Derrick stepped forward. “We really need to get going. I’m sure if these ladies remember anything else, they’ll tell it to Sheriff Maguire. He’s at the rehearsal right now.”
Matt shook his head. “The Sheriff is out trying to find the victim’s next of kin at the moment.”
“Okay, then they’ll call you if they have anything else to say. And you know where to find them.”
Matt stared at him a moment before lifting a shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll have more questions later.”
The look of gratitude Jazzy shot Derrick made him stand a bit taller.
The young woman on Jasmine’s left rose from her seat, her near six-foot frame towering above Frank. She was broomstick-thin, a striking contrast to the heavy blonde across the table, who also stood.
“Come on, Jazzy.” The tall brunette shoved her chair under the table.
“You sure you’re up to it, honey?” The blonde hefted the strap of a purse onto her shoulder, eyeing Jasmine with concern etched in her brow. “You had quite a shock up there.”
Jazzy’s throat convulsed as her troubled gaze moved from the brunette to her other friend. Whatever shock she’d experienced was going to haunt her for a while. He itched to ask what had happened, but they were running so late. He’d give Matt a call later and pry the information out of him.
“’Course she’s up to it.” The other girl put an arm around Jasmine’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Jazzy’s a professional. We signed on for a job, and we’re going to do it. Right?”
Jasmine’s lips formed a trembling smile and she nodded. “Right.” She lifted her chin, and then turned toward him. “Derrick Rogers? I’m Jasmine Delaney.”
As if he didn’t know that. Her hand felt warm in his, and soft. “Nice to meet you, Miss Delaney.”
“Please call me Jasmine. Or Jazzy. And these are my friends, Liz and Caitlin.”
Jazzy. He’d noticed the nickname mentioned in a couple of the comments on her ShoutLife profile, and now that he’d seen her in person, he decided it suited her. This woman deserved a name with some spunk.
He shook each lady’s hand, then glanced at his watch. “We’re going to be late, but not too bad. I’ll call my sister while you grab your instruments and whatever else you need. I’m parked right out front.”
Jazzy had been stooping to pick up a handbag from the floor, and froze. Straightening, she looked at Matt. “Our instruments are upstairs, in with…” Her voice trembled.
“I’ll get them.” Frank stepped toward the door, then stopped and caught Jazzy in a stare. “On second thought, I’ll take you to the church myself. I want to hear you go over it one more time.”
He disappeared through the door as Jazzy sucked in an outraged breath. Derrick exchanged a glance with Matt, who shrugged. Apparently Matt wasn’t willing to cross his partner when it came to questioning witnesses.
Liz rushed across the room and stuck her head out the door. “I need my bag, too,” she called after the deputy. “It has my music portfolio in it.”
Jazzy turned to Matt. “What will happen to the rest of our stuff?”
“Yeah,” said Caitlin, “and where will we stay? We heard the hotel is full, and I am not going back into that room. I don’t care how much they scrub it.”
Derrick saw Jazzy give a delicate shudder. “Me, neither.”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re going to have to seal off that room, and probably the ones around it, too. Maybe they’ll have some cancellations or something. I’ll talk to the manager.”
Derrick spoke up. “What happened, exactly?” He directed his question to Matt, but Liz answered.
“There was a dead body in our room when we checked in.” She crossed her arms, her mouth a hard line. “Jazzy found it.”
Ah. That had to be awful. No wonder she looked shaken up. “Any idea how the guy died? The desk clerk said something about a murder.”
Matt nodded. “No doubt about that. Looked to me like he was strangled. And you’ll never believe who it was, either.”
The muscles in Derrick’s stomach knotted. “Somebody I know?”
The deputy nodded. “Everybody knows him. It was Josh Kirkland.”
Derrick gave a low whistle. Kirkland was a DJ for the local country radio station, something of a celebrity in town, so of course he’d met the guy. But he didn’t know him well. Still…“Right before the festival. Man, that’s going to come as a shock to a lot of people.”
“You ain’t kidding.”
Derrick turned to the three musicians. “If the manager doesn’t have a place for you to stay, you’re welcome to my apartment. It’s not very big, and there’s only one bed, but it might be the best you can hope for this weekend. I can stay at my mom’s for the night.”
Jazzy looked up at him, a smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. “That’s a very nice offer. Thank you.”
He would give up a lot more than his apartment to see that smile break free. Looking down into her eyes, he cleared his throat. “No problem.”
THREE
Jazzy and her friends left the obstinate deputy outside the church in his cruiser and trooped inside single-file behind Derrick. The wedding coordinator stood at the front of the sanctuary going over the order of events for a group seated in the first few pews. Her voice echoed off the arched ceiling and the tall, thick-paned windows that lined both sides. How did the woman have the nerve to disturb the reverent stillness of the place? Jazzy found herself tiptoeing up the center aisle.
“Sorry we’re late.” Derrick directed his apology to the coordinator.
A young woman rose from the front row and approached him. She threw her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to do so. “Where have you been? You know I can’t do this without my big brother.”
The bride. Clear family resemblance. Same sandy blond hair, same oval face. The girl even smiled like her brother, wide and with lots of white teeth in evidence.
A young man, presumably the groom, got up and followed her into the aisle. “I wondered if you got caught up in the mess at the hotel. Dad got a call and ran out of here about twenty minutes ago, saying someone had been killed over there.”
“Yeah. In fact, your musicians found the body. That’s why we’re late.”
Gasps reverberated around the sanctuary, and a blush began to tingle in Jazzy’s cheeks. Was everyone staring at her?
The bride rushed forward to grab her free hand. “I’m Chelsea Rogers, and this is my fiancé, Quinn Maguire. I’m so sorry! How awful for you, and after you drove all this way to play at our wedding.”
Jazzy managed a smile and squeezed her hand before releasing it.
“Quinn’s father is the sheriff here,” Derrick explained, “so that’s why they called him. I’m sure you’ll be talking with Sheriff Maguire before this thing is over.”
“Terrific,” mumbled Liz. She stood behind Jazzy, both hands full with her cello case and a music bag. Liz’s expression had assumed its habitual sulk, but Jazzy detected strain in the muscles around her friend’s mouth.
She’s been affected by the ordeal more than she’s letting on.
And no wonder. Jazzy suppressed a shudder as an image of the dead man loomed in her mind. Would