As Derrick steered Jazzy through the front doors toward his pickup parked beneath the entryway awning, she lifted worried eyes toward him. “I hope Bradley is okay.”
“He’s fine. Knowing him, he probably slipped off to a corner somewhere to hide until the rush is over.”
Actually, Derrick didn’t feel as confident as he tried to sound. He had a sneaking suspicion the teenager was right, and Bradley might be headed for trouble. But whether the man was in trouble or causing trouble, Derrick couldn’t guess.
“Sorry I’m late.” Jazzy slipped into the front seat of Derrick’s pickup and sent an apologetic grimace toward the back.
Liz scowled. “Took you long enough. We were trying to figure out if we could do the wedding march as a cello-flute duet. And counting our money, because we were planning to split your share.”
“Stop it!” Caitlin slapped at Liz’s leg. “We were not.” She looked up at Jazzy. “Who won?”
On the other side of the rear window, Old Sue stood in the truck bed and stared mournfully into the cab. Her wet nose smeared yucky-looking tracks across the glass. Jazzy resisted the urge to jump out and wipe the window clean. Instead she answered Caitlin’s question. “Number eight.”
“Is she the one who sang the Shania Twain song?”
Jazzy shook her head. “No, that was twelve, and she came in second. Number eight tap-danced to ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”’
“Oh, yeah.” Caitlin settled back in the seat with a smile. “I liked her outfit. Those white cowgirl boots were adorable.”
Liz rolled her eyes as the driver’s door opened and Derrick climbed in. “Matt and Frank are going to give us an escort.” He gripped the top of the wheel with both hands and flashed a maniacal grin at Jazzy. “I’ve always wanted to go blasting through red lights at sixty miles an hour.”
Jazzy shoved the seat belt into the clasp until she heard the click. “Hold on, Old Sue,” she shouted out the window. “Speed Racer is at the wheel.”
Actually, the drive to the church was frustratingly slow even with a police escort. Many of Waynesboro’s downtown streets had been rerouted to handle the festival crowd, and no amount of flashing lights or sirens could push the slow-moving traffic to a faster pace. Jazzy’s stomach muscles grew tighter with every minute that ticked by.
Finally they pulled into the church parking lot. Derrick zoomed around the building and parked his truck in a no-parking zone right next to the back steps. Old Sue watched as they grabbed their instruments from the back, her legs trembling expectantly.
“Come on, girl,” Derrick told the dog. “You’ll be more comfortable waiting in the cab.”
Old Sue leaped down from the bed and then jumped obediently into the front seat at Derrick’s command.
“Will she be okay?” Jazzy asked as they dashed toward the door.
“She’ll be fine.” Derrick lunged ahead to open the door and hold it for them. “The windows are down, and the evening isn’t too hot. Besides, she’d much rather snooze on a soft seat than in that hard truck bed.”
As they sprinted through a maze of Sunday-school rooms toward the sanctuary, Jazzy realized she had left her sweater in the truck.
Terrific. It’ll be covered in dog hair.
At five-forty, ten minutes late, Caitlin gave the count for their first piece. Jazzy’s toes picked up the pace and on the downbeat she launched into the first chord of the Handel aria. The church pews in front of her were filling rapidly as tuxedo-clad groomsmen ushered a steady stream of people to empty seats. More faces turned her way here than back at the pageant, and for a moment her vision wavered. The familiar panic threatened to paralyze her bow arm. She closed her eyes.
Focus on your real audience, Jazzy. Music is your gift to God. Give Him your best.
That’s how she had overcome the worst of her stage fright, by learning to block out the watching eyes and focus instead on creating a beautiful offering to the One who had given her the gift of music. As she drew the bow across the strings of her instrument, her body swayed back and forth in time with the soothing melody. Everything else in the room faded into an untroubling blur.
At the conclusion of their fourth song she felt a nudge against her foot. Jazzy opened her eyes to see Caitlin watching the door at the back of the sanctuary. The wedding coordinator stood at attention, and when she caught their eyes, she gave a nod for the processional to begin.
Jazzy couldn’t close her eyes during this number, because she needed to watch for the bridal march cue. As the groom and pastor filed through a side door and took their places before the altar, Jazzy risked a glance into the sanctuary. A familiar face caught her eye. Sheriff Maguire looked completely different in a tuxedo than he did in his uniform. More dignified. Stately, even. Seated next to him was an attractive woman who must be the groom’s mother.
<
br /> Jazzy wondered if Derrick had remembered to mention Bradley to Sheriff Maguire. Probably not. He’d barely had enough time to get into his tux and dash to the bride room.
Curious, Jazzy glanced across the aisle. What did Derrick’s mother look like? She hadn’t paid much attention during the rehearsal yesterday. But she could have picked this lady out in a crowd. Both her son and her daughter looked remarkably like her. Blond hair, trim build, a kind expression that just now wore the tearful smile of one whose pride in her offspring was overwhelming. Beside her perched the sturdy frame of Derrick’s aunt Myrtle, both hands planted squarely on the top of her cane. Aunt Myrtle caught Jazzy’s eye and gave her a complimentary thumbs-up. Jazzy smiled in response.
While the flower girl spread her trail of bright-red petals on the silky aisle runner, the doors at the back of the sanctuary closed. The little girl took her place at the front of the line of bridesmaids. Jazzy, Liz and Caitlin finished the piece. An expectant hush fell over the wedding guests. At just the right moment, Caitlin bobbed her head. With practiced timing, they launched into the familiar strains of the bridal march.
The doors opened. Everyone stood and turned in their pews, necks straining to see the bride. A collective “Ah!” rose from those gathered at the sight of Chelsea, resplendent in a classic A-line design of white lace. Jazzy had played for dozens of weddings, and she never tired of the emotional response that filled the sanctuary when the guests got their first glimpse of the bride.
But today Jazzy had a hard time focusing on the bride. Hummingbirds fluttered behind her breastbone at the sight of the incredibly handsome man on Chelsea’s arm. For a guy who preferred to spend his time tromping through dirty woods or skewering worms with fishhooks, Derrick Rogers sure did look at home in a tux. A question formed in her mind and transformed itself into a prayer.
Lord, is he the one for me?
She tore her gaze away and focused on the music, on the proper positioning of her bow, on the smooth motion of drawing it across the violin’s strings. Anything but the chocolate-eyed tuxedo-clad heartthrob making his way down the aisle, drawing nearer with every step.
Murder in D Minor Boxed Set Page 13