Murder in D Minor Boxed Set

by Virginia Smith

Derrick crossed the floor in one long stride and knelt before her. He covered her hands with one of his. “Mrs. Kirkland, do you mind if I pray with you?”

  He felt the sheriff’s impatience behind him as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Derrick ignored him and focused instead on smiling as compassionately as he could manage into the tortured, watery eyes in front of him.

  She shook her head.

  Derrick bowed his head. “Lord, Mrs. Kirkland’s pain is deep, and we don’t know how to comfort her. But You do. Your Son died, too, so You know what she’s going through. I’m asking You to give her the comfort only You can. And if there’s anything she can tell us that will help us find Jazzy, please bring it to the front of her mind. Amen.”

  Mrs. Kirkland gave a gigantic sniff as Derrick squeezed her hands. “Thank you. I appreciate that. But I don’t have nothing in the front of my mind that can help you find that girl.”

  Derrick did not let the stab of disappointment show on his face.

  “Are there any structures on the property?” Sheriff Maguire asked. “A cabin, maybe, or even a clearing where Les might pitch a tent on occasion?”

  “Nah, we never built nothing ’cept this here house.” She pursed her lips. Then a flash of remembrance crossed her face. “My husband built him a deer blind a year before he died. I never give it no thought for years, but Lester mentioned it last deer season. I was surprised it was still standing.”

  Derrick stood. A thrill zipped through his core. This was the place they were looking for, he was certain of it. “Do you remember where it is?”

  She nodded and lifted a hand to point. “Back up the road a piece you’ll find a pull-off. No more than a dirt path, really. The deer blind is about a half mile straight back through the woods from there.”

  Derrick remembered to thank her as he dashed out the door to the sheriff’s cruiser.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Come on. We have to walk a piece from here.”

  Thoughts and alarm whirled together in Jazzy’s mind. Now that the truck had stopped, she could make a run for it. Her hands were taped together, but not her feet. The black clothes she was wearing would render her nearly invisible in the dark woods. She just needed a minute’s head start, a minute when he wasn’t looking.

  Les’s door opened, and when he swung his feet outside, Jazzy made her move. She grabbed the door handle and jerked.

  Nothing happened.

  She jerked again, and again, panic rising like acid in her throat. Why wouldn’t the door open?

  A laugh behind her made her whirl around in her seat.

  Les leaned down to look into the cab. “That handle broke a couple months ago. Only opens from the outside.” He reached down and pulled out a rifle from behind the seat. “Scoot on over here and get out.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, and for a moment Jazzy couldn’t see. “Please don’t kill me.” She choked out the words, her chest shuddering with sobs. Pride was nothing but a distant memory. She was desperate and begging for her life. “It won’t do any good. If I did take a picture of you, the sheriff is going to see it on my phone. He’ll know you’re the murderer. My death will gain you nothing. Please, let me live.”

  Les leaned into the truck. “I didn’t want to kill you, I really didn’t. Nor Mr. Goggins, neither. But I got to. There’s a chance I ain’t in that picture. Or if I am, you might have got the back of my head. I turned just when you took it. Maybe I was quick enough.” He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her across the seat. “This is your own fault. If you and your friends had gone home after I broke into your room last night, none of this would have happened.”

  Should she tell him about the cell phone buried in the trash on the floorboard? Instinct told her to keep that secret. She knew now that nothing she could say would convince him to spare her life. She was going to die—he would not be persuaded otherwise. But there was still a slim chance the 9-1-1 operator had heard enough to identify Les. At least they would catch her killer.

  Jazzy slid from the truck, dry leaves crunching beneath her feet when she landed. Moonlight filtered through the limbs overhead to cast weird patterns on his face, like eerie tribal-paint designs on his skin. His eyes held hers in an unrelenting vise. They glowed with determination. A shudder shook Jazzy’s body. There was no arguing with that unyielding look.

  Held captive by his unbreakable grip on her arm, Jazzy was pulled forward. She sobbed openly as she trudged. Prickly branches snagged at her clothes and scratched her bare arms. Damp dirt and dead leaves slipped into her shoes beneath her toes as she scuffed her feet, trying to prolong the inevitable. Pain throbbed in her arm where his fingers gouged the flesh. She twisted once, trying to shake his grip and make a dash for it, but he held tight.

  And still they walked on.

  Derrick sat in the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, clutching the sweater Jazzy had left in his truck. Three deputies’ vehicles formed a caravan behind them. In the backseat, Old Sue stood with her nose pressed to the window. He turned around to look at her. The dog’s legs quivered as she peered into the darkness. Probably picking up tension from him.

  “I hope this works,” he told the sheriff.

  Sheriff Maguire glanced into the rearview mirror. “It’s the best chance we’ve got.” His tone spoke volumes about his doubt.

  Derrick struggled to maintain his composure. His feet wouldn’t stop their nervous jiggling. “Shouldn’t we have found that path by now?”

  The sheriff gave a single nod, his eyes fixed on the road. “I hope we didn’t miss it.”

  “Almost there now.”

  Jazzy stumbled over a dead branch and would have fallen if not for Les’s grip on her arm. Her tears had stopped, dried up in the face of the terror that escalated with each step. She wanted to pray, but her numb mind couldn’t form the words. The only prayer she could think of was the one her church repeated every Sunday morning. She spared a hope that God wasn’t picky in situations like this.

  Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name …

  “Here we are.”

  Les jerked her to a stop. They stood in a small clearing, staring at a structure, made out of weathered wood planks, in the shape of a teepee around a tall tree. A narrow opening yawned on the side facing Jazzy, the inside pitch-black.

  Les shoved her forward. “Get on in there. Your buddy’s waiting for you.”

  A whimper escaped her trembling lips. He’d stashed Bradley’s body in this little building out here in the middle of nowhere? And he wanted her to go in there and look at it?

  A shrill scream pierced the night. Jazzy whirled around in time to see Les crash to his knees. He shook his head. Both hands gripped the rifle. It rose, the barrel pointing toward her.

  Someone grabbed her blouse and jerked her sideways. A voice shouted in her ear, “Don’t just stand there. Run!”

  Jazzy ran.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “There!” Derrick stabbed a finger at the windshield.

  “I see it.” Sheriff Maguire yanked the cruiser with a sharp one-handed maneuver, his other hand reaching for his radio. “Maguire here. We’re one-point-seven miles west of the Kirkland place, south side of the road.”

  Static crackled through the speaker for a second before the dispatcher responded. “Ten-four. We’ve got three KSP units en route to your location.”

  The cruiser bounced over the uneven ground. Stuttering blue and red lights gave the trees around them a spooky, carnival feel, like a house of horrors. Derrick gripped the armrest as they hit a jarring gouge in the forest floor, his gaze glued on the place where the headlights’ twin beams sliced through the blackness.

  He glimpsed something unnatural up ahead. Sky-blue steel looked whitish in the headlights. Red and blue flashes reflected off a metal bumper.

  Les’s pickup.

  “Looks like we were right.” The sheriff’s unruffled tone sounded almost matter-of-fact.

  How could he stay so calm
while Derrick’s pounding pulse stole his breath?

  Before the cruiser came to a stop, Derrick jerked open the door and tumbled out. He opened the back door. “Come on, Old Sue.”

  The dog leaped to the ground. Her stiff brown tail vibrated nervously, and her legs trembled. Derrick led her around to the front of Les’s truck and dropped down on one knee. He placed a hand on the back of her head and held Jazzy’s sweater in front of her snout.

  “Girl, you remember Jazzy, don’t you?”

  Deputies piled out of cars behind him. Derrick ignored them and focused on speaking to his dog in an even tone.

  Old Sue nosed the sweater, then extended her neck to wet his cheek with a warm tongue. Derrick pushed her gently back. “We’re going hunting, Old Sue.” He let her sniff the sweater once again, then stood. Looking down, he held the dog’s gaze as he always did before issuing a command. Old Sue’s hindquarters plopped to the ground and she sat at attention. Not a whisker moved. Derrick pointed toward the dense wooded area in front of the pickup. “Find Jazzy, girl. Hunt.”

  The dog leaped up on all fours. She hesitated, head turned in the direction he pointed. In the headlights from the sheriff’s car Derrick saw her nose twitch, but she didn’t move. Instead, she looked back at him, head cocked sideways, clearly questioning what he wanted her to do. A sinkhole opened somewhere in his chest and threatened to pull his heart into its despairing depths. She didn’t understand what he was asking her to do.

  Sheriff Maguire stepped up beside him. “She’s not a trained bloodhound, son. You can’t expect her to act like one.” He looked up toward his watching deputies. “Okay, boys, spread out. Kenneth, you stay here and send the reinforcements after—”

  A shot rang through the night.

  Derrick’s head jerked in the direction from which it came. Dear God, no!

  Old Sue leaped forward and disappeared into the darkness.

  Something zipped past her right shoulder. Wood splintered in the trunk of a tree as she ran by.

  A bullet! He’s shooting at me!

  She twisted sideways to dash around another tree, following the figure that ran in front of her. The man was pulling away, the distance between them growing.

  Sandals are not the best shoes for running in the forest.

  Her brain skipped from thought to random thought.

  And it’s hard to run with my hands bound. Weird. You wouldn’t think so.

  Just ahead, the man glanced over his shoulder to gauge her position. She got a glimpse of his profile.

  “Bradley!”

  “Shhhhhh!”

  Another shot from behind sent an adrenaline boost to her legs. Or maybe it was the thrill that zipped through her brain as she realized the incredible truth. Bradley was alive. Not dead. Not basted in barbecue sauce. Alive!

  But Les was gaining on them. The noise of his feet crunching through the undergrowth behind her pierced the night. Her own ragged breathing sounded louder still. He was going to catch her. Any minute she would hear another shot, would feel the bullet tearing through the skin on her back.

  Something zipped by her leg this time. Something white. Some kind of animal.

  A vicious growl. Another gunshot.

  Jazzy couldn’t help it. She had to see what was happening. She turned her head—

  —and smacked into something solid. She felt herself thrown backward. The ground embraced her with a thud, and a heavy weight crushed her. Breath was snatched from her lungs. White spots of light exploded in her eyes.

  “Jazzy! Jazzy, are you all right?”

  That voice she knew. Gulping air, she shook her head and looked up into the most gorgeous chocolate eyes in the entire world.

  Relief poured through her body as air rushed back into her lungs. She buried her face in Derrick’s chest, sobbing. “You found me! Thank God, you found me.”

  He rolled sideways, pulling her with him. His hands stroked her hair as he whispered in her ear, “That’s exactly right. Thank You, God. Thank You for letting us find her in time.”

  THIRTY

  Three of them huddled together in the back of the sheriff’s cruiser. Bradley, exhausted from his ordeal, had collapsed against the passenger door in the front seat. Jazzy snuggled deeper beneath Derrick’s arm and pulled Old Sue closer on her lap. The dog’s bath was obviously wearing off. An unpleasant canine odor assaulted Jazzy’s nostrils, but she chose to ignore it. Old Sue had risked her life when she had attacked a man holding a gun. Jazzy was prepared to put up with a lot of doggy smell.

  Derrick’s arm pulled her even closer within his protective embrace. A satisfied warmth spread through her body, chasing away the last of the fear-filled tremors. Turned out having someone to protect you wasn’t all bad. In fact, she could get used to this.

  The dog lifted her head and bathed Jazzy’s face in slobber.

  Jazzy’s stomach lurched. Some things she could not force herself to get used to. She gave the snout a gentle shove. “Enough is enough. I don’t know where that tongue has been, so keep it out of my face, okay?”

  Derrick laughed, and Jazzy felt the rumble in his chest through her cheekbone.

  “I don’t understand one thing.” Jazzy directed her voice toward the front seat. “Why didn’t Les kill Bradley when he took him out in the woods? Why leave him tied up in that little building?”

  Bradley spoke without lifting his head from the window. His words slurred with tiredness. “I thought about that in the hours I was duct-taped to that tree. The only thing I could come up with is that I surprised him. He wasn’t prepared for me to figure out he was the killer. It probably took him a while to work himself up to killing his brother, and he never considered he’d have two victims. When he left me, he said something about having to take care of the chairs, but he’d be back.”

  “Maybe it’s harder to kill a stranger than a blood relative,” Derrick suggested.

  Sheriff Maguire nodded. “There’s something to that. He had a motive for killing his brother, and time to justify it in his mind. He told Miss Delaney he hesitated over killing her friend. Maybe he needed a while to justify three murders.” He caught Jazzy’s eye in the rearview mirror. “But I have no doubt he convinced himself it was necessary in the end.”

  Light flooded the cruiser as they pulled into the emergency-room entrance of the small Waynesboro hospital. Jazzy would have preferred to go back to the hotel, but the sheriff had insisted she get checked over. And Bradley had scraped off a significant amount of skin with several hours of rubbing the duct tape against rough tree bark to free himself. His forearms definitely needed medical treatment.

  Jazzy reluctantly pulled herself away from the warmth of Derrick’s body when Sheriff Maguire opened the door. Old Sue followed her owner, and Jazzy accepted Derrick’s hand to help her out of the car.

  In the next instant she was nearly knocked back inside when two bodies threw themselves at her.

  “You’re alive,” Caitlin sobbed. “Thank You, Lord, thank You.”

  Liz crushed Jazzy’s ribs in a hug, then pulled back with a mighty sniff. “You smell like dog.” Her eyebrows arched as her gaze traveled down Jazzy’s body. “And you’re filthy. Look at your clothes, your arms.” Her eyes widened as her gaze reached the ground. “Look at your feet!”

  Jazzy looked down. Her toes were nearly black with dirt, and a twig protruded from the side of her right sandal. Her hands were filthy. Germs were probably swarming over her body. Liz was right; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this grimy.

  But she didn’t care. It wasn’t important.

  She slipped an arm around Derrick’s waist and lifted her face toward his. A thrill shot through her at the glimmer of love she saw shining in his eyes.

  That was important.

  She grinned at her friends. “Oh, what’s wrong with a little dirt, anyway?”

  EPILOGUE

  The sun shone from a glorious blue sky and sparkled off the rapidly moving waters of the Kentucky Rive
r. Jazzy had forgotten to grab her sunglasses out of the car when she’d loaded her luggage for the trip back home. She squinted against the glare and shielded her eyes to watch Old Sue bound away from them toward the riverbank.

  “What if she jumps in?” She allowed a note of worry to creep into her question. “That water’s moving pretty fast.”

  Beside her, Derrick shook his head. “She won’t. She’s just enjoying the sunshine.”

  When the dog skidded to a stop at the edge of the grass, Jazzy lowered her hand and turned a smile up toward him. Derrick’s arm tightened around her, pulling her close. The clean, fresh scent of his aftershave overrode the smoke from the barbecue pits, and Jazzy leaned in and breathed deeply.

  “Excuse me.”

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. Liz and Caitlin had returned from their errand on the festival route carrying plastic grocery sacks full of barbecue and burgoo.

  “I need to see some daylight between you two.” A playful smile lurked around Caitlin’s lips.

  “Yeah, no smooching in public.” Liz spoiled her schoolmarm scold with an indulgent grin.

  Laughing, Derrick pulled away slightly, though he didn’t release Jazzy. “Do you always travel with a pair of chaperones?”

  Jazzy nodded. “No soloists in this group. We come as a trio.”

  “Though we’re open to becoming a quartet,” Caitlin told him. “Do you happen to play the viola?”

  Derrick shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want me to try to play an instrument. As my Aunt Myrtle says, I have a tin ear.”

  Ah, but you’re an expert at playing my heartstrings. Jazzy shut her mouth before the thought escaped. Liz would never let her hear the end of it if she showed what a sentimental sap she’d become practically overnight.

  “So, did you get what you needed?” Jazzy nodded toward their bags.

  “Sure did. Award-winning burgoo.” Caitlin held up a heavy sack.

  Liz scowled. “She even talked them into an extra quart for free when she bragged that she was one of the judges. A slick piece of extortion if you ask me.”